This may be a hard conversation to listen to but one that I feel is necessary to speak openly and honestly about. My recent episode with Andy Campbell on The Sharon Fitzmaurice Podcast was one of those. A deeply soulful, open-hearted dialogue that was less of an interview and more of a communion between two souls who understand the raw, often silent language of pain.
Andy’s story is unimaginable. As a young boy, he experienced sexual abuse. He watched his mother bravely battle cancer for 11 years before she passed away far too young. Estranged from his father, and now navigating his own journey through stage four pancreatic cancer, Andy has known suffering at depths that could easily consume even the strongest of spirits. But nothing could prepare him - or any parent - for the devastating loss of his son, Heston, who died by suicide at just 18 years old.
As we spoke, Andy shared how they knew from when Heston was only nine that the world felt too overwhelming for him. Despite the love, the support, the daily effort to help him choose life, the decision was ultimately out of their hands. There was pain, yes—deep, soul-aching pain - but also anger, helplessness, and a hollow sense of having to keep moving forward in a world where their son no longer existed physically.
In his grief, Andy speaks to Heston. He asks him for help in easing the despair, in somehow mending the heartbreak that now lives in him, his wife, and their three other sons. His new book Overcoming Life’s Toughest Setbacks is both a legacy of healing and a lifeline to others who may find themselves at the edge of their own despair.
As Andy shared, I felt a familiar echo in my heart.
I, too, am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. And for a long time, I carried the belief that I was only meant to know pain. That somehow, love, joy, and peace were not mine to claim. There were times I truly believed the pain would only end if I did. And there was a moment - one that many will never speak of -where choosing to stay felt like the most painful decision of all.
But I stayed.
And staying meant I had to learn to walk alongside the pain, not run from it. It meant holding space for the wounded parts of me, not burying them under smiles and silence. It meant breathing through the nights I thought I wouldn’t make it. And, slowly, one step at a time, I began to believe that healing was not only possible—it was sacred.
In my conversation with Andy, there was a deep resonance between our stories. Two people shaped by trauma, carrying invisible scars, yet still choosing to show up for life, for love, for others. Still choosing to believe that healing is not a betrayal of our pain, but a devotion to our spirit.
We cannot always change what happens to us. But we can transform how we move through it. We can speak, we can share, we can write, we can walk hand in hand with others who are just beginning to find their way through the darkness.
If you are reading this and your heart feels heavy, please know - you are not alone. Your pain is real, your story matters, and even if it feels impossible right now, there is a path forward. Maybe not a painless one, but a path nonetheless. One where meaning can be made from the broken pieces. One where love lives on. One where peace, slowly but surely, returns.
From Andy’s story and my own, I offer this: stay if you can. And if you do, know you are loved.
Sharon Fitzmaurice
Author, Speaker, Holistic Wellness Coach & Podcast Host
