Sometimes the heaviest burdens are the ones nobody sees. They don’t show up in casts or crutches or tidy explanations. They hide behind calm smiles, polite answers, and the phrase we’ve all used at some point — “I’m fine.”

But F.I.N.E. doesn’t always mean we’re okay. Sometimes it means Feelings Inside Not Expressed, or Feeling Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional.

I still remember how lost and lonely I felt six weeks after my Oma passed away in 2007. The world had moved on, but I hadn’t. I was grieving — not just her death, but something far more profound. We hadn’t spoken or seen each other in 34 years, and yet, her passing cracked something open in me.

I had already lost her as a five-year-old, not through death, but migration. We left, and that was it. No letters. No phone calls. Just one visit, 5 years later. My parents didn’t nurture the relationship, and so it simply… vanished. There was no thread to pull on, no shared memories to anchor me. And yet, when she died, I broke in ways I didn’t expect. I couldn’t explain it at the time, and honestly, I still struggle to. Grief doesn’t always make sense — it just is.

What hurt just as much was the silence around me. The kind of silence that doesn’t soothe, but aches. I was grieving deeply. Not loudly or publicly — I kept moving, kept smiling, kept functioning. But inside, something was tearing open.

My mother-in-law lived on our property at the time, yet not once did she come in to check on me. No comforting cup of tea. No gentle, “How are you really?🤔” Nothing. When I finally told Clive, he spoke to her. And her response? 🤔“I thought she was handling it so well.”

But I wasn’t. I was falling apart at the seams. Quietly. Invisibly. Nobody checked in, and I felt nobody cared enough to look deeper and notice I was struggling.

That experience taught me something I’ll never forget: just because someone carries it well doesn’t mean it’s not heavy.

There are people all around us who are hurting in ways they can’t articulate. They’ve learned to survive by keeping it together. And while they might look strong — and are strong — they still need to be seen. To be checked in on. To be wrapped in kindness.

Scripture calls us to carry each other’s burdens — not to fix them, but to walk alongside. That might look like a text that says “I’m thinking of you,” or sitting in silence with someone who doesn’t have the words yet. It might mean being the one who notices when no one else does.

We don’t need to understand the weight someone’s carrying in order to help shoulder it. We just need to show up — with love, with compassion, with presence.