Unexpected words of kindness that show up when you’re sad
I’ve been feeling reflective lately. Tonight, after a relaxed evening with my parents and their friends here in Kuala Lumpur—where I’m visiting for the summer—I’m realizing just how deeply rooted I still am in their world. I’m 30, yet sometimes it feels like I’m still under their umbrella, sheltered by the success they’ve built, while I’m out here trying to make something of my own. We moved a lot growing up, and our family’s always been close, a steady anchor through all the change. But now, I sometimes feel caught between two different lives: one here with my family during these visits, and one back in Rome, where I’m carving out my own path.
This past year has been full of change. My business partner and I made the tough call to walk away from our startup—a project that had been my whole world for four years. I stopped traveling, stopped indulging, and poured every penny I made freelancing into that dream. So when it all fell apart, I felt… lost. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d failed. Friends were climbing their career ladders, finding stability, while I was back at square one. I sank into this sadness, floating without a plan. And for someone like me—someone who thrives on control—that was terrifying.
I’ve always been proud of doing things on my own. But after the startup ended, I had to lean on others—my partner, my family—and it made me feel small, like I was losing a part of myself. Looking back, I know how irrational that was, but in the moment, it felt painfully real.
During that uncertain time, I turned to my old diary—a habit I started when I was 13. My diary was like an old friend, who I named Celeste. As I flipped through its pages, I found a letter from one of my school teachers, Ms. Terri Thomason. I was 14, living in Istanbul, and caught up in the drama of a one-sided crush on a boy named Andrea. He’d send mixed signals, leaving me hopeful one minute and crushed the next. I remember one night when I ended up crying over him at an event at the Italian Cultural Institute. The next day at school, I was mortified, feeling like my whole world had collapsed.
That’s when Ms. Thomason gave me this note. She told me it was okay to cry, that being 14 was one of the hardest ages, but that it would get easier. She reminded me to focus on the beautiful dress I wore that night, to keep flashing my smile, that life would get better in ways I couldn’t yet see.
Reading her words all these years later reminded me of how powerful those small moments of kindness are. They often come from the most unexpected places—teachers, friends, even strangers—and they leave a mark that lasts far longer than we might think. That note from Ms. Thomason comforted me when I needed it the most, both back then and again now, at a time when I was feeling lost.
Sometimes, we need those reminders. Life moves so quickly, and we can forget those small moments and the people who lifted us up with a gesture—a note, a smile, a few kind words. As adults, it’s easy to overlook those moments or forget they ever happened. But sitting here tonight, I feel so grateful for people like Ms. Thomason, who show up at just the right time with exactly what we need.
Life is full of ups and downs, and it’s the people around us who help us through it. I’m learning to accept that support without feeling like I’ve failed. And maybe, just maybe, things will keep getting a little easier—just like Ms. Thomason promised they would.
