For most of my life, I thought survival was enough. I carried my pain quietly, never flinching when life hurt me because hurt was what I knew best. It took time to find sunlight, to believe that healing was even possible, and to accept that the darkest parts of my story also deserved to be grieved. This is the part of my journey where I stopped just existing and finally began to live.
Learning to Grieve the Darkness
For a long time, I didn’t understand why the people closest to me seemed to cause the deepest wounds. I thought maybe it was my fault, or that I simply wasn’t strong enough to handle life the way others could. But the truth is, trauma reshapes the way you see the world.
When all you know is pain, you begin to anticipate it. You don’t recoil when danger shows up, because danger feels familiar. You make homes in places you should have run from, convincing yourself that love and abuse can flow from the same vein.
I had to learn that letting go only comes after feeling the full weight of what you’ve carried. I couldn’t release the pain because I refused to face it. Healing required me to stand still, acknowledge my grief, and accept that my story mattered — even the hardest chapters.
Chaos Becomes the Language You Know
When life is unpredictable, you become finely tuned to every shift in energy. I could sense when someone’s tone changed or when the air in a room grew heavy. Chaos had taught me to scan for danger long before it appeared.
That hyper-awareness protected me, but it also exhausted me. I lived on edge, always preparing for the next moment of disappointment, rejection, or betrayal. It wasn’t that I ever stopped trying — I just got used to hurting. And strangely, pain became comfortable.
But surviving in chaos is not the same as living. Eventually, I realized I was only carrying forward the patterns of my past instead of creating space for joy, peace, or love.
Trusting the Light
The hardest part of healing was learning to trust sunlight. To believe that warmth wouldn’t burn me. To allow it to touch my soul without bracing for pain.
For years, I felt like I was running on autopilot — just surviving one moment to the next. But survival isn’t the same as living. Slowly, I began to let myself breathe. I started allowing small moments of happiness to matter. I permitted myself to smile, to rest, to receive kindness without suspicion.
It took time to find sunlight, but once I did, I realized that life could be more than endurance. Life could be lived fully, deeply, and joyfully.
Living Beyond Survival
Today, I still carry the scars of my past, but I no longer mistake them for my identity. They are reminders of where I’ve been, not definitions of who I am.
Finding sunlight wasn’t about forgetting the pain or pretending the darkness never existed. It was about acknowledging both and choosing to step into warmth anyway.
I spent so much of my life surviving that I almost forgot living was an option. Now, every sunrise feels like an invitation to do more than endure. It’s a reminder that my soul was made for light.
