Dear Me, You Survived

Dear Me,

If only you knew back then what I know now.

You were lying in bed that night, eyes wide open in the dark, feeling like the world had pressed all its weight onto your chest. The silence was loud, the kind that screams every painful thought back at you. You stared at the ceiling as if it might fall and end everything, and a small part of you wished it would. That was the night everything changed. That was the night you hit what you thought was the bottom.

And still—you survived.

It started gradually, the unraveling.

You were always the “strong” one. The one who smiled through everything, who helped everyone else, who knew how to hold it together. But inside, you were crumbling. The world didn’t see it, because you were too good at hiding the cracks. You kept saying, “I’m fine,” when you weren’t. You kept showing up when all you wanted to do was disappear.

You thought asking for help made you weak.

But not asking… that almost broke you.

That year was the hardest of your life. The one where you lost more than anyone knew. The job you thought defined your worth. The person you thought you’d grow old with. The version of yourself that was so carefully built on approval, success, and doing everything right. All of it—gone.

You felt like a ghost walking through your own life.

You stopped laughing. You stopped dreaming. Some days, you barely ate. Some nights, you cried until you fell asleep. And even that felt like a small mercy.

And still—you survived.

There was this one morning you’ll never forget.

You looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize who you were. Your eyes were tired, your heart felt hollow, and you thought: “I don’t know how to keep going.”

But you did.

Not because someone came and saved you. Not because it magically got better overnight. But because somewhere, deep down, something inside you said, “Just one more day.”

That was the beginning of your comeback. A quiet, invisible kind of bravery that no one else applauded—but you should have. That was the real strength. The strength to keep breathing when it felt pointless. The strength to sit with your pain and not run from it. The strength to get up and try again, even when nothing had changed yet.

Healing wasn’t pretty.

It didn’t come wrapped in affirmations or instant joy. It came through messy tears and lonely nights. It came when you finally admitted, “I’m not okay.” It came through therapy sessions where you broke down in front of a stranger and felt shame for feeling human.

But it came.

It came in small moments. Like the time you heard your favorite song and didn’t cry. Like the morning you laughed—really laughed—without faking it. Like the evening you walked home and noticed the way the sun lit up the sky, and it actually made you smile.

Piece by piece, you started coming back to life.

You started talking to yourself like you were someone you loved. You stopped punishing yourself for past mistakes. You stopped chasing people who didn’t see your worth. You learned to be okay with not being okay.

And you learned to forgive yourself.

The people around you started noticing.

“You seem lighter.”

“You look happier.”

“What changed?”

You did.

Not all at once. Not completely. But enough. Enough to find your way back to yourself. Enough to look at the scars and say, “That’s where I healed.” Enough to stop pretending and start living.

Because survival wasn’t the end of your story.

It was the beginning.

Now, looking back, I want you to know something:

You were never broken.

You were bent.

You were bruised.

You were tired.

But you were never weak.

Every time you chose to keep going—when no one clapped, when no one even noticed—that was strength.

The nights you sat alone in silence and didn’t numb it away… that was growth.

The day you chose to finally put yourself first… that was courage.

You thought it would break you. And in a way, it did. But only the parts that weren’t truly you. The people-pleasing. The fear. The need for perfection. The version of you who thought pain meant failure.

All of that cracked so the real you could rise.

If someone is reading this right now, feeling like their world is falling apart—

Let me tell you something:

You are not alone.

You are not broken.

And you will survive this.

The light will return, even if it’s just a flicker right now.

Take one breath. Then one more.

Talk to someone. Cry if you need to.

Rest.

Heal.

Give yourself time.

And grace.

You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of healing.

Moral of the Story:

Sometimes, the most powerful thing you’ll ever do is not give up.

Even when it’s hard.

Even when no one sees your pain.

Even when your own mind tells you it’s hopeless.

Because every storm ends. And after the storm, there’s you—stronger, wiser, softer.

Dear Me, You Survived.

And because you did, you can finally begin to live.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi