There have been a lot of moments throughout my career where I have asked myself, ‘why am I doing this work?’

It’s not rewarding. 

It isn’t ever going to “pay off.” 

It asks so much of us.

At the end of the year, none of us can count numbers and say, “oh wow! Our work has kept 23,000 people alive. 14,677 people were able to seek and stay in services that supported their mental health. 67,898 people didn’t attempt suicide because they saw our messages and realized they were valuable and important.”

There’s never going to be a moment when that happens. We’re doing these things, and we’re hoping that someone who is wavering will continue. We’re hoping that instead of losing their lives to struggle they can find strength for a single breath… and then another and another. We are doing this work with faith that it is making a difference. 

I will never know if anything I’ve said or done has made an impact. People might message me, they might comment, they might even come up to me right after I speak and say, “something you said meant something to me.” But would that thing I said have been something they considered in the very death-filled parts of their brains when the end was looming over them? I can never know and truthfully I hope it isn’t my voice they hear when they need one most, but their own. 

I hope they cling to themselves and not to me. I hope they are their support and strength because they will always be there for them. No other could ever know or love them like they could. I hope to never be someone’s reason to live because I am not someone to put one’s hope into. I am only imperfectly me and I cannot be there for everyone. It isn’t fair of me to think that anything I do would dare bestow life to someone else. I can only share that life is possible because I have learned it for myself.

This work is repetitive and without reward. We don’t get to see the numbers, the smiles after the storm, or the faces of perseverance during a bout of doubt, but we keep pushing. We speak, we show up, we repeat ourselves day after day. We move forward no matter.

Sometimes we can get lost in the work a little because it isn’t like other fields where you get to look at what you’ve accomplished. The work has to be exciting, filled with passion, and spark curiosity. But is it? Does it? 

I love the work. Parts of it keep me going. The drive to find one piece of this human puzzle eats at my need to understand. My love of learning pushes me to think critically and look for unseen solutions, but it’s really the people that intrigue and inspire me the most.

It is the people that keep me in this work.

We had an event a few weeks ago, and there were phenomenal humans there. Incredibly unique, insightful, breathtaking individuals and I got to be right in the middle of them. We ate together, we laughed, we built communication knowledge, and we spent two days pouring into a community all our own. I left there thinking, why am I so lucky to get to be around wise and otherworldly people like this? They are fantastic. 

Yes, this work is hard. It takes a lot from us. Sometimes it leaves us wondering why we keep on. I can only imagine how many of my colleagues have had moments, days, or weeks where they questioned their decisions to stay in this work. 

But then, I get a genuine connection with someone. I get to learn about something that they’ve found, or something that they love doing, or some beautiful thing that they’re creating. Then I’m like, wow. This work is rewarding because of the deep the connections we make. 

Here, we happen in the hard. We walk gracefully through uncomfortably labyrinthian conversations. We meet people in this space who share themselves generously with us within mere moments of learning our names. We hear heartful things, and we find ways to laugh and create light even while surrounded by darkness.

I get to listen to people and have these life changing conversations be a part of my daily life. My every day is an unknown adventure because of the people I may encounter, the lives I may learn of, and the stories I may one day carry with me.

This is why you keep on. 

You want just a little bit more. You want to connect and learn and live alongside all of these people. You want to keep pushing, for the people. The ones like you. The ones who see you. The ones who welcome you. The ones who inspire you.

Then one day, you’re like, oh, that’s why I’ve been doing this for 10 years. This is why I can’t quit. This is why the empty days are worth it. 

These people have kept me here. They have kept me working. They have kept me living. They have kept me from feeling alone, worthless, and like I’m the only one. 

There’s always relationship challenges, conflict, and people who aren’t for you, but when you find your space it fulfills you. When you find others who openly accept you, you never want to let them go. When you walk into a room that celebrates you, you magnify life and it grows from places you once may have thought impossible.

It is rewarding to be in spaces with individuals who have lived experiences. There’s this level of comfort. If I’m having a bad day, I can say that. I can be open, awkward, and not okay and they don’t even bat an eye. 

Few of us have that. Few of us experience depth and acceptance so regularly. Few of us walk in places where we receive empathy instead of judgment or dismissiveness. Too many of us have been betrayed by our hope to be deemed adequate in the eyes of another. How little we have sought and still been let down by.

Don’t we all crave this? Don’t we all want to be less lonely?

The community of lived experience is why I continue in this field knowing I’ll never see the fruits of my labor and being perfectly content with not knowing. I don’t need to count numbers, I can count on those who care for me.

We are our why. 

And we are all we need to keep going.