The Universal Struggle Within

Reflections on Love, Conflict, and Our Shared Humanity

By Theodora Filis

I am exhausted by the lies.
Tired of the fighting.
Tired of watching conflict sold to us as inevitable, even noble.

Throughout history—and in our daily lives—conflict is treated as a constant companion. Headlines, podcasts, and news cycles thrive on division, outrage, and fear. War and strife dominate attention because they generate clicks, funding, and power. Resources are always plentiful for conflict, while love, care, and healing remain underfunded and overlooked.

Wars are not abstract. These conflicts play out in the bodies and lives of real people—sons, daughters, parents, and friends.  Those who survive often return home carrying wounds we cannot see. Families are displaced. Communities fractured. Long after the fighting ends, the damage remains—etched into minds, landscapes, and generations.

And yet, despite this endless cycle, we know another truth.

We have all loved someone so deeply we would do anything to protect them. A parent shielding a child. Friends showing up in the darkest moments. Neighbors caring for one another after loss. This instinct—to love fiercely—is not rare. It is universal.

So why is empathy so fragile?

We easily notice our pain but often miss it in others.  We send young people into conflict and train them to harm those who, in another life, might have been their neighbors. If we paused long enough to imagine ourselves on the “other side,” would our feelings truly be different? At our core, we all share the same human arc: we are born, we learn, we fear, we love, we suffer—and we die.

History shows us the cost of forgetting this. World wars that erased generations. Conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria have displaced millions. Every statistic hides a personal story—a child separated from a parent, a home reduced to rubble, a future interrupted.

But history also offers reminders of our shared humanity. The Christmas Truce of 1914. Peace movements that challenged war through conscience. Truth and reconciliation efforts that chose dialogue over revenge. These moments prove that empathy, though fragile, is powerful.

I once met a refugee family who had fled the war in Syria. Their teenage son showed me a drawing: a house, a garden, a sun, a blue sky.
“This was our home,” he said softly, “before the bombs.”

In that moment, the distance between “us” and “them” disappeared. Behind every headline is a child drawing a home. A parent hoping for safety. A family longing for peace.

We will all leave this planet one day—its mountains, seas, favorite streets, and quiet places where laughter once echoed. What remains are the choices we made: the kindness we offered, the values we modeled, the hands we held when it mattered most.

The struggle within us is universal.
But so is the potential for peace.

If we stay alert to the forces that divide us—and choose dialogue over dehumanization, empathy over fear—make room for a different legacy: one where future generations inherit not just the scars of conflict but the courage to choose understanding.

Today, take a moment to listen to someone with a different perspective, truly. Offer a small act of kindness. These choices matter. Together, they nurture hope—and remind us of who we are meant to be.