From Poor You to Power in You

There’s a quiet violence in pity.

It may dress itself in sympathy, wear the mask of kindness, and even sound like compassion.
But pity often leans back, not in—
and what it offers is distance, not depth.
It says, “I see your pain, and I’m glad it’s not mine.”

When we say “I’m sorry” in that tone—the “poor you” tone—we shrink someone’s story into something fragile, something less.
As if trauma makes someone pitiful, instead of powerful.

But those who’ve lived through trauma are not shattered glass.
They are scorched earth where something holy still grows.
They are unfinished poems, rewritten mid-sentence, still speaking.

So what if we stopped offering condolences like veils,
and instead offered reverence like light?

What if, instead of “poor you,” we said:

• “I honor what you’ve carried.”
• “There is power in your survival, not shame.”
• “You’re not less because of this—you are layered.”

We don’t need to rescue people from their pain.
We need to meet them in their truth, without the need to tidy it up.
To witness without fixing.
To listen without labeling.
To hold space without subtly shrinking them with our discomfort.

There is nothing poor about someone who has endured.
There is power in them.

The kind of power that comes from being cracked open and still choosing love.
From waking up when numbness would be easier.
From speaking truth in a world that often silences.

So next time someone shares their pain with you,
don’t look down on them in sympathy.
Look toward them in awe.

Because the story they carry is not a weakness to mourn—
It is a strength to respect.