Most of us have something like that happen — a time in our lives when a monster rises up and we can’t overcome it. It robs us of our control, our peace of mind, our confidence in ourselves, our ability to dream. And just when we think we might be getting a handle on it, just when a trace of hope starts to come into view, the monster reappears, like an enemy jumping from the sideline along our pathway, to kick us in the stomach again. And we’re back in wounded mode, just trying to function.

Often, these predicaments aren’t something we can or want to share with family or friends. So we go it alone, intensifying the feelings of isolation, despair, fear and regret.

Regret is possibly the worst of those emotions. Especially if there was a chance of avoiding it in the first place — the “if onlys.” If only we hadn’t gone down that road. If only we’d listened to our inner thoughts. If only we’d addressed this when it was still tiny. If only we’d taken the time to really talk it out and make a decision based on better information. If only …

But instead, there we are, squaring off with the monster, wondering when it will show up, sucker punch us again, snatch away our tiny, temporary peace of mind, then fade back.

Our trial ate up nearly a year of our lives. We lived in a helpless state of limbo, placid on the outside and terrified on the inside, quietly searching for resolution, longing for a time of release to come, and wondering how and if and when we would possibly feel peace again.

But as the weeks and months slid on, a strange thing happened. Our injured state of mind enabled us to start “seeing” others around us living with their own monsters, others who faced enormous challenges like cancer spreading into their lives, surrendering a parent to Alzheimer’s, losing a rebelling teen, fighting lifelong medical problems, or losing a job or a home. Some of these people were understandably crumbling under the onslaught of their challenges.

But the ones we most noticed were those who actually grew from the trial. Their monster did not defeat them. Their way of fighting back was to become better. Instead of gut punching others when they got punched, they changed that energy into goodness which they freely gave to others. As their challenge grew, so did their grace. And somehow, so did their strength. Instead of being bowed down by their monster, they sucked in its awful power and spewed out good.

I’m not sure how they did that. One friend, facing cancer, became mellower, kinder, more thoughtful. She didn’t resign herself in a giving up way, but rather accepted the situation, prayed for the best possible outcome and meanwhile lived a life that blessed others. She dealt with the dread by giving out grace. Her goodness poured onto those around her, influencing us to be more hopeful and thoughtful. Her example gave us strength to face our own monsters. And to try her method of uncommon response.

The life lesson she lived was that reaching past our own doubts, no matter how buried or troubled or discouraged we are, to intentionally give out grace to others sends some of it back to us. We don’t lose it by giving it away. In some inverted way, it grows in us when we give it away. Traces of grace come back to us.

In the equations of life, it doesn’t make sense. But it adds up, all the same.

My husband and I have learned enough this year. We never want to experience another one like it. But despite the trauma, the lesson we learned is there is a way to deal with doubt and still give out grace.

And become better people because of it.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.