What to Grasp Onto When You Don’t Know What to Grasp Onto

by Lonnie King

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Some mornings, it’s hard to get out of bed.

Not because you’re lazy or weak, but because everything feels like fog—like the things that used to hold you up just aren’t there anymore.

• Maybe you’ve lost your job.
• Maybe your relationship just ended.
• Maybe you’re carrying a diagnosis that feels like both a relief and a weight.
• Maybe you’re trying to hold yourself together when everything inside feels like it’s unraveling.

I know someone walking through that right now—someone I love deeply.

That person is brave and smart and kind, even though they don’t always believe it. Life has knocked them down more times than it should, and this time, the fall hit especially hard. They’ve been honest about the darkness they’re in. And I admire that honesty.

I admire that person I love.

I think there are more people like that than we talk about. People who are trying to find something—anything—to grab onto that feels real. Something solid. Something true.

Maybe you’re one of them.

And maybe, like this person, you grew up in a version of faith that offered too many quick answers and too little space for pain. Maybe your spiritual roots are tangled up in fear or pressure or silence. Maybe you’ve walked away, or maybe you’ve just quietly drifted out of reach from the religious world that used to feel like home.

If that’s you, I get it.

I’ve Been There Too

Here’s what I’m (still) learning: You don’t have to throw out everything in order to walk away from what hurt you. You don’t have to stay bound to a rigid religion to still believe in something deeper. Something good. Something worth holding onto.

You can let go of dogma and still hold on to wonder. You can stop pretending and still keep showing up. You can question everything and still have hope.

Faith, at its core, isn’t about certainty—it’s about trust. Even a fragile kind. Even when all you can say is, “I don’t know what’s next, but I’m not giving up.”

Sometimes what you grasp onto isn’t a grand belief. It’s a moment.

• A breath.
• A song that makes you feel something again.
• A friend who stays.
• A therapist who listens.
• A pet who curls up next to you when words don’t help.

And sometimes that’s enough to get you through the day.

What if You’re the One Trying to Help?

What if you’re the parent, the partner, the friend—watching someone you love fall apart?

What if you feel helpless, or worse—partly responsible?

That’s where I find myself right now.

It’s one thing to say “you’re not alone” to someone in pain. It’s another to believe it when you’re the one trying to hold space for someone who’s drowning—when the tools you were given don’t seem to work, when the faith you passed down feels like it might have done more harm than good.

If that’s you too… I want to say this as clearly as I can:

• You don’t have to have perfect answers.
• You don’t have to fix it all.
• You don’t even have to pretend to be okay.

Sometimes the best thing you can offer is your presence. Your honesty. Your willingness to say, “I’m here. I don’t have all the answers. But I’m not going anywhere.”

It hurts to feel like you’ve failed someone you love.  But love doesn’t mean always getting it right. It means staying, learning, listening, and showing up differently when you know better.

And maybe that’s what you grab onto—when you don’t know what else to do. You hold on to love.  Not perfect love. Not painless love.  But real, evolving, humble love.

The kind that doesn’t give up.

You’re Never Alone

To anyone out there feeling lost or overwhelmed or unseen: you’re not alone. Even when it feels like you are.  Even when the systems or beliefs or families that were supposed to hold you up have let you down.

There is still something worth grasping.  Not a platitude.  Not a slogan.  Something quieter.  Deeper.  Truer.

You’re still here. That matters more than you know.

Keep going.

Grace and grit to you! — LK