We're All Struggling
The South Station Epiphany
“Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always.”
— Robin Williams
I haven’t had too many epiphanies on my journey, moments when I knew instantly that I had learned an important lesson.
But there is one that stands out.
It happened on a cold winter morning in March 2012, the kind of New England day that makes me desperate to move somewhere warmer. At the time, I was working as an analyst for a tech company in downtown Boston. I was bored out of my mind and couldn’t wait for lunch.
As soon as the clock hit 12 (okay, 11:55), I got up from my desk and bolted for the elevator. I didn’t know what I wanted for lunch, only that I’d make a game-time decision once I got to the South Station food court.
When I arrived, I surveyed the options in the concourse, then made a beeline for the sandwich kiosk. After waiting in line for five minutes, I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich, paid for it, and then moved off to the side until it was ready.
As I stood, I felt a subtle trembling in my knees. The cold weather was wreaking havoc on my joints, and I knew the stiffness put me at a greater risk for a fall.
I started to worry. Would I stay upright, or would my knees give out here in the middle of the station in front of everyone? I prayed it was the former, not the latter, but given how fast my weakness was progressing, there was no way to know for sure.
I looked around the concourse anxiously to clear my mind. That’s when I noticed something peculiar.
In my field of vision, amidst the hustle and bustle in the train terminal, were people from all walks of life who appeared to be in various states of distress:
To my left was a man sitting at a nearby table, winter clothes dirty and torn, motionless, staring at the ground.
To my right was a woman on her phone, pacing back and forth, crying.
Next to me, waiting for his sandwich, was a college student in a Harvard sweatshirt, looking exhausted like he’d been up all night.
Ten feet away, a middle-aged man shuffled by, sweating profusely, briefcase bursting at the seams, rushing to catch his train.
At that moment, a thought crystallized in my mind:
We’re all struggling.
Everyone, not just me.
You’re probably thinking, “Duh, Chris. Of course that’s true.” I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Life is hard, and no one is immune to hardships and setbacks. But as I can attest — because I lived it — when your worries are ever present, it’s so easy to feel like you’re the only one suffering.
Back then, I was so absorbed with my own issues that I failed to notice what other people were going through. It’s not that I didn’t care about anyone else; I just couldn’t look past my own problems. My empathy muscles had withered almost as much as my physical ones.
But that scene in the train station cut through my mental fog in a way nothing else had before. I may have been struggling, but I wasn’t alone.
I often wonder if what I saw that day was real, or just an illusion. What if, instead, I was projecting my inner turmoil onto others? For example, maybe the guy with the briefcase simply wanted to get some exercise in, or the woman crying had just received the best news of her life.
But then I stop myself. Does it really matter? No. The underlying epiphany is still true, and it’s only been reinforced in the years since that fateful morning.
Every day now, in conversations I have with family, friends, or strangers, I can tell that people are weary and hurting. Some are open about what’s ailing them; others try to hide it. I never pry, but I know there’s more to the story than what I’m being told. I can usually see it in the hollow look in their eyes or hear it in the tired ache in their voice.
I like to call it my sixth sense.
(Or fifth, considering I can’t smell.)
No matter what people share externally, it seems we’re all barely holding it together these days. With everything we’ve been through as a human race in the last decade — COVID, political turmoil, natural disasters, technological changes, and more — people are up to their eyeballs in adversity. And that's before accounting for the individual battles: physical health challenges, poor mental health, disability, financial pressures, relationship issues, grief. The list goes on. Doomscrolling and a 24/7 news cycle only exacerbate these negative feelings.
The problem is, it’s not always easy to recognize when other people are struggling, especially when we’re so wrapped up in our daily concerns. This inward focus creates a myopia that blocks out everything — and everyone — else.
And even if we did notice, we might not get the full story. We’re a judgmental society, and people often don’t feel comfortable exposing their emotional wounds. This creates a vicious cycle. If we can’t tell that others are struggling, and they’re not willing to share their pain, it becomes doubly hard to recognize that we’re not alone in feeling this way, or to reach out for support when we need it. After all, if we don’t think anyone can relate to us, why risk it?
All of this makes it hard to be empathetic. The way we treat each other nowadays is, to put it mildly, terrible. There’s so much confrontation and anger simply because we’ve lost sight of the fact that the other person is a human being. But if we choose to look deeper instead of spewing insults and venom, we might just see that the other person is hurt, scared, and sad, too.
The key to breaking this cycle is cultivating awareness.
The next time someone irritates you, pause before you react, then ask yourself what burdens they might be carrying. Maybe you already know the answer — a difficult marriage or a sick parent, perhaps — but haven’t stopped to factor it in. Or, maybe you don’t know, but you commit to giving them the benefit of the doubt that something is going on beneath the surface.
None of this excuses bad behavior — you still get to have boundaries — but it could change how you respond in the moment.
We’re all struggling. Even professional athletes.
In 2018, NBA star Kevin Love wrote a piece for the Players’ Tribune about a panic attack he experienced in a game the previous year. The episode was so severe that he ran off the court and had to go to the hospital for observation.
For obvious reasons, I related to the symptoms he experienced — the shortness of breath, the racing heart, the feeling like you’re about to die. I’ve had panic attacks several times. But it’s what he wrote later in the essay that struck me:
“It really makes you think about how we are all walking around with experiences and struggles — all kinds of things — and we sometimes think we’re the only ones going through them. The reality is that we probably have a lot in common with what our friends and colleagues and neighbors are dealing with.”
He wrote about my epiphany!
I was so happy that Love shared his story with a wider audience to help those suffering in silence. It’s a message everyone needs to hear.1
That day in South Station was an important milestone on my journey, but it wasn’t all smooth sailing after that. Some of my darkest days were still ahead of me, and I wasn’t able to fully live out this epiphany until years later, when I was ready to confront my deepest pain.
But it at least got me to see, on an intuitive level, that I didn’t have a monopoly on hard times. No one does.
We’re all struggling. The reasons might be different, but the feelings are the same.
One other thing that stands out about this piece is how he demystifies going to therapy. Another important topic!
Your empathy and ability to tune in to all this is what makes your work so energetically appealing, Chris. Thanks for sharing the story of that moment.
Thank you, edifying and illuminating at the same time, a great read.