But They Were Kind Sometimes

A Gentle Guided Meditation for Confusion, Hope, and Letting Go

If part of you still finds yourself remembering the tenderness…

the laughter…

the moments that felt warm and hopeful…

this gentle guided meditation is for you.

After emotionally painful or confusing relationships, many women quietly struggle with the same painful contradiction:

But they were kind sometimes.

In this meditation, Kate offers compassionate reflection for emotional confusion, grief, hope, attachment, and the exhausting experience of trying to make sense of relationships that contained both tenderness and pain.

Together, we gently explore the complexity of holding conflicting emotions without shame — and the possibility of moving toward peace without forcing yourself to erase the good moments.

This meditation is offered for emotional support and reflection. It is not therapy, medical care, or a substitute for professional mental health care.

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Disclaimer: This podcast offers educational and supportive content only. It is not therapy, counseling, or medical treatment. If you are experiencing mental health symptoms or are in crisis, please seek help from a licensed professional or crisis service in your area.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

I wonder if this thought has followed you around. But they were kind sometimes. Perhaps the heart keeps returning to certain memories. Memories of the good times. Moments that felt warm, gentle, connected, hopeful. Moments where things seemed softer. Where love felt possible, and you found proof of their goodness. Perhaps that is part of what makes making sense so difficult. Because alongside those moments there was also hurt, control, perhaps explosions or manipulation, distance, disappointment, pain. If that feels familiar, this meditation is for you. Welcome. I'm Kate. These are the words I once longed to hear. And I offer them to you now. As always, this meditation is for gentle support and reflection only. It's not a substitute for therapy or medical care or professional mental health support. Let's begin today by settling into a quiet and safe place. A place that feels comfortable, where you're not likely to be disturbed. Sit down or lie down. Settling into this time carved out just for you. A gentle pause in your day. Bringing awareness to the breath with a gentle breath in. Another breath in. A breath out. And just noticing any tension or tightness that you might be arriving with today. Perhaps softening the muscles in your face, the jaw, the neck. Loosening the shoulders, the arms, the wrists, the hands, softening the fingers. Letting go of any tightness across the throat or the chest. Any pressure or tension in the belly or the hips. Softening the legs, the knees, the ankles, the feet, settling into what's holding you here today. The chair of the bed, the couch, floor, the earth beneath. It's arriving a little more fully now into this moment. Is time carved out for you with nothing to be solved? Just presence. Presence of this mind and body in this moment. Just this breathing, softening, existing exactly as you are, with a gentle breath in, and a gentle breath out, noticing the support beneath you, the quiet steadiness holding you, the air moving softly around you. Noticing that in this moment, you're safe enough to soften just a little. The moments you wanted to believe in, the conversations and laughter, the shared experiences, the affection, the hope. And perhaps there were moments when it truly felt as though things might become safe and steady. And letting go of those moments can feel incredibly painful. Especially when another part of the heart keeps asking, but what part was real? The tenderness or the hurt? The closeness or the distance. And dear one, confusion often grows where kindness and hurt exist side by side. It's hard to let go of someone who gave just enough tenderness to keep hope alive. Just enough tenderness to keep hope alive. Sometimes and safe. Or for aching for the version of them who once felt gentle and attentive or present. Perhaps part of you still wishes the tenderness has lasted. Not because the pain was imagined or didn't matter, and not because the pain erased every meaningful moment, or that every meaningful moment erased the pain. But because human hearts naturally reach towards warmth, toward connection and love. And it's reasonable to trust when someone seems trustworthy. Sometimes the deepest grief comes from recognizing that moments of tenderness were not enough to create lasting safety. They don't erase what was wrong. They're not enough. Taking another gentle breath in, and a gentle breath out, and allowing yourself to soften around that truth. Sometimes the deepest grief comes from realizing that moments of tenderness were not enough. They don't erase what happened. They don't somehow make up for pain. Following the gentle breath in through the nose, down into the lungs, and a gentle breath out. And again, a gentle breath in, and a gentle breath out, and relaxing even further into this moment, letting go of any tension you may still be holding, any areas of tightness, and bringing awareness to the body to areas that may still be holding tension from the emotional confusion, perhaps areas of tightness or heaviness. Something's there. It can be incredibly exhausting. Especially when the mind keeps replaying memories, trying to understand, trying to reconcile tenderness with pain. Trying to understand how someone could hold you gently one moment and wound you so deeply the next. A kind of emotional uncertainty that can leave the heart feeling deeply unsettled. So here in this moment, giving permission to stop trying to solve the entire relationship and trying to make sense of it all. No need to abandon your own experience simply because some parts of the relationship had kindness. Imagine settling down any of that tension that the body may be holding. Any of the tension from trying to make sense of it all, trying to reconcile the memories. Gentle light to any areas that have been holding that tension, that contradiction. The but he was kind sometimes, justification, turning to the areas in the body that are holding that and offering beautiful love, tenderness, compassion, bearing witness to this being, of course. Of course, you were trying to make sense of it, dear one. Of course. We're letting them drift by if they don't feel like just the right fit. You're allowed to acknowledge both tenderness, the good times, and pain. You're allowed to acknowledge both tenderness, the good times, and pain. One does not erase the other. One does not erase the other. You do not need to shame yourself for trusting or for loving deeply. And true. And steady and true. You have always deserved it and will always deserve it. No matter what. You have always deserved it, dear one, and will always deserve it, no matter what. You are allowed to want relationships where kindness is predictable, where care does not disappear without warning. Where tenderness is not followed by fear or distance or emotional instability. You are allowed to want peace and ease and comfort and calmness and consistency and honesty. And perhaps this next chapter is not about deciding whether every minute was good or bad, and why, but instead about listening more honestly to how your relationship felt inside your heart over time, what it was like to be you, noticing what brought you peace, what repeatedly brought you pain, and without abandonment to yourself in the process. Taking one more gentle breath in, a gentle breath out, opening your eyes if you've had them closed, brightening your gaze, noticing the light, the sounds, the air around you, the support beneath you, noticing yourself on this journey one more day. This precious human being having a human experience. And so you are, dear one. May you be safe, free from inner and outer harm. May you be gentle with your own heart. May you release shame little by little.