Some Journeys Can’t Be Shared

One of my hardest lessons lately has been accepting that I cannot make anyone see what they aren’t ready to see. I’ve always carried a “hero” complex, something that began in childhood.

My father was a drinker, often staying out late. At 8 years old, I felt alone. My mother had chosen peace, my older sister wanted little to do with me, and my nights were spent waiting anxiously for my father to return—often with bloody knuckles. He called me his “little nurse,” and I took on that role eagerly, cleaning his wounds as if fixing him would somehow fix the chaos around me. It gave me a sense of control, a purpose amid uncertainty.

But as I dive deeper into myself and embrace my own spirituality, I keep confronting the same truth: I cannot save others by force. No words, no actions can make someone see before they are ready. Growth is a solo journey. The best I can do is continue forward, holding my lantern high, so that if and when they are ready, they’ll know which way to go.

And if they don’t? That doesn’t mean I’ve failed them. It simply means their path up the mountain was never meant to be the same as mine.