Let’s be honest—this work is messy. It’s heavy. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is sit with someone inside their storm and remind them they’re not alone in it.
I just got off the phone with someone I love deeply. Her life is unraveling under the weight of a storm she can’t control—and her words broke something in me:
“I can’t take this anymore.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard a woman say that. It won’t be the last. And every time I hear it, it settles somewhere deep in my chest. I’ve been there—on the edge, trying to hold it together when everything felt like it was falling apart.
And here’s what I know for sure:
When someone calls you at their lowest moment, it’s not because they want to die—it’s because, somewhere deep inside, they still want to live.
Even if they don’t have the words for it, the act of reaching out is sacred.
See me. Hear me. Help me find myself again.
They called you because something about you feels safe. Familiar. Strong. Maybe you’ve carried your own pain and come through it. Maybe you’re just the kind of woman who can hold space. But make no mistake: they chose you because you feel like solid ground.
So show up as you are.
You don’t need a therapy degree to be a lifeline. What people need—what women in crisis need—is someone who can stop what they’re doing and listen without judgment. Not with answers. Not with solutions.
Your willingness to listen—even when the story repeats for the hundredth time.
Because here’s the truth no one wants to admit: people don’t “get over” things on society’s timeline. When someone repeats the same story over and over, it’s not weakness or drama—it’s the shape that trauma takes. Repeating the story is often the only way they know to process what’s happening.
That repetition? It’s effort. It’s survival.
Each time the story is told, there’s an opening—an invitation to offer connection, to place those feelings in a context where things make sense and the spiraling can stop. The situation may not be something that can be fixed, but you can help them focus on what they can hold onto: themselves.
Sometimes that cycle lasts for years. But even in that repetition, there’s movement. A woman who keeps talking is a woman who hasn’t given up. This repetition is not a failure. It’s evidence of someone trying to release the weight of what they’ve carried for far too long.
Too often, people get dismissed for this behavior. Told they’re being dramatic. That they’re stuck. That they’re exhausting. By listening, you interrupt the gaslighting they’ve endured—by partners, by family, by the world. This dismissal of their feelings and lived experience culminates in self-doubt and they stop trusting themselves. That’s why validation matters.
Listening won’t change their circumstance. But you can be the one person who sees them clearly. Who reflects back their worth. Who says, “You’re not crazy. You’re grieving. You’re processing. You’re human.”
The act of listening and validating is what helps reestablish emotional stability—one truth at a time.
Validation isn’t just comfort. It’s a bridge back to self-trust. For women who’ve been told their instincts are wrong, that their feelings are irrational, that their truth is inconvenient—being validated is radical healing.
Sometimes, that’s all someone needs to find their footing again.
There’s no formula for this kind of support. There’s no right script. Just your open heart, your steady presence, and your unwavering belief in another woman’s capacity to heal.
If you’ve ever received one of those calls—or made one—know this:
That moment mattered. That connection mattered.
And you?
You are doing sacred work.
Even when it’s quiet. Even when it’s heavy. Even when the world doesn’t see it.
You are a lifeline.
