Dear Stranger: The Quiet Battles No One Sees

Dear Stranger,

I don’t know who you are, but I’m glad you’re here, reading this. Maybe you’ve felt alone before, really alone, in a way no one seems to understand. Maybe you’ve smiled through pain, or kept quiet about struggles that feel too heavy to share. If that’s you, this letter is for both of us.

Living with fibromyalgia and depression is like having a guest in your body who refuses to leave. Some days, this guest is quiet enough to let me breathe. Other days, it’s loud and demanding, stealing my energy and scrambling my thoughts like a storm inside my head.

I recently found out that I am going to lose my job because of my health. It was a blow I wasn’t ready for. Suddenly, the stress hit me like a freight train. Now, I lie awake at night, unable to sleep because my mind won’t stop racing. I worry about how I’ll pay my bills, keep my health insurance’s in , and somehow keep everything from falling apart. The weight of it all is almost too much to bear.

I still get up every day and try to keep going, but some days it feels impossible. My body aches like I’ve been hit by a truck, and my mind is a foggy mess. I want to scream, but instead, I put on a brave face. Because that’s what the world expects—strong, okay, capable.

But the truth is, carrying this invisible pain is the hardest kind of strength. When you look fine on the outside but inside you’re breaking, no one knows the real story. People don’t see the battles you fight alone—the mornings when even getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain.

Depression sneaks in quietly, whispering lies that you’re not enough, that you’re a burden. Some days it’s just a dull ache in my heart; other days, it feels like a storm that won’t stop raging. It makes me question why I even try.

I’m not telling you this because I want your pity. I want you to understand what it’s like to live with pain no one sees, to struggle when the world thinks you should be fine. I want you to know that beneath the surface, there is a fight happening—a fight for hope, for peace, for just a little relief.

There’s a loneliness that comes with all of this. People cancel plans because they don’t know how to handle the unpredictability. Friends stop calling. Family gets frustrated, wanting you to be better, even when you can’t explain how hard it really is.

Sometimes, the only way I cope is with humor—laughing at myself when I show up with two different shoes or forget what I was about to say. It’s silly, but it helps me keep going. Because surviving this every day isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being human.

Faith has been a quiet comfort. It doesn’t take the pain away, but it gives me something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. Sometimes, I whisper prayers in the dark, asking for patience and strength to face another day.

If you see someone struggling, you don’t have to fix them. Sometimes just being there, listening without judgment, or offering a kind word means more than you know.

I’m sharing this because the truth needs to be told. We all have battles no one sees. And maybe, by sharing mine, I can remind you that you’re not alone either.

Thank you for reading, dear stranger. For holding space for my story. For being human with me.

If you have a story to share, need advice, an ear to listen, or have any ideas please feel free to message me. I would love to hear from you.

With hope,

Sarah