Peer Support Can Be Like a Warm Radiator

Sometimes the most profound lessons about resilience come from the most unexpected places.

Once upon a time—more specifically, Christmas Eve 1983—I found myself lost somewhere in northern Italy with a German stranger who couldn't speak English. I couldn't speak German, and neither of us spoke Italian. I was meeting friends who were already at the destination. When the train system shut down earlier than expected for the holiday, I found myself stranded, miles from where I needed to get off. I started walking. A few moments later, a young man carrying a boom box and backpack joined me. We didn't speak each other's language, but we knew we were in the same predicament. The snow was deep and getting deeper.

We walked in silence except for the sound of snow crunching and squeaking, as if protesting our disturbance on such a sacred evening. We passed beautiful Italian villages, all lit up with Christmas lights, snow falling like something out of a movie. Through windows, we could see Christmas trees, presents, families together—animated Norman Rockwell paintings whispering, "this is what Christmas should be."

It could have felt enchanting. Except I was on the outside looking in.

When Doors Close

As the cold tightened its grip and desperation mounted, we did what lost people do: knock on strangers' doors. There was little chance anyone was going to help two bundled up figures appearing out of the dark, trying to communicate that we needed a ride, a minute or two to warm up, anything--all in languages they couldn't understand.

The looks we received before those doors slammed still send a shiver up my spine decades later.

We made it to the next town, but the train station and everything else was closed. I needed to get up to the resort, but there was nothing moving, no taxis, no buses, not a creature was stirring... not even a mouse. With no other option, I survived that night by putting on every piece of clothing I had and doing exercises to keep my blood flowing. At some point, in the early hours of Christmas 1983, I collapsed on a bench outside the train station, drifting in and out of consciousness, and all I could think about was home—my bed back in Tennessee, warmth, safety, belonging.

The Metaphor I Didn't See Coming

Years later, working in peer support, I realized that particular Christmas Eve taught me something profound about mental illness and recovery that no textbook ever could.

Sometimes we're surrounded by all the joy and warmth in the world, but we're trapped in our own private, frigid winter. When I received my bipolar disorder diagnosis 13 years ago, everything seemed to shut down; I felt ejected from the train, and I wandered in the dark for a long time.

The power of a diagnosis itself can reframe the world so that it feels like everyone else is celebrating while we're just trying to survive.

The doors we knock on for help seem to slam shut. Before that slamming, the looks we receive—judgment, fear, and a desire to quickly shut out the incomprehensible—can be more chilling than any physical cold. We find ourselves unable to communicate our experience to others, speaking a language of pain that feels foreign to those around us.

The Power of Survival

But here's what that night taught me: You can make it through anything. Dawn always comes. Sometimes survival isn't about thriving—it's about enduring. It's about putting on every layer you've got and holding on until morning. It's about recognizing that the thumping in your chest is your own little furnace, and its fuel is hope.

Becoming the Radiator

When morning finally came, the train station opened its door. I sat next to a radiator for a long time until my teeth finally stopped chattering.

The radiator gave me hope, not because it tried to fix me or analyze my situation, but because that's what radiators do. They generate warmth. They share it freely. They don't judge how cold you got or ask why you were outside in the first place.

That's what peer specialists are: human radiators. We've been in the cold, we've learned to generate our own heat, and now we radiate that warmth to others who are still shivering. We don't need to fix anyone. We just need to be present, steady, and warm enough that someone else can stop their teeth from chattering long enough to remember what hope feels like.

To Anyone in Their Dark Night

If you're in that dark night right now—whether it's depression, addiction, loneliness, or just feeling lost—I want you to know: I've been there. As dark as you can go, I've been there.

Keep knocking. Keep walking. Keep believing. Never give up. Get up and move. Dawn always comes, even when it feels impossible to believe.

And if you're someone who has the power to open doors—in your workplace, your community, your family—remember that sometimes the most desperate person knocking might just need a place by the radiator until they can find their way home.

Ben O.

#MentalHealthAwareness #PeerSupport #Resilience #Hope #Leadership #Community