Untold Truths: When the Answer Is No

There is a moment in every life when a prayer is whispered with absolute faith.

A plea for healing.

For mercy.

For a miracle.

For one more day with someone we love.

And there is a particular kind of silence that follows, the kind that holds your breath hostage while you wait for the universe to respond.

We are raised to believe that every prayer will be answered.

What we are not always prepared for is that sometimes the answer… is no.

It is a small word, but it can split a life cleanly into “before” and “after.”

A “no” that stops time.

A “no” that knocks the world off its axis.

A “no” that feels like betrayal — by fate, by God, by the very fabric of existence.

For those who have lost someone, especially prematurely, there is no instruction manual for surviving the devastation.

No blueprint for grief.

No timetable for reconstruction.

The world around you continues in its casual rhythm: cars still drive, birds still sing, bills still need paying.

But inside, everything has collapsed.

It is here, in the wreckage, that hope becomes a fragile thing.

Easy to misplace.

Easier still to abandon entirely.

Because when the answer is no, something inside you breaks —

your plans, your expectations, your imagined futures.

Even your sense of safety.

And sometimes, even your faith.

People will tell you to be strong, but they don’t realise that strength is not always heroic.

Sometimes, strength is simply getting out of bed.

Brushing your teeth.

Replying to one message.

Drinking one glass of water.

Remembering to breathe.

Loss has a way of reshaping the world — slowly, relentlessly, without permission.

Colours lose their brightness.

Music loses its meaning.

Days lose their flavour.

Love loses its guarantees.

And yet, hidden in the quiet rubble of heartbreak, something else takes place — something small but astonishing.

The world does not stop.

And miraculously, neither do you.

This is the part grief never warns you about:

Continuing is an act of courage.

Waking up again is brave.

Finding moments of softness again is brave.

Laughing genuinely and unexpectedly again is brave.

And loving again?

That may be the bravest thing of all.

To open your heart after it has been split open, to trust a universe, a system, a world that has already disappointed you, to let beauty touch you again after devastation — that is not forgetfulness.

It is not weakness.

It is resurrection.

We often talk about survival as though it is a mechanical thing — a choice you simply make.

But anyone who has ever grieved knows that survival is made of a thousand tiny rebellions:

choosing hope even when nothing makes sense,

choosing gratitude even when anger feels easier,

choosing joy in small doses,

choosing to believe that life still holds goodness… somewhere.

Because the truth — the untold truth — is that a “no” from God or from fate is not always cruelty.

Sometimes it is mystery.

Sometimes it is protection.

Sometimes it is timing.

And sometimes, painful as it is,  it is simply life being life.

We are not meant to understand everything.

But we are meant to keep going.

There is a quiet kind of faith that grows in people who’ve heard “no” and lived through it.

A deeper understanding.

A richer compassion.

A tenderness for others who carry invisible losses.

A knowing that suffering changes us, but not always for the worse.

Because when the answer is no, something else begins—

not immediately, not neatly, not miraculously,

but inevitably.

A tiny “yes.”

A new beginning disguised as ordinary days.

A sunrise you didn’t expect to matter.

A person whose presence softens the ache.

A moment of laughter you didn’t see coming.

A reason, however small, to stay one more day.

And this is perhaps the #Unshakable truth:

Everything will be okay in the end.

And if it is not okay,

then this — this painful, confusing, unrecognisable chapter is not the end.

Carry on.

Not because you don’t hurt.

But because you deserve to see what happens after the no.

‘See’ you next week.