One of my favorite things that happened after the accident, and that I want to document and continue remembering, is what I like to call: a night of connection.

Around a week after, I decided to join a group of my friends on an outing, where we usually just chill and talk about life in general. It was my first time seeing most of them after the accident, and they all knew I was still not okay. So they decided not to turn it into the elephant in the room, and started asking me questions about it. And I started ranting. About things I was still trying to process, and things I was scared of. They listened, and it felt safe.

We then turned silent for a few minutes, after which one of them decided to share a story about a very traumatizing car accident experience he previously had. One that I would’ve never imagined he’d gone through. He opened up about it, and explained certain feelings that I, myself, somehow felt, even though mine was a completely different story. It felt validating.

For some reason, this was a trigger for others to start sharing car accident experiences they had, too. And even though it was mostly me listening to stories for the rest of the night, and not really doing much talking, something about that outing did heal a little part inside me. I truly believe it was all about the connection.

We’re often advised not to share our experiences when someone starts expressing their pain, because it can sort of invalidate their feelings. In fact, it really does frustrate me when I‘m opening up about something, and the other person keeps trying to make it more about themselves instead of listening to what I have to say.

But the thing about that night is, it never felt like any of them were trying to make me feel ‘they have it worse.’ It wasn’t a challenge on who had the worst accident, or who has gone through the worst pain. It was more of a collective assurance that I’m not alone. That sometimes things happen out of other people’s control, too. That someone might have a slight idea about the heavy weight I carry inside. That someone else once felt a similar kind of pain, and that they‘ve survived through.

When I told my therapist about the accident, she turned out to have had a similar one a couple of months before mine as well. And instead of trying to bring the words that weren’t easily coming out of me, she started telling me about her experience, too. About things she felt after, that were so much happening inside me, too. It was a lot more therapeutic to have her sort of explain to me what was happening inside my mind, than to try helping me make sense of it.

That connection, is a blessing.

To be able to let someone know you feel them.

To be able to let someone in on a hidden side of you they end up so much relating to.

To be able to let your walls down and share your vulnerabilities.

To be able to connect.

It’s a blessing I can never thank Him enough for.