Kindness Found In the Story No One Asks For
my friend didn’t expect an explanation, so I could fully receive her gift
My youngest daughter is graduating from high school this week.
That is a sentence I feel must stand alone. It carries years of effort, hope, and a thousand small moments leading here.
Thankfully, I won’t be standing alone as Avery walks across the stage. I’ll be surrounded by family—and by the memories of the obstacles she overcame to get here.
In celebration, family is coming in from three different states. The last time we all gathered, we pushed several tables together so we could share one long conversation. Ever since conversation cards helped my family through a difficult holiday in 2021, I often bring them out at gatherings to keep the tone uplifting and memories flowing.
Last Thanksgiving, when my extended family was all together, one card in the stack made a significant impact.
“What’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you?” my ten-year-old niece, the designated card reader, read aloud.
My brother-in-law’s reaction was especially memorable.
“Wow,” Jon said, rubbing his jaw in thought. “That’s a great question.”
I could practically see him flipping through the rolodex of his mind, smiling as he remembered the kind gestures he’d received over the years.
“The kindest thing…” Jon repeated, giving weight to the idea of choosing just one.
His pause made us all sit up a little straighter—suddenly the question felt important.
Everyone gave it real thought, and as each person shared their story, we got to experience their moments vicariously. There were more smiles and tears on that question than any other that night—stories of surprise visits, lifesaving advice, and simple gestures that shaped a lifetime.
I really wanted to share the kindest thing anyone ever did for me. But in the moment, the story felt too heavy. I’ve carried it with me ever since—especially as we’ve gotten closer to graduation day. Now feels like the right time.
As both of my daughters started a new school year in August 2021, I quietly ached from the internal wounds left by what I’ve come to call the Summer of Devastation. A traumatic event in my daughter’s life had occurred. Then came the aftermath. Then the downward spiral. Perhaps the only thing worse than the world turning against you during adolescence is turning against yourself.
And as a mother, watching your child spiral downward is its own kind of heartbreak.
By August, I was a shell of myself. Everything felt dark, and I couldn’t talk about it—because it wasn’t my story to tell. I’d pulled away from almost everyone outside of my family.
A neighbor and friend, whose child was in the same grade as mine, knew it had been a difficult summer for us. She reached out and offered to take me to a place she visits when she needs to feel restored and cared for.
“You don’t have to tell me anything about what happened,” she added gently.
The relief that left my body in that moment was immense. It was as if she had named—and erased—my greatest fear: that she would expect an explanation.
A few days later, we pulled up to a fancy hotel in the city that housed a very special spa.
As we walked towards the entrance, I could feel my friend’s excitement.
“I just love the way this place smells,” she said with a smile. “The minute I walk in, I instantly relax.”
Tears came to my eyes. This truly was her place of peace—and she was sharing it with me.
That day, I had the most nourishing massage with mandarin orange scented oil. I was wrapped in warm towels. Soft music played in the background. Gentle hands eased my tension as silent tears slipped into the face cradle.
For the first time all summer, I felt safe; I felt cared for; I felt unalone.
It was the kindest thing anyone ever did for me.
No strings.
No expectations.
Just love.
What I learned from my friend’s quiet act of love is something I’ll never forget: when someone is in pain, they don’t need our curiosity—they need our presence. True kindness doesn’t demand a story. It simply offers itself with open hands and no expectations. That kind of love is powerful. That kind of love can carry people.
There was a time I couldn’t imagine this day—my daughter in her cap and gown, walking across that stage, radiant and strong. But here we are. And while the journey was shaped by resilience and healing, it was kindness—steady, quiet, unwavering—that brought us through.
On Friday, when Avery turns her tassel, I’ll be thinking not only of how far she’s come, but of the people who helped us get here. This isn’t just a celebration of achievement. It’s a celebration of life.
My hand in yours,
Rachel
📝 A note about the conversation cards we use:
After our family went through a traumatic event, even something as simple as dinner conversation could feel heavy. The Lumitory Conversation Cards became an unexpected gift. They helped us navigate awkward silences, gently redirected us away from tender topics, and reminded us of what we still cherished about each other. Whether around a holiday table, during a quiet one-on-one, or on a long summer road trip, these cards invite meaningful stories, fresh laughter, and new understanding.
A women-owned company, Lumitory offers a variety of thoughtfully designed sets: in addition to the family and holiday decks, there are versions for couples, classrooms, Girls’ Night, wedding receptions, and even a Legacy set for conversations with aging loved ones.
You can explore all the options here. They don’t just fill the space—they help us reconnect.
🪜🌳 May Treehouse Gathering is THIS SUNDAY!
Topic: Navigating Unkindness & Finding Your Way Back to Yourself
As I’ve reflected on the power of kindness—both given and received—I’ve also been thinking about what happens when the opposite shows up. I’ve been carrying around a book I reached for one night after a friend’s unkindness left me spiraling. It reminded me just how easy it is to get lost in the maze of hurt and confusion, especially when the pain comes from someone close.
In Sunday’s Zoom gathering, we’ll explore how to not get lost in that maze. I’ll share a simple but powerful tool that’s helping me find my way back to myself—and I’ll talk about the kindest thing I did for myself in the wake of that experience. I hope it gives you something healing to hold onto, too.
🩷 These gatherings are intentionally kept small and personal—open to paid subscribers so we can hold space for one another with safety and care. Zoom details are available below. If you can’t attend live, the teaching portion will be recorded and made available to you.
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