Hope Has Calluses
Hope gets talked about like it’s soft — a candle in the dark, a whisper of comfort, something delicate and pure. That’s not the kind of hope most of us live on.
Real hope has calluses. It’s the kind that keeps working after the speeches end and the spotlight fades. It’s built from splinters, stubbornness, and a little bit of spite.
The Hard Truth About “Positive Thinking”
People love to tell you to “stay positive,” as if optimism can pay the rent or fix the system. Positivity is easy when the stakes are low. Hope, the kind that actually changes things, is work.
Hope is making another call when the agency doesn’t respond.
Hope is showing up to the Hill again when the last dozen meetings went nowhere.
Hope is believing that the next person will listen, even though the last ten didn’t.
The truth is, the people most obsessed with telling you to “just have faith” are usually the ones least affected by the outcome.
False Hope Isn’t Hope
And let’s be clear — I’m not talking about false hope. False hope is cruel. It’s the empty promises whispered to make others feel better about what they can’t fix.
When my husband, Jay, was sick, doctors told us that if he endured multiple surgeries — including the complete removal of his stomach — along with rounds of chemo and radiation, he might survive. That wasn’t hope; that was denial dressed as comfort. Offering false hope in the face of brutal reality isn’t compassion — it’s cruelty wrapped in good intentions.
Real hope doesn’t lie to you. It looks you in the eye, tells you the truth, and still says, “We’ll face this together.”
Hope Hurts
Hope hurts because it demands effort from people who are already exhausted. It’s not blind belief; it’s muscle memory. It’s the same motion, over and over, because giving up feels worse than fighting.
I’ve had days when I swore I was done — with advocacy, with paperwork, with chasing down yet another “next step.” But every time I step back, someone else steps forward with a story just like mine, and suddenly, the fight doesn’t feel optional anymore.
Hope may be heavy, but it’s contagious.
The Problem With Inspiration Culture
We’ve turned hope into a marketing tool. Posters with sunsets. Speeches full of buzzwords. Campaign slogans that sound like comfort but deliver nothing.
We don’t need hope that looks good on a bumper sticker. We need hope that gets dirt under its nails and still shows up after being disappointed — again.
The Hope That Works
The hope that actually works isn’t about believing everything will magically get better. It’s about believing that what you’re doing matters, even if the world never thanks you for it.
It’s writing one more email. It’s mentoring one more advocate. It’s answering one more message from a widow who just lost everything.
That’s not blind optimism. That’s grit. That’s endurance dressed as faith.
Hope and Humor Walk Hand in Hand
If you can’t laugh, you won’t last. Humor is how we turn exhaustion into fuel. I’ve cracked jokes in waiting rooms, legislative halls, and parking lots because sometimes laughter is the only way to keep the tears from winning.
Hope without humor turns into martyrdom. Humor without hope turns into cynicism. You need both if you plan to survive this long-term.
The Evolution of Hope
Hope changes as you do. In the beginning, it’s loud — bold, fiery, full of conviction. Then life hits, hard and often, and hope becomes quieter, sturdier. It trades its bright paint for steel.
Now, when I talk about hope, I don’t picture light. I picture hands — scarred, tired, but still reaching. I picture people holding each other up, even when no one else notices.
Hope isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for the ones who’ve been broken and got back up anyway. It’s for the ones who keep trying even when no one claps. It’s for the ones who understand that faith isn’t feeling — it’s function.
Hope works because we do.
— said by Tori Seals, because someone had to say it
