“When Nothing Was Lost"
A small lesson in reassurance, growth, and learning when to step back.
0h where, oh where has my MS document gone. Oh where, oh where can it be.
The first time I used Microsoft Word on my MacBook was for an upcoming grant. I use Google Docs for most of my work. It serves me well. The few times I needed Word in the past, I would turn on my old PC, copy and paste, save it to the desktop, email it off, and bam, done. Familiar. Simple. It was past time to purchase Word for my MacBook, so I did. No more humming, buzzing fan beside me. I spent the entire day shaping that grant. Careful language. Thoughtful revisions. When I went back to open the document, it was not where I thought I had saved it. A full day of work seemed gone.
The deadline was approaching. I try to submit at least two days early. That gives space for error. I once waited until the last day and watched a portal spin with no one to call. I learned from that. Earlier is wiser. So I began rewriting it. Beside me, my old computer roared, the fan loud and hot, like a kitchen exhaust fan stuck on high. Over the past year it had grown louder. Since I was a child certain sounds tighten something inside me, and that pitch does it. It is hard to think clearly when something next to you sounds like it is straining.
After a hectic week, I reached out to a friend. Not for someone to write it. Simply for steadiness. I sent her what I had written, and she kindly placed it into Word format and sent it back. Then she said two simple words.
Google it.
Why had I not thought of that.
So I searched where Word saves files.
And there it was.
Auto saved in OneDrive. I had no idea. Good grief.
Nothing was lost. The work had been there all along.
What I needed was not someone to fix it. I needed to slow down. To breathe. To let my mind settle enough to see what was already true. Sometimes after a long week, or a heavy season, we tighten up. We assume the worst. We miss what is right in front of us. Sometimes we simply need someone to steady us. A reassurer, not an enabler. There is a difference. An enabler takes it from you. A reassurer steadies you so you can take it back.
And yes, there are times we truly need to be carried. I think of the story of Footprints in the Sand. There are seasons when there is only one set of footprints because we are being carried. That is mercy. But there are also moments when stepping in and taking over is not helping, it is taking. Taking the lesson. Taking the growth. Taking the strength someone is meant to build.
I have learned some of this the hard way. Loving deeply does not mean removing every struggle. Sometimes stepping in feels like protection. Sometimes control feels like comfort. But growth requires space. That understanding has come slowly, and it continues to shape how I lead and how I love. I carry wisdom now that I did not always have. And I still falter. We all do. We are perfectly imperfect as we continue to learn. The goal is not perfection. The goal is steadiness. The goal is peace. The goal is loving well while allowing growth.
The old computer running hot was simply a signal. The missing document was not missing. The greater message was about reassurance without enabling, empowerment without control, and learning when to carry and when to let someone walk. The grant was submitted on time. The work continues.
At Walt’s Waltz, we are reminded that we are each
perfectly imperfect (our mascot) as we continue to learn and grow. Perfection is not the goal. Peace is. Helping truly is. Trying is.
If you have a few steady people in your life, hold them close. And if you’re in a season where your circle feels small, begin gently. A support group. A counselor. A class. A place that welcomes conversation. Sometimes connection begins by showing up before we feel ready. Building community takes time. Keep stepping. You are not the only one building.
And while you are looking for connection, look around. Notice who is sitting alone. Notice who lingers at the edges. A simple hello. An invitation to sit together. A small act of inclusion can change more than we realize. Sometimes reaching out helps them. Sometimes it helps you. Sometimes we find a safety friend together.
I am grateful for those who show up in my life.
And as we say, let’s stop dancing around mental health conversations.