The things we carry
A week or so ago, I posted something I wasn’t sure I was ready to share.
It was about the ride.
And all the things it brought to the surface.
Parts of me I’d held long dormant that rose awake.
Truthfully, I hesitated.
For years, I’ve been someone who keeps things light.
Crack a joke. Shrug it off. Roll with the punches.
It’s easier that way.
But not always real.
There was a lot in that post - about connection, resilience, the way people show up for each other when it really matters.
And one part of it was about grief.
Not the poetic kind.
The kind that stays.
Not long after I hit “post,” the messages started to roll in.
Not just comments, but phone calls. Texts. Voice notes. DMs.
Long messages. Quiet ones.
From people I talk to all the time.
And people I hadn’t heard from in years.
And nearly every one of them touched on the same thing.
They’d lost someone.
Or something.
Or a part of themselves.
And they were still carrying it.
Still working out how to move forward around something that never really left.
For some it had been recent.
For others, it had been months.
Years.
Decades.
That response has stuck with me.
It’s reminded me how many of us are walking around with things we don’t speak about.
How many of us feel the pressure to be fine, to be over it, to have “moved on.”
We’re told time heals all wounds.
But some wounds don’t close.
They shift. They dull.
The scar tissue racks up.
It hardens parts of you - threatens to ossify the places that were once soft.
And then, at some point, the world wants you back.
Maybe it’s work.
Deadlines
Deliverables.
People depending on you.
Maybe it’s family.
Kids who still need lunch packed and shoes tied.
A partner who needs you present.
A parent who’s slowly fading and needs care in ways you’re not ready to give.
Or maybe it’s just the quiet pressure of life itself.
The unspoken expectation that, by now, you should be better.
You should be okay.
You should have moved on.
Maybe you’ve been counting the days.
The weeks. The months. The years.
Maybe you haven’t.
But still - you feel it.
This pressure to return to normal.
To be with it.
So you do what most of us do.
You find a way to carry it.
Quietly.
Tightly.
Some days better than others.
Because there aren’t many places in life where it feels okay to be a little bit broken.
A little bit lost.
Still holding something that others can’t see.
And when we keep pushing this idea that time heals everything, we make people feel like they’re failing if they haven’t figured it out yet.
You’re not failing.
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re just human.
Some things stay with us.
And maybe they should.
But here’s what I’ve learned.
Slowly, quietly, over a very long time.
You do get to a point where you start to feel a little more in control.
You begin to see the shape of your own grief.
To understand your triggers.
To feel an emotion rise and know that it’s temporary.
Not in a dismissive way. Not as a coping mechanism.
But as a realisation - earned through deep work - that what you’re feeling now isn’t forever.
It doesn’t mean it gets easy.
But it does become more familiar.
More manageable.
You start to weather the storms.
You learn how to walk through them.
And every time you do, something shifts.
That’s where I find myself now.
Still working through it, but with more clarity.
More tools.
And a lot more hope.
Carrying this theme forward, this afternoon, I’m heading down to the RISE conference in Sydney; a space that brings together people across real estate to talk about the stuff we don’t often make room for.
Mental health.
Wellbeing.
Real stories.
Real people.
Last time I was there, I had the privilege of hearing Jelena Dokic speak about her story and her book Unbreakable.
Her honesty, her strength, are nothing short of inspirational.
She reminded me that we never really know what someone’s carrying.
Only how brave they are for showing up anyway.
Heading into RISE this year, I’m walking in with even more openness, and a deeper understanding of just how important these conversations really are.
I’m also extremely excited to see Steve Carroll stepping into his new role as CEO.
His commitment to real conversations and meaningful change is exactly what our industry, and so many others, need right now.