The Weight of Raindrops

Let me share a story about Ethan, a man who carried the weight of loss. Life had dealt him a tough hand—love slipping through his fingers, a job lost, and dreams shattered like fragile glass. The rain outside mirrored his grief, almost mockingly as it fell… relentless and unyielding.

One day, he stumbled into a cozy café, raindrops clinging to his coat. There sat Sophie, her eyes tracing the rain’s path down the sidewalk outside. She smiled, and in that moment, Ethan felt a flicker of warmth.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

Sophie nodded. “Rainy days are for shared stories.”

They talked about inconsequential things—the smell of old books, the taste of forgotten memories. Sophie listened as if every word mattered, as if Ethan’s broken heart was a precious artifact.

“You know,” she said, stirring her coffee, “it’s okay not to be okay.”

Ethan scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You haven’t lost everything.”

Sophie leaned closer. “Loss doesn’t define us. It shapes us. Like rain eroding stone, it carves out space for something new.”

He traced the rim of his cup. “But I’m drowning.”

“Sometimes,” Sophie whispered, “we need to let the rain wash over us. Pretending it’s not there only makes the rain feel more offensive, and creates a victim in us. Feeling it wash over you, perhaps even crying... it doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”

And so, they sat there, rain tapping against the window, sharing stories of heartache and hope. Sophie told him about her failed bakery, how she’d kneaded dough until her fingers bled, only to watch it crumble. “But,” she said, “I found solace in the crumbs—the imperfect pieces that held sweetness.”

Ethan wiped his eyes. “What’s my sweetness?”

Sophie’s gaze softened. “Your words. You write, don’t you?”

He nodded. “In journals. Hidden away.”

“Bring them into the light,” she urged. “Let your pain bleed onto the pages. Maybe someone else needs to read your brokenness.”

Days turned into weeks, and Ethan wrote like a man possessed. His words spilled onto paper, raw and unfiltered. He shared them online, and strangers reached out, saying, “Your pain echoes mine.”

Sophie’s bakery reopened, this time as a cozy book café. She hung Ethan’s poems on the walls, alongside steaming mugs of chai and cinnamon rolls. “Your sweetness,” she said, “is in these verses.”

One rainy evening, Ethan stood before a crowd—strangers, friends, and Sophie. His voice trembled as he recited a poem about loss and redemption. Tears flowed, but this time, they were healing rain.

Afterward, Sophie hugged him. “You’re not just a man who lost. You’re a man who found.”

So, when life feels like a storm, remember Ethan and Sophie. Sometimes, it’s okay to let the rain soak your skin, to taste its bitterness. Not that we wallow in it, hopeless; that’s not what I’m talking about. But, It’s okay to not be okay; to feel a full spectrum of emotions, positive and negative. And when it rains, remember it won’t feel like that forever. But also know that within those raindrops lies the promise of renewal—a chance to rise, to dream, and to find sweetness… which is the gift in brokenness.

(Skip into my next blog, Imperfect Disaster for 5 mindset shifts around not being okay.)

Live life well, my friend.

-Coach Rebecca