My friend in Christ, that is so untrue! You and I are fellow travelers. We have both suffered, and having suffered, we have both walked along the same road. Your suffering is different from mine, yes, but the fact that we have both journeyed along suffering's path gives us the ability to help one another. It is the comfort, not the shared suffering, that allows us a chance to hope.
My life verse--well, passage--is 2 Cor 1:3-7. In short, it explains the reason for our suffering, saying that we suffer so that God can comfort us so that we can comfort others with that same comfort. Romans 5:3-5 says that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope. So if you look at the two passages together, you see that the comfort that we are comforting others with will produce within them character and hope.
Hope is so important. I believe that without hope, the heart dies. Nothing can take away hope faster than the realization that there is no one to help--no one to hold your hand on this journey. Don't misunderstand--God is always there. God is always guarding and protecting. But the touch of a hand, the sound of a human voice, the heartbeat of one who cares can make the difference between hopelessness and hope.
When I first began my walk toward wholeness, I felt isolated and alone, even in the midst of family and friends. It's not that they didn't care--they did. But my pain was too great. It made them uncomfortable, and they shied away. I admit that I probably pushed many away as well. Walking with someone who has undergone unspeakable loss is not easy, and the people don't always behave themselves. I know I didn't. I was unreasonable and needy, and I couldn't respect boundaries. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but my demons didn't respect office hours. I would call friends asking them illogical things, and they would be unable to respond in the way that I wanted them to. That wasn't the point. I needed to know that they would still pick up the phone, knowing that it was me. I needed to know that they would allow me my rants and not shun me. Most of them did; some did not.
Paradoxically, it was only after I found a few close friendships that allowed me the freedom to walk with them and hold on to them that I began to be able to do the hard healing work--the work that has to be done alone. Knowing that I had an anchor made it easier for me to foray into the uncharted waters of wholeness. I would work hard on forgiveness, on feeling love, on feeling anything, and then I would come to a friend's house and unwind. The time I spent with the friend was light after the darkness of self-reflection. The comfort that she provided didn't reflect her suffering. It reflected the comfort that she had received and was passing on to me. Our time together--a time of tea and music and love--didn't just help me to understand what I had to do to "work on it". It gave me hope that a day would come when I no longer had to work on it. And that da did come.
You also have the light to give. You don't have to be healed to give it. We are fellow travelers. We walk together. In the walking, we can come together toward the Light.