This poem is inspired by my blog post ‘Why People Enter Your Life: Lessons from the Reason, Season, Lifetime Philosophy’. You can find the full post here:
People enter our lives
not all as blessings,
not all as comforts—
but all as something
that shifts the path beneath our feet.
Some arrive gently—
soft voices, warm hands,
timely kindness.
Their purpose is easy to love,
easy to understand.
But others come in
like storms you didn’t predict—
loud, confusing,
sometimes cruel.
And truthfully—
sometimes you never know.
Some relationships don’t feel
like lessons wrapped in grace.
Some simply bruise you
in places you didn’t know could break.
But even then—
slowly, painfully—
you learn something
about yourself:
what you needed,
what you lacked,
what you refused to see,
what you will never tolerate again.
Some people are a reason,
but the reason isn’t always clear or kind.
Sometimes they show you love you didn’t know you needed.
Sometimes they reveal hurt you didn’t know you carried.
Some bring laughter, others bring grief;
some awaken joy, others stir your deepest shadows.
Sometimes the reason is felt immediately—
other times, you only understand it
years later,
when the lesson finally unfolds.
But whether soft or shattering,
lifting or breaking,
every reason shapes you—
and none come without meaning.
Some people are a season—
and seasons are never just one thing.
Some arrive like spring,
softening you, opening you,
bringing colour you didn’t know you were missing.
Some feel like summer—
warm, expansive, unforgettable—
the kind of days you wish could last forever.
Others come as autumn—
beautiful, bittersweet,
teaching you how to let go with grace.
And some are winters,
quiet or harsh,
chapters you don’t revisit willingly.
But every season shifts you.
Every season ends.
And you emerge changed—
a little wiser,
a little steadier,
a little more committed
to staying true to yourself
in the seasons still to come.
And then—
there are the lifetime ones.
Not perfect,
not flawless,
but real.
The ones who show up
when others vanished.
Who stay when staying is work.
Who choose you
in all your evolving versions.
These are sacred—
not because they never hurt you,
but because they grow with you
instead of away from you.
But here is the truth
most people don’t want to say:
Not everything has meaning.
Not everyone comes with a gift.
Some connections simply
run their course
or fall apart
or fail you in ways
you didn’t deserve.
And that doesn’t make you foolish.
It makes you human.
What matters most
is not why they came.
It’s who you became
after they left.
So honor the ones
who loved you well.
Release the ones
who broke something precious.
Forgive yourself
for staying too long,
or hoping too hard,
or not seeing clearly
until the final moment.
And carry forward
only what strengthens you—
the clarity,
the courage,
the deeper knowing
of your worth.
And when you look back,
you’ll see it clearly—
every season shaped you,
and every person, wanted or not,
helped carve the path beneath your feet.
You were never meant to keep everyone—
only the lessons,
the love,
and the version of yourself
that finally knows
what—and who—is truly meant to stay.
And somehow,
without fanfare or permission,
you realize you’ve grown—
not in spite of what ended,
but because of it.
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