No, Hope Isn’t Toxic

How did you read the title? Did you read NO HOPE isn't toxic? Did you read NO, hope isn't toxic? Why should you care? Read on, and I'll let you decide. 

No, Hope Isn’t Toxic

This blog was written in my head while sitting in the ER with my adopted dog, Marvel, who was fighting for his life. As I held him close, processing the worst news and trying to summon every ounce of hope, I realized how deeply hope shapes our lives—especially in the hardest moments. It's a force that pushes us to keep going, even when things seem grim. So, I hope to reintroduce you to the concept of hope, through the very real experiences and thoughts of a psychotherapist, and how it’s shown up in my life in unexpected ways.

Hope has often been painted as something that can let us down. It’s easy to think of hope as a kind of vulnerability that sets us up for disappointment. But I’ve come to realize that hope isn’t toxic. It’s something essential. It’s a thread that keeps you moving forward, even when the path ahead is unclear or filled with obstacles. It's a lesson I have learned in many ways.

Does It Hurt More to Hope?

I’ve asked myself over time, “Does it hurt more to hope?” It comes from the part of me that wonders if it would have been easier to abandon hope altogether, to walk away from something before it could hurt. But I’ve learned that abandoning hope doesn’t make the pain go away. Nor does having hope lessen the sting of disappointment.  It does, however, make the moment meaningful. The act of hoping shows you care, it connects you to your dreams and aspirations, and when you look back, it often helps you realize how much you’ve grown through the journey—regardless of the outcome.

Cementing Your Reality

Hope doesn’t set you up for pain—it sets you up for possibility. It shows what matters to you. For me, there are many times when I’ve leaned on hope—not because I thought it would guarantee success, but because it helped me step fully into what I was working toward. It made me realize just how deeply invested I was in the outcome. There’s power in that connection. And sometimes, as if by magic, that hope manifested something tangible. It’s not just wishful thinking—it’s a commitment to yourself and to the future.

Marvel

Marvel, my rescue dog, has taught me a lot about hope. When I first brought him home, he quickly became ill, and we couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong. He spent time in the hospital, and after a lot of tests, we speculated it might have been a bloodborne parasite, something notoriously difficult to diagnose. He got better, and for a while, life seemed normal again.

But just a few days ago, his symptoms returned, and now they were worse. I recognized the signs right away and rushed him to the vet who transferred us to the ER. This time, things escalated quickly—his condition was severe, and the ER vet gave me little hope, telling me his chances were grim, and I might not have him much longer. They ruled out the parasite and diagnosed him with a severe organ infection that could lead to organ failure. I heard the words I feared the most, but I knew I had to try. Tearstained and heartbroken, I whispered to him, “It won’t hurt less to lose you if I give you all my hope.” I asked the ER vet, and subsequently my own, to give Marvel every possible treatment, no matter how slim the odds.

Somehow, through it all, Marvel pulled through. He made it from Friday to Saturday, then Sunday. Today, it’s Monday, and he’s still with us—slowly improving, one day at a time.

Marvel's story, though unfinished, reminds me that hope isn’t about a guarantee. It's not about the certainty of a happy ending, but the strength to continue, to offer everything you have, even when the future seems uncertain. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring for Marvel, but what I do know is that the act of hoping gave him the strength to keep fighting, and in doing so, gave me the courage to keep going too. Hope, it turns out, doesn’t promise a perfect outcome. But it’s the very thing that can get us through the hardest days.

Collective Hope

What’s remarkable now, as Marvel fights for his life, is the sheer amount of collective hope surrounding him. It's no longer just my hope that he pulls through—it’s the hope of the entire veterinary hospital. The vets and techs, who have worked tirelessly, supporting him every step of the way, are invested in his recovery. There’s even an angel funder who stepped in to support his ongoing care, a true act of kindness that reminds me how hope can spread beyond those directly involved.

And then, there’s my circle—friends, family, even acquaintances who have heard Marvel’s story and sent their thoughts and positive energy. It’s overwhelming, this wave of collective hope, and it has wrapped itself around Marvel like a blanket. It’s impossible not to feel the strength of all those voices cheering for him.

Does it make a difference? Does all this hope, this unity, actually influence his outcome? I can’t say for certain. Hope, after all, is not a guarantee. But what I do know is this: it doesn’t hurt to give it. And if all this collective hope gives him even a fraction more strength, then it’s worth it. For him, and for all of us who care so deeply about his well-being.  The hoping inspires new ideas, continued effort, and positivity. So, we keep hoping—together—one day at a time.

College Apps: The Fear and Power of Hope

Looking back, I think my relationship with hope really started with college applications. I poured everything into hoping for the schools I dreamed of—top-tier universities with impressive names, campuses that I imagined myself thriving in. I wanted it so badly, I almost convinced myself that if I hoped enough, I could manifest that future.

Did I get into those dream schools? Not even close. I was waitlisted by every single one. When I found out, I crumbled. All that hope, all that energy, felt wasted in an instant. But what happened next was unexpected. I ended up at a small liberal arts school, one that I hadn’t initially considered as highly. And there, I thrived.

How did my hope impact my outcome? Did it give me the exact result I had hoped for? No, it didn’t. But did it give me the outcome I needed? I can’t say for sure. What I do know is that my hope showed me, and others around me, just how deeply I was invested in my future. It propelled me forward in a way that didn’t allow me to give up on what I wanted. It taught me that the value of hope doesn’t lie in the result, but in the drive it gives you to continue pursuing what matters to you.

Pregnancy Tests: The Lessons in Hope

Hope showed up for me again when I was trying to conceive both of my children. I waited until I was about 30 to start trying, so it wasn’t just a “one and done” scenario for me. Each pregnancy test was full of hope. But after months of tests, I started to try withholding that hope. "Don't get your hopes up," I’d tell myself. "You’re putting yourself through too much of a rollercoaster."

Did it hurt less that way? Absolutely not. Every negative test still brought the same discouragement and despair, whether I let myself hope or not. What I came to realize was that my months of trying were actually sadder when I didn’t allow myself to dream, yet still ended in the same disappointment. It didn’t make sense. Hope was my investment, in my family and our future. Pretending it wasn’t there just felt like numbing myself, like lying to myself. It wasn’t living.

We conceived and had my first son, and three years later tried for another baby with even more frustration. When I finally made peace with having just one child after months of trying for a second, and agreed with my husband that we’d try just “one last time,” I had so much hope for that month. And, of course, on that very “last try,” we conceived my second son.

When My Hope Crashed into Art

I continued my "hopeducation" with my art career, during one of my worst shows. I was part of a large group exhibition and walked into the reception full of hope and excitement, eager to see my work displayed on the walls. But after circling the venue several times, I couldn’t find it anywhere. I felt sick, embarrassed, and honestly, a little stupid. You know that feeling when your hope crashes so hard it makes you question everything? It’s the worst.

On a whim, I walked into the refreshment area, only to find my pieces hidden behind chairs, with patrons sitting in front of them, resting their heads on the canvases. I wanted to vomit. Instead, I stood there in shame, then proceeded to awkwardly ask if I could retrieve my artwork from behind them. Can you imagine? “Excuse me, could I have my art back, please?”

I walked out of the venue with my art tucked under my arm, feeling utterly humiliated. Sitting on my front stoop, I cried hot tears of shame. My hopes were dashed.

I called a friend, who, with so much clarity, said, “This is your passion for your art showing up—this is how much you care about your work. What will you do about it?”

What would I do about it? I could either hide in my shame or find a way to rekindle a tiny flame of hope—that my art was valuable, not because of anyone else’s validation, but simply because I believed in it.

Would you believe I chose the latter? I reached out to the show curator, who apologized profusely and, to my surprise, offered me my first solo exhibition at the same gallery. That show received rave reviews. Did I have high hopes for it? Absolutely. And those hopes were rewarded.

That moment taught me that hope isn’t just about outcomes. It’s about my emotions showing me that I wasn’t ready to give up on my art.

Starting A Business: The Ultimate Exercise in Hope

When I finally started my own business, it became the ultimate exercise in everything I had learned about hope. Hope is what drives you to show up, to put your passion forward, and to make yourself vulnerable in the best way. It reveals what matters most and gives you the energy to take risks, even when things go wrong.

Since launching my business, I’ve made mistakes, learned, adapted, and shed many tears. But there have been countless moments of pride, satisfaction, and fulfillment too. Was the hope that I would succeed toxic? Absolutely not. From the first time I sketched a logo in my journal, it has fueled me with purpose, helping me manifest my dreams, believe in myself, and keep going.

Today, my business is thriving, and I feel even more connected to my mission. I know it’s not because of some magical outcome I anticipated. It’s because I took every hope, every failure, and every success, and allowed them to push me forward.

Hope is a beautiful life force. Don’t be afraid to ignite yours and see where it takes you. If you’re feeling inspired, take a moment to explore new ways to bring your own creative idea into reality. Starting something of your own, no matter how big or small, is a step forward in nurturing that hope. Let it lead you!

Lessons Learned from Hope

Through these experiences—whether with my dog Marvel, college applications, pregnancy tests, art shows, or starting my own business—I’ve learned that hope isn’t about certainty or expecting an outcome. It’s about showing up, staying vulnerable, and giving yourself permission to feel, even when the path is unclear. Hope has taught me that it’s okay to invest emotionally in what matters, to acknowledge disappointment without losing your belief in what could be, and to keep pushing forward, even when the odds are stacked against you. Hope isn’t toxic; it’s the quiet fuel that keeps us moving, growing, and believing in what’s possible.

So, to anyone who tells you hope is toxic or dangerous, I urge you to rethink it. Hope is the lifeblood of possibility. It’s what pushes us to try again, to keep moving forward, and to dream even when it feels futile. Hope doesn’t always give us the answers, but it gives us the strength to keep asking.

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