THE PAIN THAT LIES BENEATH.

On June 24, 2019, I fell off of an 80-plus-foot cliff on a mountain in Mexico. I broke my back, my neck, my sternum, my shoulder, my knee, and eight ribs, and suffered a collapsed lung and a concussion to boot, as well as lacerations all over my body.

I’m exceedingly grateful to be alive, yet still have a long road ahead in the overall healing process. My epidermis has all but healed, but my bones have not.

I am not the only one whose pain lies beneath the skin.

Never judge a book by its cover, or a man by his smile.

Underneath my grin and my skin lie 19 broken bones. Difficulty breathing. Difficulty sleeping. Difficulty moving. Difficulty lying still. Constant, clawing, throbbing, often excruciating pain.

All the lacerations that once decorated my hands, arms and legs have turned to pink patches, barely noticeable from any distance. My face, for its part, looks just as ravishing as it did before the fall, with just two solitary scars on my lip and forehead betraying what I have endured. Modesty? I left it on a mountain in Mexico.

My external injuries have all but healed. My internal injuries have not. But, unless you catch me holding my grotesquely broken sternum in pain, or see me take off my hat, revealing huge strips of missing scalp, you may not know what I’ve been through.

Just because someone doesn’t wear his or her pain on the outside doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

You see me standing up, smiling, and getting around better. Back mixing drinks on TV. Driving to and from The Dalles. But at home, I still spend 21 hours a day alternating between my bed and my recliner, looking for the elusive combination of painkillers and supplements and essential oils that will actually enable me to have a few fleeting pain-free moments.

It’s not that I’m hiding my pain; it’s that it’s hiding itself.

The same goes for your coworker, your neighbor, your friend. The man who cut you off on the freeway. The woman who screamed at you in line at the grocery store. The same goes for you.

We may never know the depth of the pain that lies beneath the skin of each and every human.

Perhaps their, perhaps your, pain is physical, but perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps it’s the ache of unrequited love. Of loneliness. Of financial difficulty. Of failure at work. Of the untimely death of one they love. Of feeling lost in a world that’s all too easy to get lost in.

Every so often, we see glimpses of others' carefully guarded pain in a snarky response, an impatient glance, a tear-stained eye. But, rather than smile and show some grace, the grace that we ourselves expect, we snap back at them, judge, gossip, and make assumptions.

Everybody hurts. Not everyone has nineteen fractures, and I certainly don’t wish my current condition upon anyone, friend or foe. But, whether broken bones or a broken heart, pain comes for us all. It’s in pain that we find our deepest connection with other humans, yet so often we keep our agony safely hidden under lock and key. Why? Because of the way others have responded to our vulnerability in the past, and will respond in the future. Because others have trivialized our pain, or preyed upon it. Made it worse, even through a well-meaning response.

Sometimes vulnerability is the hardest part of all, but true healing can’t take place without it. For me, asking for help back up from a couch because my back is broken is easy. But asking for help back up from the sadness, the despair that my constant physical pain, and inability to do anything that typically brings me happiness, has left me in has proven to be a lot harder. Like it or not, suffering takes its toll on our souls. Changes us. Breaks us, if we are unwilling or unable to open up and reach out.

Anyone can be a friend when skies are blue. Harder, though, is being there through the storm. The hospital visits, the tears, the cries for help. Further complicating matters, not everyone is willing or able to be vulnerable when they need strength the most. Don’t assume that the inside matches the outside. If someone seems strong in the midst of the hardest of times, it’s probably because they’re in need of someone they can be weak with. Be that person. Chances are, someday soon you will need someone to be that person for you.

It’s through being honest about our own pain that we find the heart to help others through theirs. It’s in weakness that we are strong. It’s in each other that we find ourselves.

Without pain, there can be no healing.

The next time you see someone with their hand on their chest, don’t just walk on by. It could be a hurting sternum, or a hurting heart. Make the time, take the time, to be the one to ease the pain that lies beneath.