Propped on pillows, scrolling on my phone took all the energy my feverish body could muster. Nothing but my red nose, frizzy bedhead, and blooms of tissue scattered on my sheets kept me company.

The digital world would have to do.

Perhaps sensing my desperation to see anything other than my messy bedroom turned sick ward, the social media algorithms started showing me photo after photo of stunning vistas, gorgeous charcuterie boards, and — my personal favorite — beautiful outfits worn by an actual modern-day princess.

 I wonder how much those heels cost, I mused as my feet were still in the mismatched socks from the day before. How does she get those cascading curls so perfect? I thought as I touched my matted hair. Look how well-behaved her kids are, I lamented as I heard my brood wreaking havoc in the living room below.

It’s so easy to imagine that the small glimpses we see of another’s life are the whole of the story.

The truth is, no matter how perfectly coiffed someone may be, there’s more to their lives than the snapshot we see.

Just because it’s invisible doesn’t mean someone else’s heavy load doesn’t exist.

All the money, power, beauty, and prestige in the world can’t protect us from being unfailingly, irrevocably human.

There is no one among us who hasn’t tasted loneliness, who hasn’t held sadness in their hands like wadded-up tissue.

It’s easy for us to imagine that no one else has or will hold the burdens that we do. It’s so natural that I’m not even sure we realize we’re doing it.

The “grass is greener” mentality seeps into our souls – and it’s exacerbated by the countless photos we mindlessly scroll through. It spills over into phrases we utter under our breath, like, Why does this always happen to me? Or Why can’t I be more put together like her?

This way of thinking doesn’t just dehumanize others, but it hurts us too. We sell ourselves the lie that we’re the only ones struggling or grieving. That we’re the only ones who are navigating a broken relationship or an awful health diagnosis. 

We must stay tender to the humanity of others – this is the pathway to empathy, the road to compassion that we’re called to as people of faith.

During those hazy days of my bedroom quarantine, I wrote stories in my mind about the seemingly perfect lives of the people in the pictures I scrolled by.

My joints were achy; my head was pounding. I was on a deadline to finish my book manuscript, but my head was too stuffy even to write my editor a short email to tell her I was sick.

I ached to transport into my phone and be a princess, far away from dirty laundry, mounting deadlines, rambunctious kids, and saltine cracker crumbs hidden in my bedsheets.

Nothing bad ever happens to her, I mumbled as I coveted another $395 pair of the most perfect high heels she probably only wore once.

Slowly but surely, I could drink more than ginger ale. I showered and put on clothes that weren’t sweatpants. I blow-dried my hair for the first time in forever. I felt like a human again! I cracked open the windows and inhaled fresh air.

I entered back into my fantastic, dirty, messy, holy life.

I left my phone on the nightstand.

A couple of years passed.

Then, seemingly overnight, the whole world became captivated by the same princess who kept me company when I was sick.

Everyone was thinking about her, talking about her, writing about her. No one could stop.

Back into my algorithm she went. As I stood in the slowest possible grocery store line (again), I began to get sucked into the gossip, too. 

We all soon found out that she was carrying her own heavy burdens – serious ones like cancer and chemotherapy. 

It’s a tale as old as time – nobody is living in a storybook happily ever after, no matter how charming and shiny their life may seem on the outside. 

We see this in the ancient story of Esther. From the outside looking in, she had it all. She was deemed the most beautiful and named queen. I can imagine the gossip surrounding her. 

Why does she look so sad sometimes? She has the perfect life! Can you imagine how much that necklace cost? Must be nice living such an extravagant lifestyle! Did you hear that she has SEVEN personal palace maids? I’m barely making ends meet, and she gets custom beauty treatments and a personal chef?

But there was more to Esther. She held the trauma of losing both of her parents at an early age. She was part of a marginalized community. She had to conceal who she really was, hiding her family, nationality, and racial background.

Have you ever had to hide part of yourself?

It’s an unbearable, invisible burden.

I wonder if any of the folks who were whispering about her ever stopped to wonder if they were dehumanizing her – and, in turn, themselves – with their gossip.

We don’t have to know all the burdens someone else carries to hold their humanity with care. When we honor the humanity of another, we give ourselves permission to be human, too. When we can zoom out of our realities, we gain a truer perspective of what it means to be in this world.

Yes, privilege is real.

No, most of us are not royalty.

But we are all human.

As people who follow Jesus’s example, we have access to a well of compassion that won’t run dry. We can be slower to speak lies to ourselves and slower to create fairy tales about others.

We can love our neighbors – the poorest among us and those in palaces – as we love ourselves. When we are gentle with ourselves, the wildest thing happens: we become more compassionate toward others, too.

We are carrying heavy burdens, this is true. But we aren’t the only ones. Thanks be to God, we do not bear our burdens alone.

As for me, I’ll be working on not comparing my sick days to royal coronations. 

Listen to today’s article below or wherever you stream podcasts. 

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