The Power of Community

I walked alone for far too long,

A weary path, a sorrowed song.

My thoughts a storm, my heart a weight,

Each step a whisper: “It’s too late.”

The world was loud, but I was small,

A shadow curling to the wall.

Afraid to speak, afraid to show

The parts of me I wouldn’t know.

But somewhere past the endless gray,

A voice called out, “Come this way.”

Not forceful, not a blinding light,

Just gentle warmth, an ember bright.

A hand outstretched, a knowing nod,

Not saving me, but giving prod—

A space to sit, a space to be,

A space to say, “I still am me.”

Their voices rose like waves to shore,

Not preaching how just sharing more—

The falls, the climbs, the space between,

The cracks are where light and growth are seen.

They did not ask me to be fine,

Nor paint my pain in gold-lined rhyme.

Instead, they held the space I’d lost,

No judgment placed, no heavy cost.

And in their presence, I could see

That shame was not a weight for me.

That scars are maps, not marks of sin,

That healing starts when we begin.

The words I’d choked, the tears I’d fought,

The self I thought the world forgot—

It all came rushing, crashing free,

A tide returning to sea.

Through laughter shared and silence kept,

Through stories told, and wounds once wept,

Through hands that held and eyes that knew,

I found the strength to see me, too.

No longer bound by whispered doubt,

No longer needing walls to shout—

I stand with those who’ve walked this mile,

Who turn to pain and offer a smile.

For healing isn’t done alone,

It finds its breath in hearts made known.

In kindness given, space that’s shared,

In knowing simply, we are there.

And so I step, not whole, but true,

With room for old and space for new.

For in these hands, this love, this grace,

I’ve learned to hold myself in place.

A bridge, once burned, can be rebuilt,

Not all is lost in shame or guilt.

The past may whisper, try to stay,

But forward steps still find their way.

A gentle nod, a steady hand,

A heart that knows that understands—

Not every wound is meant to hide,

Not every tear should stay inside.

In voices soft yet strong and sure,

I found a love that felt so pure.

Not perfect, not without its scars,

But real as earth, as sky, as stars.

They did not fix, they did not mend,

But walked beside as a trusted friend.

No promises of endless light,

Just space to rest during the night.

And in their kindness, I could see

That love still lived inside of me.

Not just in them, not just in place,

But woven deep—a quiet grace.

So now I stand, not whole, but here,

With a softer heart and clear vision.

For in these hands, this love, this grace,

I’ve learned to hold myself in place.

And should you stumble, lost or low,

Know there are hands to help you grow.

A world of voices, strong and true,

Calling softly, “We see you.”

And if you don’t feel community in your mental health journey, here are a few ways you can find it:

Seek out spaces where honesty thrives,

Where silence is heard, and hope survives.

A group that listens, a friend who stays,

A voice that echoes in an endless maze.

Online or in-person, big or small,

Connection can arise from the simplest call.

A shared experience, a knowing glance,

A space where struggle meets a second chance.

In art, in words, in hands that create,

In quiet moments that resonate—

The community grows in places unseen,

In kindness offered, in spaces between.

So if you’re lost, if you feel alone,

Know that your story is not unknown.

Somewhere, someone waits to say,

“I see you. Come this way.”