Why We Keep Bearing Witness (Even When It Hurts)

💔 Why Bearing Witness Still Matters (Even When It Feels Like It Doesn’t)

Lately, I’ve felt like I’m losing it. Emotionally. Spiritually. All of it.
And I know I’m not the only one.

The world feels like it’s cracking open and bleeding out, and we’re standing here with trembling hands and tear-swollen eyes, clutching a tiny towel to a flood. Whispering, “I saw. I see. I care.”

So maybe you’re wondering, like I am:
How does bearing witness help? What’s the point when nothing seems to change?

And here’s what I keep coming back to:

✨ 1. We interrupt the silence

Silence is where cruelty thrives. It’s the soft, padded cell where horror goes unnoticed. But when even one person stands up and says, “I see what’s happening,” it sends a crack through that darkness. It says:
You are not invisible. You are not forgotten.

And that? That’s sacred.

🕊 2. We humanize what the world tries to erase

Systems speak in statistics.
Governments speak in strategy.
But we speak in faces.

In grandmothers. In babies. In lovers holding hands under rubble. In a child’s favorite toy left behind.
We remind the world that these are lives, not numbers.
That’s holy work.

💔 3. We carry part of the weight

Sharing someone’s pain doesn’t make it disappear, but it does say, “I will not let you carry this alone.”
That is not small.
That is how we survive this. Together.

Even when it feels like a whisper in a storm, someone out there might breathe easier tonight because you cared enough to say something.

🔥 4. We refuse to go numb

To still feel grief, to still feel rage, that’s not weakness.
That’s resistance.
That’s proof your soul hasn’t given up. That your love still outruns your despair.

And yes, it’s exhausting.
But it also means you are still alive.
Still good.
Still human.

So if you’re bearing witness, and it hurts,
If you’re watching the world break and wondering if your voice, your post, your poem, your candle, your tears even matter…

Let me tell you something:

You are a lighthouse in a blackout.
And maybe you’re flickering, but damn it, you’re still on.

That counts. That matters. That’s enough.

If you need to unplug for a bit, do.
Rest isn’t retreat. It’s repair.
But don’t doubt for a second that your broken, beating heart is doing work that matters.

Let’s take this one breath at a time.
And let’s keep showing up for each other.

Even now.
Especially now.

With love,
Jennifer

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Leave a comment. Tell someone they’re not alone.
Bearing witness matters more when we do it together.