I had misunderstood what it meant to be complex.

Every person will encounter moments when the identity they once knew no longer seems to fit. We may call these moments identity crises, but perhaps they are also invitations — opportunities to decide what we will carry forward and what we are finally ready to release.

We may be afraid of the person we are becoming, but fear does not always have to lead. Sometimes it can remain quietly in the background while we take the next step.

We will never know what is possible until we try.

The Lives We Do Not See

There is a word — sonder — used to describe the realization that every stranger we encounter has a life as vivid, complicated, and detailed as our own.

It can be difficult to step outside our own thoughts long enough to recognize this.

Many of us move through our days focused on responsibilities, disappointments, deadlines, memories, and the things that must be done next. We are not always given the luxury of pausing. For those whose lives are shaped by survival, financial pressure, caregiving, or constant uncertainty, being fully present can feel almost impossible.

Lately, I have been given opportunities to witness the complexity of another human being. I have been surrounded by people my entire life, yet I had never before been pushed so painfully into the present — forced to stop, pay attention, and truly notice someone else.

We have a habit of labelling people. We place them inside the boxes created by the roles they occupy in our lives: friend, parent, sibling, partner, colleague or stranger.

Then, occasionally, something breaks through our assumptions and reminds us:

Trixe at the Window

Imagine Trixe sitting alone in a café, staring through the window and becoming lost in her thoughts.

She has been facing changes for which she was not prepared. She feels stuck while her friends appear to be moving forward, receiving new opportunities and building new lives.

Trixe has begun to distance herself from them.

They could not possibly understand, she thinks. They might laugh at me. They might think I am incapable of making good decisions. We are clearly in different places in life. What could they say that would make any difference?

She sits there, tangled within the web of her own thoughts.

“Hey, Trixe!”

She looks up and sees a close friend standing beside the table.

“I called you before. Are you all right?”

“Oh, sorry,” Trixe answers. “I was somewhere else.”

Her friend smiles. “I know the feeling. Everything has felt like a dream lately.”

Trixe nods and begins turning towards the window again.

Then her friend continues.

“It is strange. I feel as though I have been thrown into a lake and told to swim or die — but I do not know how to swim.”

Trixe turns back immediately.

For a moment, they stare at each other. Then they share a quiet laugh — not because either situation is funny, but because each suddenly recognizes something familiar in the other.

Trixe’s shoulders relax. Her assumptions begin to loosen.

She had believed that her friend could not understand her because their lives appeared different. She had forgotten that outward progress does not reveal every private struggle.

They speak for hours, slowly unravelling their thoughts and deepening their bond.

So here is my question for Trixe — and for you:

Most of us have encountered someone who seemed to understand precisely what we were experiencing.

It may have been a lifelong friend or a stranger passing briefly through our lives. It may have happened through a conversation, a video, a film, a book or a song.

Someone existed on the other side of those words.

Someone felt something deeply enough to express it — and, without ever meeting us, made us feel less alone.

When Understanding Becomes Rescuing

We are not exactly the same people we were yesterday.

Each day adds something to us: another experience, disappointment, lesson, question or realization. Sometimes, when we finally understand the lesson within an experience, we feel compelled to share it.

That desire can be beautiful.

When we recognize an old and destructive pattern forming in someone we love, we may want to protect that person from walking down a road already familiar to us. We remember what it cost us, and we want to become the rescuer we once needed.

But being able to recognize someone’s struggle does not mean we can control what that person does next.

I have learned this between moments of hurtful words, strained conversations, heated emotions and thoughts that would not stop spinning.

I may understand what another person is experiencing. I may even have endured something remarkably similar.

However, experience will often remain the most convincing teacher.

There is only so much we can say or do to prove that we understand. When someone is still inside the storm, it can be difficult to hear advice from someone standing outside it.

Even when that person has survived the same kind of storm, we may still tell ourselves:

And yes, you are different.

But the pattern may not be.

Love Without Control

For those who want to become the hero they once needed, pause for a moment.

Before rushing forward, try to understand the person and the situation before you.

These truths can be difficult to accept, especially when we believe we know what would make someone’s life better.

But human beings possess choice.

Love does not always require us to intervene. Sometimes love means listening without judgement. Sometimes it means offering guidance once and allowing the other person to decide what to do with it. Sometimes it means remaining nearby.

And sometimes it means stepping back.

We must learn which battles belong to us and which ones do not.

People will make their own decisions. We can offer compassion, experience, warning and support, but we cannot live another person’s life on their behalf.

Perhaps that is what makes people so fascinating — and so difficult to love.

We are each composed of memories, contradictions, wounds, hopes, fears and choices. We are constantly changing, yet we still carry pieces of everyone we have been.

Not because they are easy to understand, but because none of us were ever meant to be simple.

Originally published on Medium on January 17, 2026, by Abi Bennett. Republished by The Proverbial Messenger with the author’s permission and edited for clarity, structure and flow.