This week I interviewed and wrote articles on six business women from California. I loved hearing their stories about the incredible difficulties they faced on their business journeys, their moments of doubt and wanting to give up, the people who gave them the love they needed to keep trying and press on.

One woman told me that she has a group of friends who always remind her:

“It will get hard, but you’re not alone.”

I love that so much.

The truth is that providing for ourselves and our families, earning a living, finding the money to pay bills, they’re all difficult and exhausting and can leave us feeling very much alone. Especially when things go wrong and we can’t provide or earn a living or find the money to pay bills.

In those hard times, the easiest thing to do is pull back from others, hide our fears and insecurities and self-doubts, pretend that everything is peachy. But, for me at least, that only deepens the feeling of being alone, and intensifies the fearful belief that maybe this time we’ll fail so spectacularly that there will be no recovery.

This year I’ve been practicing truth. Sharing my reality with those I trust.

Being that vulnerable has scared the hell out of me. Every single time I’m sure that this time, this situation, this failure or fear, is going to mean rejection.

But I do it anyway. Because I want real connections with my loves. Not pretend ones where I let them think I’ve got it all together and don’t need them. I DON’T have it all together, and I DO need them. So much.

I need them to make me laugh when I’m freaking out.

I need them to assure me that yes, it really can get worse, but I’ll still love you and think you’re awesomesauce.

I need them to let me cry without attempting to fix anything, and then try to fix it with outrageous suggestions that just might work.

I need them to say, “Me too.” “I get it.” “babe, I’m so sorry, that really sucks.”

I need them to hug me tight and remind me that I’m worth loving.

And they need those things from me.

So I do it anyway. I keep the Skype meeting and pick up the phone call. I answer the text message and send the email. I invite them over and I go to their place. I keep those lines of connection open even when it terrifies me, because I want real relationships and real love based on reality.

I do it anyway most of the time. I still have my moments where I let shame and fear override my love and trust.

The past few months have tested me as another job fell through and I got further behind on paying my bills. I felt foolish and small and not good enough. I hid out for a bit, believing the lie that people would only want to spend time with me if I was successful and savvy with all my ducks in a row.

A friend found me in that sad place. And dragged me out. We talked and cried together and shared how we were actually both in the same sad place, but didn’t know it until we opened up. We felt so much better. Still poor, still scared, but better because we weren’t alone, and someone understood.

So, comforted in our not-aloneness, we press on. We keep trying – because that’s our superpower – we keep loving and letting others love us – because life isn’t worth living otherwise – and we keep hoping against hope knowing the hard times won’t stay forever.

“It will get hard, but you’re not alone.”