There’s something that keeps circling in my mind lately… something that feels both obvious and impossible at the same time: how hard it is to see what you need when you’re in the middle of something really, really hard.

A few years ago, I wrote a blog post called You Can’t Stop the Rain. In it, I shared how sometimes life just pours, and no matter how desperately we want to outrun the storm, we’re stuck standing in it, drenched, trying to figure out which way is up.

Lately, I’ve been reminded of that truth in a new way. The storm changes, the scenery changes, the intensity changes. But the feeling of not being able to see clearly while you’re inside it? That, unfortunately, stays the same.

And maybe that’s the piece I needed to relearn.

When you’re struggling, your world shrinks

It’s like your brain goes into survival mode. You’re exhausted, you’re overwhelmed, you’re doing everything you can just to put one foot in front of the other, and that narrow, blurry tunnel becomes your whole world.

It’s not that you don’t want to help yourself.

It’s not that you’re ignoring the signs.

It’s that you simply don’t have the capacity to see beyond what’s right in front of you.

Looking back at some of the hardest moments of my life, I can see that so clearly now. But in the moment? I couldn’t see anything.

The time my therapist gently asked me a question I didn’t want to hear

When I was in the thick of depression a few years ago, my therapist asked me if I’d considered taking time off work.

I remember blinking at her like she was speaking another language…

Take time off? Me?

That wasn’t even in my realm of possibilities.

Then she said the line that stopped me in my tracks:

“Annick, we can continue to work on this bit by bit, like we have. My question to you is, given your current circumstances, working full time, being a mom of four active boys, living through a pandemic… if you keep going at this pace, will you have the time and energy to do the hard work needed to get you back on your feet?”

And the truth is… no. I wouldn’t have.

But I couldn’t see that at the time.

The antidepressants I “should” have known I needed… but didn’t

Fast forward to now… cancer, chemo, the hardest season of my life… and the same pattern showed up again.

I knew I wasn’t okay.

I felt the heaviness.

I felt myself slipping.

I felt that deep, familiar fog.

And yet… it never once occurred to me to consider going back on antidepressants, even though I’d been on them before and they helped.

It wasn’t until my cancer care therapist gently brought it up that I went, …oh.

Of course.

That makes sense.

Why didn’t I think of that?

Because when you’re drowning, you don’t think,

“Maybe I should grab a life jacket.”

You just try to keep your head above water.

And then there are the needs you don’t recognize at all

Like the fact that my best friend has been coming to my chemo appointments with me.

I went to my first three treatments alone.

Not because I didn’t have support… just because I genuinely thought I was okay. I actually enjoyed the quiet moments with my nurses, the chance to just sit, read, and breathe for a bit.

But by the third treatment, everything hit differently.

Leaving the house felt impossible.

Tears.

Anxiety.

That crushing dread of walking into a place where I knew I’d be putting poison into my body… poison that would wipe me out for nine days straight. My body was struggling, yes… but mentally, I was breaking.

When I told my best friend, Nycol, what that third treatment felt like, she didn’t even pause.

She simply said she was coming with me next time.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It wasn’t a “Do you want me there?”

It was, “I’m coming.”

She knew, before I did, that I shouldn’t be doing this alone.

And since then, I haven’t gone to a single treatment without someone by my side. I won’t. I now know I need that support, that steady presence, that reminder that I don’t have to be strong by myself.

In hindsight, it all seems so obvious

And that’s the wild part.

When you look back, these moments feel like things you “should” have seen coming:

“Of course you needed rest.”

“Of course you needed medication.”

“Of course you needed support.”

But you can’t see clearly from inside the storm.

You don’t have the vantage point.

You don’t have the space.

You don’t have the energy.

You’re just surviving, doing your best with the tiny sliver of capacity you have.

So here’s what I’m reminding myself (and maybe you need it too):

You are not meant to see everything on your own.

Not when you’re hurting.

Not when you’re exhausted.

Not when life is heavy and complicated and unfair.

We need other people.

We need outside eyes.

We need gentle questions that make us pause.

We need reminders of what’s available to us.

We need the friend who just shows up without waiting to be asked.

We need community.

We need care.

We need support.

And we need grace… so much grace… for the fact that we simply can’t see everything when times are hard.

Because that’s not a failure.

That’s being human.