12/07/2025
What It Means To Be Missing
Lately I’ve found myself swallowed whole—
by work, by travel, by the endless toll.
A cycle spinning faster than I can see,
slowly pulling pieces away from me.
Simple joys—
a quiet minute,
a movie night,
a moment to breathe—
have slipped through my fingers like sand I didn’t know I was losing.
Even showing up for this community,
a space that once nourished me,
has become another place where I’m missing in action.
And for many of us walking this path with disease,
missing isn’t just a word—
it is a weight,
a wound,
a whisper inside our bones.
Missing.
Such a small word,
yet it carries the gravity of entire worlds.
Missing isn’t only the absence of a thing—
it’s the echo left behind.
The space between what was and what is.
The ghost of who you used to be
before trauma rearranged the furniture of your soul.
It is:
• the laughter that once came easily,
• the trust you had before the world broke it,
• the energy you owned before illness took the lead.
It is the phantom limb of life—
you feel what should be there
even when it’s not.
Missing has many faces.
We miss people, yes—
but also the versions of people that no longer exist.
The friend before life hardened them.
The parent before addiction stole their tenderness.
The mentor before they moved on.
And sometimes the greatest missing
is the one inside ourselves.
Illness, trauma, and survival carve us differently.
Parts of us hide.
Parts of us fall silent.
Parts of us wait for the right moment
to return.
And in underserved communities, missing becomes a landscape.
Missing resources.
Missing healthcare.
Missing opportunities that others assume are guaranteed.
Missing the safety net that should’ve been there from the start.
But acknowledging what’s missing
is the first step toward finding—
or creating—
what should have existed all along.
The Weight of Missing
Missing can be heavy.
It drags at the ankles.
It tugs at the heart.
It convinces us that who we were
will never match who we need to become.
But weight can teach.
Weight can steady.
Weight can remind us of what matters most.
You don’t miss things that don’t matter.
The ache is evidence of love,
of longing,
of value.
From the Void, We Create
Trauma survivors do this every day—
turn missing into mission.
Turn pain into purpose.
Turn absence into action.
When something is missing,
we learn to build it.
When support is missing,
we become it.
When representation is missing,
we embody it.
This is how communities survive.
This is how we heal.
This is how we rise.
Community Helps Us Find What’s Lost
Others can see the strengths
we’ve forgotten to look for.
They hold up mirrors
when we forget our own reflection.
They remind us that missing
does not mean broken.
And gaps do not mean unworthy.
Living With What’s Missing
Not every void can be filled.
Not every loss comes back.
Some things remain gone—
but you remain whole.
You can build a beautiful life
around the spaces where the missing sits.
You can honor what’s absent
while celebrating what is still here.
Because missing
is not the end of the story—
it is often the beginning
of a more honest one.
So today, I ask you—
not as a patient,
not as a survivor,
but as a human trying to find balance again:
What are you missing?
What is it trying to teach you?
And what might you reclaim
once you finally name it?
Your missing matters.
You matter.
And even in the gaps—
you are still becoming whole.
~Gregory O. Proctor
