I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about my life, my journey, my survival.
Not the dramatic survival people recognized, but the quiet kind. The kind that slowly became my normal until I didn't even really realize that was all I was doing anymore.
Survival taught me to adapt. It taught me to read a room before I walked into it, to anticipate disappointment before it arrives, to carry more than my share because it's easier than watching everything fall apart. It taught me to be resourceful, independent, fiercely loyal, and incredibly resilient. People say they admire those qualities, and I suppose they should, I would.
But no one ever talks about what survival takes from you.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself what I wanted. My focus became what needed fixing, who needed me, what crisis was waiting around the next corner, and how I was going to make it through one more day. Then one more week. Then one more year.
Eventually, surviving stopped being something I was doing. It became who I believed I was.
Lately, though, I've been noticing something shifting inside me. It's subtle, almost uncomfortable, because I don't really know what to do with it yet.
For the first time in a very long time, I don't think life is asking me to fight. I think it's asking me to listen....to myself.
That's terrifying in its own way because I've spent decades responding to everyone else's needs, my own voice kinda sounds unfamiliar most of the time. To be honest, I really didn't trust it at first. I questioned it. I wondered if I'm asking for too much, expecting too much, feeling too much.
And then, slowly, I realized I'm not.
I'm just starting to hear myself clearly for the first time.
I don't think healing is about erasing the parts of me that learned to survive. Those parts kept me alive. They deserve gratitude, not resentment. But maybe healing is gently telling those parts they don't have to stand guard every minute of every day anymore.
Maybe they can rest.
Maybe I can rest.
I don't know exactly who I'm becoming, and honestly, I don't think that's even the right question anymore.
The better question might be this:
Who am I going to be when I no longer have to live in survival mode?
I don't know that answer yet.
And for the first time in my life, I don't feel the need to have the answer.
I've spent decades (since I started walking) outrunning storms. Maybe this chapter isn't about running at all. Maybe it's about standing still long enough to recognize the woman who's been there all along.
Not the survivor.
Not the fixer.
Not the woman everyone else needed.
Just... me.
I think I've waited patiently for long enough.
🥰🫖JRT
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