The Art of Grit

(5 Minutes)

There’s something about Frida Kahlo’s words—“Only a mountain can know the core of another mountain”—that has always stayed with me. It’s a simple yet profound truth about the human experience. We walk through life surrounded by people, yet there are times when we feel utterly unseen or misunderstood. And then, sometimes unexpectedly, we encounter someone who doesn’t just listen to us—they know us, in a way that feels like they’ve peered into the hidden valleys of our soul.

I’ve often thought about the metaphor of mountains in this context. From a distance, mountains look solid, imposing, and self-contained. Their peaks reach the sky, but their roots run deep into the earth, unseen. It’s easy to admire a mountain’s beauty and strength, but how often do we stop to consider what lies beneath—the volcanic pressures, the shifting tectonics, the erosion and scars from weathering countless storms?

I wonder if Frida was speaking of her own life when she said this. Her art vividly expressed her physical pain, emotional struggles, and identity—layers of herself that were rarely understood by others. Maybe she realized that only those who had faced their own storms could truly understand the core of her existence.

A Shared Understanding

I remember a time when I felt like I was carrying my world alone. It was during a particularly difficult season in my life—a crossroads where everything seemed uncertain, and the weight of decisions felt overwhelming. I confided in a close friend, expecting polite sympathy at best. But instead of offering generic reassurances, they shared a story about a time when they, too, had faced a similar juncture in their life.

The details weren’t identical, but the emotions were—the doubt, the fear, the quiet hope that somehow things might work out. For the first time, I didn’t feel the need to explain myself or justify my feelings. In their presence, I felt seen. It was as though our shared struggles made us kin, two mountains recognizing each other from across the horizon.

The Power of Vulnerability

When my son faced an unexpected setback in his athletic career, I saw this principle play out again. As a parent, my instinct was to shield him, to make his path easier. But I soon realized that his journey wasn’t mine to rewrite. Instead, I shared a story of my own failure years ago—one that had taught me resilience in a way success never could.

In sharing my story, I wasn’t just offering advice; I was opening a window into my own core. He listened quietly, and though he didn’t say much, I could see a shift in his expression—a quiet recognition. He knew I wasn’t trying to diminish his pain or rush him to “move on.” Instead, I was standing beside him as another mountain, acknowledging his struggle while reminding him of the strength he already carried.

An Invitation to Empathy

Frida’s words remind us of the importance of empathy, but also of patience. Sometimes, when we’re struggling, it feels like no one can possibly understand what we’re going through. And yet, there are others—fellow mountains—who have weathered their own storms and carry scars not unlike ours.

The challenge, of course, is that we can’t always recognize these kindred spirits unless we’re willing to be vulnerable ourselves. Sharing our stories, our scars, and our hidden cores invites others to do the same. It’s a risk, certainly, but one that often leads to the kind of deep connection Frida must have craved.

A Quiet Reflection

What if we treated every person we met as a mountain? What if we looked beyond the surface and wondered about the layers beneath—the pressures, the upheavals, the quiet strength it takes to simply stand tall? I’ve found that when I approach others with this mindset, I’m often surprised by what I discover.

So, here’s my invitation to you: the next time you find yourself in a moment of struggle or joy, take a step back and think about the mountains around you. Who might know your core? Whose core might you take the time to understand?

Have you ever met someone who truly understood your core? Or perhaps you’ve been that mountain for someone else. What was that connection like, and how did it shape your view of yourself or others?

Feel free to share your story below or reflect on how Frida’s words resonate with your life. Let’s explore these hidden valleys together—one mountain to another.