The hidden crosses we carry

On October 1, 2021, just two days after my 21st birthday, I got a headache. Like most people, I assumed it would disappear after a few hours. Instead, it marked the beginning of a journey that would change my life forever.

Within weeks, what began as a headache developed into blurred vision and unbearable pain. Soon after, I lost the ability to walk, speak properly, remember simple things, and even care for my basic needs. I became completely dependent on others. I spent weeks in hospital, underwent countless tests and procedures, and saw multiple doctors, yet no one could explain why my body was shutting down. Even today, years later, I continue to live with symptoms and unanswered questions.

As difficult as the physical suffering has been, one of the hardest parts has been carrying a cross that many people cannot see or fully understand.

That cross has taught me one of the greatest lessons of my faith: the reality of the unseen.

As Catholics, we often encounter one another at our best. We gather at Mass, meetings, retreats and parish or archdiocesan events. We smile, laugh, sing, volunteer, work, and worship together. From the outside, it is easy to assume that everyone is doing well.

Appearances can be deceiving.

Someone sitting beside you may be living with chronic pain, wondering how they will pay their medical bills. Another may be grieving a loss. Others may be battling anxiety, depression, loneliness, addiction, family struggles, or questions they are too afraid to voice. Some long to be present but cannot because life has confined them to their homes.

Some crosses are visible. Many are hidden.

Living with an invisible illness has deepened the way I see people. Even before my own suffering, I never intentionally judged others, but I now truly realise and understand how often we only see part of someone’s story.

Every person carries a story that others may never know and some of the deepest wounds leave no visible scars.

Throughout my illness, I have prayed constantly for healing and I still do. There are moments when I question everything: why God seems silent, why scans and tests appear normal while my body continues to fail and why my life changed so suddenly at such a young age without answers.

I still do not know why.

Faith is not the absence of questions, but the decision to trust God even when answers remain unknown. It is the belief that Christ walks beside us, not only after the miracle, but also in hospital beds, scans, blood tests, procedures, clinics, and every moment of uncertainty.

Jesus never promised that His followers would avoid suffering. He said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow me” (Lk 9:23).

Every cross is different. Some are carried openly for the world to see. Others are hidden behind a soft smile, a quiet presence, a gentle wave or a simple ‘I’m okay’.

St Paul reminds us to “bear one another’s burdens.” We are not asked to know every detail of someone’s struggle before showing compassion. We are simply called to love as Christ loves.

Sometimes, the greatest act of Christian charity is not offering advice or trying to fix someone’s pain. Sometimes it is simply being present, listening without judgement, believing their story, praying with them, and reminding them that they do not carry their cross alone.

My journey is still unfolding. I continue to pray for healing and a diagnosis. When or how will it come? God alone holds that answer. But I continue to trust that He is walking with me, even when I cannot see where the road leads. He is present in my mother’s prayers, my father’s presence, my friends’ support and the love of my coworkers. While I would have never chosen this cross, it has transformed me, strengthening my morals and values while broadening my perspective on life.

The next time you notice someone sitting quietly at Mass, missing from ministry or seeming distant at work, remember that there may be a battle you know nothing about.

Before making assumptions, choose kindness. Before offering judgement, choose patience. Before walking away, choose mercy.

The heaviest crosses are often the ones no one else can see. Perhaps one of the greatest ways we can reflect Christ is not only by carrying our own crosses well, but by helping someone else carry theirs even as we carry ours; to walk with others as they carry what we cannot see.