Real Things
A baby monkey. My dogs. And the anchors that carry us through.
Have you seen the baby monkey, Punch?
If you haven’t yet, his story is one that absolutely deserves a pause. It certainly stopped my world for a few minutes this week.
Punch is a tiny macaque born at a zoo in Japan. His mother couldn’t care for him, so zookeepers stepped in and raised him by hand. To comfort him, they gave him a stuffed toy monkey. And Punch took that soft surrogate everywhere.
The images of this little monkey dragging his companion through the world—clinging to it like a lifeline—went viral instantly. We all stopped scrolling because something about his story felt familiar: a small life navigating loss, holding tightly to the one thing that felt safe while trying to figure out where he belongs.
The Anchors That Carry Us
I’ve had my own version of this. In 2014, when I was walking through cancer again, my dogs never left my side. They didn’t need to understand what was happening to know that I needed them; they just stayed, steady and pressed against me.
That kind of love—wordless, uncomplicated, completely given—has a way of pulling you back to what’s real. I wrote about it in my first book, Real Things: 6 Ways To Embrace Life, because that’s exactly what it was: a real thing. One of the realest.
Punch’s stuffed toy monkey gave him a sense of safety while he found his footing. My dogs gave me the same thing. We all need something to hold onto while we heal. Something that says you are not alone without saying a word.
And that matters.
Healing is a Hundreds of Small Moments
Right now, Punch is being slowly introduced to a troop of 60 monkeys who don’t know him yet. It’s not smooth, and it’s not quick, but he keeps showing up.
Here’s what his story is teaching me about the nature of healing:
Resilience starts earlier than we expect: We often think of resilience as something that kicks in after we’ve had time to prepare, but sometimes - like Punch - we are called to navigate hard things before we even fully understand what’s happening.
Healing doesn’t happen overnight: Belonging to a “troop” of strangers doesn’t happen on day one. It happens through a hundred small moments of proximity and patience.
Belonging is built, not handed over: We all crave it instinctively, but the path to finding our people and place is made slowly and imperfectly.
The Courage to Let Go
I don’t know where you are in your story right now.
Maybe things are good. You’re settled, you feel connected, and Punch just made you smile this week. That’s wonderful.
But maybe you’re somewhere in the middle of your own healing journey. Carrying your “stuffed animal” a little tighter than you’d like to admit while you wonder when you’ll feel steady again.
If that’s you, this is your reminder: Healing is often quieter and slower than we’d like, but it’s happening. It’s okay to hold onto your anchors as long as you need to, but don’t be afraid to keep moving toward the version of yourself that feels whole again.
The world is ready for you. And you’re stronger than you think.
Punch had his toy. I had my dogs. What’s holding you steady right now?
Until next time,
Brigitte