I hold counsellors and therapists in the highest reverence, for they are the quiet torch-holders of hope. Mapping the tangled forests of grief, tenderly tracing the riverbeds echoed by scars. Bearing witness to the struggle, while continuing to hold the torch. They gently detangle our knotted web, forming neat rolls that are easier to carry and hold.
Theirs is a nuanced battle flag, stitched from equal parts understanding and compassion. The empathy required to step courageously into another’s darkness, and the compassion to walk beside them, torch in hand, until they begin to see the light. They listen not merely with their ears, but with their hearts too. The unspoken tremors between words, to the language of sighs, silences, and vision of trembling hands. They walk alongside us, through uncharted terrain. Carrying their unwavering silent hope and their survival guides of empathy and compassion held tight.
Their patience is sacred, the kind of understanding born from empathy. Healing may bloom slowly, like a reluctant flower often out of season. Though our society often demeans their worth. They persist, standing over the barren soil, still holding the torch; trusting that one day, the seeds will feel the warmth of the light. They are the hidden friend, walking beside us in our most painful moments, ensuring we aren’t alone. Believing in us, when we can’t remember how to believe in ourselves.
Sana bhatnagar 
Leave a comment