When we're hurting, the mind whispers a very specific lie: no one else feels this. Everyone else is fine. It's just you.
But every person you pass on the street is carrying something. Grief they haven't spoken about. Money worry. A hard conversation waiting at home. A body that aches. A version of themselves they're trying to make peace with.
Common humanity is the quiet remembering that pain is not proof of being broken. It's proof of being human. When you can say “others feel this too,” the loneliness inside the difficulty starts to loosen.