Hope’s Paradox: When Waiting Holds Us Back and Wisdom Moves Us Forward

Hope is a sensitive subject for many of us living with lifelong conditions or chronic illness. For some, giving up hope and accepting their situation as it is can be liberating. For others, the hope of one day being cured, or at least better, helps them get out of bed each morning. Both are valid, and both are deeply personal ways of navigating the suffering of chronic illness. This is not a judgment of whether to let go of hope or not. Instead, this is an exploration of how hope, at times, has been both a burden and a gift in my own life.

For neurodivergent individuals, hope can be a lifeline—but it can also be a trap. We often grow up in a world that expects us to conform, to change, to become something other than what we are. Hope, in these cases, is sometimes sold as the ultimate solution: One day, things will be better. One day, I will find the perfect place, the perfect support, the perfect cure. But what if that day never comes? What if hoping for change prevents us from finding peace with who we are right now?

The story of Pandora’s Box offers an interesting lens through which to examine hope. When Pandora opened the box, all the evils of the world escaped—sickness, despair, greed, and suffering. The only thing left inside was hope. Some see this as a gift, a small mercy from the gods. Others see it as part of the curse, a cruel trick designed to keep humans longing for something that will never come.

I have lived both sides of this experience. There have been times in my life when letting go of hope was the most freeing thing I could do. When I was diagnosed with Autism and ADHD, I realized I had been waiting for a miracle to heal my mental health challenges. I spent so much of my life believing that one day I would just wake up different, that I would find the secret formula that would make me function like everyone else. When I finally understood my neurodivergence, I stopped waiting for that miracle. I stopped hoping for a day when I would be someone I was never meant to be. There was peace in that. But there have also been times—like now—when I need hope. When hope is what keeps me moving forward, when I need to believe that things can improve, even if that improvement is small. Letting go of hope in this moment would not serve me.

Buddhist philosophy often warns against attachment to hope. Hope, according to this perspective, can create suffering because it ties us to a specific outcome. When we hold onto hope too tightly and that hope is not fulfilled, we are left devastated. This perspective makes sense. When we are constantly looking toward a future where we will be “better,” we never fully inhabit our present. We never fully accept ourselves as we are. And yet, for many of us, there are times when hope is necessary. The trick, I think, is to find a balance.

Tara Brach, another Buddhist teacher, speaks about wise hope. She describes it as a hope that acknowledges reality but still believes in possibility. She says:

"I know the power of wise hope. I know how it’s a source of energy, inspires me to engage and to serve and to keep waking up… and given the trajectory of much in the world right now… I can watch how that wise hope gets clouded over by grimness and anxiety… It feels like a really important juncture not to ignore wise hope and that means not to ignore real and immediate challenges we face, but also to remember the larger truths and the possibilities that can guide us."

This resonates with me. I do not believe in false hope, the kind that keeps us waiting for things that will never happen. But I do believe in wise hope—hope that fuels action, hope that is grounded in reality, hope that moves us forward rather than keeping us stuck.

I see this play out in advocacy work all the time. I see the potential for change, the power of communities coming together, the small but meaningful progress being made. At the same time, I see the reality—the slow-moving system, the barriers that still exist, the exhaustion of those fighting for change. Hope, in these moments, is a delicate thing. Too much of it, and we risk burnout and disappointment. Too little, and we risk giving up entirely.

Hope is not inherently good or bad. It is a tool. Used wisely, it can inspire and uplift. Used recklessly, it can lead to endless waiting and suffering. The key is to recognize when hope is serving us and when it is holding us back. To find a way to hold it lightly, without letting it consume us. To balance it with action, with acceptance, with an understanding of the present moment.

Hope opens the door. Faith walks through it. But sometimes, the greatest peace comes from simply sitting where we are, resting in the reality of now.

For a deeper exploration of wise hope, I highly recommend Tara Brach’s talk on the subject: Wise Hope – Tara Brach.