Dear {{ subscriber.first_name }},
Do you ever feel like hope is too heavy to carry?
My book is out with publishers right now, and it’s been a roller coaster of a ride to get it there.
There’s been cancer. There’s been deaths. There’s been countless rejections and endless edits.
And through it all, I’m expected to keep up the hope.
Usually that’s easy for me. I’ve been in this industry long enough to know that the way to “make it” as a writer is simply to persevere and keep writing.
If this book doesn’t work out, write the next one.
Then the next one.
Then the next one.
This is my third book I’ve sent to publishers, the second time I’ve tried to get this particular book published.
I know this waiting game well.
Usually I love being an optimist.
I’ve got vision boards all over my house, a giant white board with my life goals outlined on it, and stickers galore reminding me that I’m worthy of my dreams coming true.
There is a massive post-in note in front of me right now that’s titled “Big Deal Energy” and has all my grandest wishes and hopes for this book laid out on it.
I’ve got altars and intention setting, journaling prompts and meditations all ready.
I pride myself in being that boss ass bitch who always perseveres, makes shit happen, and never gives up hope.
But lately, hope has felt too heavy to carry on my own.
Lately, I’ve been longing to wallow in self-pity.
I blame cancer.
It’s hard to hold hope when you keep watching young members of your family die.
Ten years ago it was my brother, this year it was my nephew.
When you are drowning in a sea of grief, hope can feel more like a weight than a buoy.
There is such a fine line between helpful optimism and toxic positivity.
I once worked with a woman who would always say “what good can we find in this situation?”
Which is a great question to ask in retrospection when a work event goes wrong and a shit fucking thing to say to a widow who just watched her husband die – both situations in which I heard her say this phrase.
We live in a society that wants people to always be happy and hopeful all the time.
We expect our grief, heartache, and sadness to be contained into perfect boxes, experienced during the 1.5 days we get for bereavement leave from work or reserved for the weekends when we are alone in our home.
We tell people to look on the bright side and keep up the faith when shit things happen.
Sometimes staying positive is actually holding us back from healing.
I kept hope for two full years after my brother died and it led to a full mental breakdown.
I didn’t need hope. I needed to grieve.
I didn’t need someone to tell me that I would see good in this someday. I needed people to sit with me in the darkness and say “you’re right, this fucking sucks.”
Lately, a friend offered to hold my hope for me and I loved that concept so much I had to share it.
This friend – the spectacular journalist, designer, and activist Katie Treggiden – said it so plainly and simply, like holding hope was a normal thing people did for each other.
As the holidays approach, the loss of my nephew becomes more apparent, my grief amplified. I was just starting to get used to my brother being gone from Christmas morning, and now another place at our table sits empty.
I was lamenting to Katie about how I wanted to stay optimistic throughout the publishing process, but it felt impossible to keep the faith lately.
“I am too exhausted from grieving,” I said, “I can’t keep holding this weight of hope.”
“If you can’t hold hope right now, give it to me,” Katie said. “I’ll carry it.”
Instantly, I felt relieved. Like I could breathe again.
I didn’t have to give up hope just because grief entered my life. I just had to ask others to hold it for me.
Here’s why I love the idea of letting others hold hope for you:
- It acknowledges that life isn’t always rainbows and sunshine, and that sometimes staying positive isn’t realistic or helpful.
- It allows you to be supported and emotionally held up by your community.
- It makes you feel less alone in the struggle.
- It keeps you from giving up hope completely (which is a rough place to be in, trust me, I know).
- It allows you to be seen in both your current state of sadness and in your ambition to one day move out of it and achieve that hopeful goal again.
After Katie initially told me that she would hold hope for me for my book, I felt lighter than I had in months. So I started reaching out to my closest friends asking them to hold hope for me as well.
“Hey ___. As you know, my book is out to publishers and I’ve been really optimistic and hoping for the best in the past, but right now, with grief and the holidays, hope feels impossibly heavy to keep up. So, I was wondering if you’d hold it for me.”
It’s super cheesy, and yet my friends have loved it.
They’ve asked me to hold their hope for them as well, and I have.
It turns out, it’s a lot easier to have hope for others than it is for yourself.
Even on my darkest days, I can hold hope for your dreams {{ subscriber.first_name }}.
Even against the toughest odds, I can see you succeeding.
So, this holiday season, I’m letting others hold my hope, and I’m holding hope for others.
Becasue we’re all in this together, and we all deserve communal support when life is tough.
Sending you love and hope and time to feel all the feelings this holiday season,
Lauren
P.S. Journaling has been my best tool for getting through both the hopeful and sad days. If you’d like some journaling support this holiday season, download my free guide here .
Download my free journaling guide
