"From surviving to thriving: My journey"

For a long time, I didn’t know I was living in survival mode. I thought exhaustion was normal. I thought waking up every day with dread in my chest was just what adulthood felt like. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t really living—I was just enduring. Smiling through the discomfort, showing up out of obligation, and pushing through each day with the quiet hope that tomorrow might feel a little lighter.

But it didn’t. Not for a long time.

I kept going, though. That’s what we’re told to do, right? Keep going. Don’t quit. Be strong. So I did. I performed my life like a role I’d memorized: I worked, I replied to texts with “I’m fine,” and I laughed at the right moments. But underneath it all, I was unraveling. Piece by piece, I was losing touch with who I really was, buried under layers of expectations, pain I hadn’t processed, and dreams I no longer dared to think about.

The moment everything shifted wasn’t some dramatic collapse. No one around me even noticed. It happened in silence—alone in my car, parked outside my apartment. I had just come home from work, and as I sat there with the keys still in the ignition, I realized I couldn’t recall a single thing about my day. Eight hours had passed, and I had no memory of them. Just a blur of going through the motions. That scared me more than any breakdown could have.

That moment became my wake-up call.

I didn’t have a clear plan for how to change things. I just knew I couldn’t keep living like that. So I did the scariest thing I could think of: I asked for help.

Therapy wasn’t easy at first. In fact, it was terrifying. Being honest about how numb I had become felt like peeling away armor I’d worn for years. But it also felt like breathing again. Slowly, I started untangling the knots inside me. I learned that I wasn’t weak for feeling broken—I was human. And I wasn’t alone, even though my pain had convinced me I was.

In the process of healing, I discovered something surprising: I had been grieving. Grieving the version of myself I never got to be. The one who didn’t feel afraid to speak up. The one who dreamed big without apologizing. The one who felt worthy without having to earn it. I had buried that version of me under all the surviving I’d been doing.

So I began to rebuild.

Not all at once, and not perfectly. Some days I took two steps forward and five steps back. There were times I questioned if I’d ever truly feel better. But I kept showing up. I started doing small things that made me feel alive again—morning walks, journaling, listening to music that stirred something in me. I gave myself permission to rest, to feel, to cry, and most of all, to stop pretending.

I also began setting boundaries, something I had never done before. I started saying “no” to things that drained me and “yes” to things that aligned with who I was becoming. I distanced myself from relationships that only knew the version of me who performed. And I drew closer to people who embraced my growth, even when it meant becoming someone new.

Little by little, I moved from surviving to something that felt like thriving. Not because everything in my life became perfect, but because I finally began living with intention. I started to trust myself again. I laughed without guilt. I made plans for the future—not because I needed a distraction, but because I was excited about what was possible.

Thriving, I’ve learned, isn’t about never feeling pain. It’s not a permanent state of bliss. It’s about knowing that you have the tools to cope when life gets hard. It’s about choosing joy even when you remember what suffering felt like. It’s about being present in your own life and honoring every part of your journey—including the messy, dark chapters.

I no longer shame the version of me who was just surviving. That version kept me alive. That version was strong in ways I couldn’t see at the time. But I’m grateful I didn’t stay there. I’m grateful I listened to that small voice inside me that said, “There has to be more than this.”

And there was.

There is.

If you’re reading this and you’re still in the dark, still just trying to make it through the day—please know that it can get better. Maybe not overnight, and maybe not without work, but it can. You are not weak for struggling. You are not broken beyond repair. You are a human being who deserves to thrive.

And if no one’s told you yet today: you’re allowed to stop surviving and start living. Even if it’s one deep breath at a time.