The Things I Had to Do to Stay Alive

No one talks about the ugliness of survival. The parts that don’t make for a good redemption arc. The things you have to do—not because you want to, but because there is no other choice. People love to hear about resilience in a way that makes them feel inspired, that makes struggle look like a stepping stone, that wraps survival into something noble. But there is nothing noble about being sixteen and realizing that every door you thought was open has just slammed shut.

People don’t think about what it really means to be alone. I don’t mean loneliness, the kind that can be fixed with a call to a friend or a temporary distraction. I mean true, inescapable aloneness—the kind that sets in when you realize no one is coming to save you. No safety nets, no second chances, no fallback plan. Just you and the weight of what it means to keep going when there’s nothing left holding you up. And when you’re that young, when you’re thrown out into the world before you’ve had a chance to even understand it, you realize very quickly that survival isn’t just about endurance—it’s about doing whatever it takes.

I learned that there is a certain type of hunger that gnaws at you when you don’t know where your next meal is coming from. That there is a certain kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep can fix when your brain is constantly calculating, constantly planning, constantly running through worst-case scenarios. That there is a version of yourself you have to become—a person who can stomach things that would break someone else, a person who can keep moving forward even when every single part of you wants to collapse. I have done things I will never speak of. Not because I am ashamed, but because people wouldn’t understand. Because they judge from the comfort of stability, from the privilege of never having had to make impossible choices. Because they wouldn’t look at me the same way if they knew the full extent of what it takes to survive when you have nothing. When you’re sleeping in places you’re not supposed to, when you’re taking risks that feel like a game of Russian roulette, when every decision you make is the difference between making it to tomorrow or falling through the cracks forever. And yet, I have never once regretted anything I had to do. Because I am still here. Because I did what was necessary. Because no one gets to shame me for surviving in a world that gave me no other option. The truth is, the only people who judge the desperate are the ones who have never known desperation. The only ones who call it weakness are the ones who have never been forced to make those choices. People think survival is about perseverance, about pushing through adversity and coming out stronger on the other side. But they don’t talk about the cost. They don’t talk about what it does to you when you have to fight that hard for something as basic as existence. They don’t talk about the nights you spend wondering if it’s all worth it, if the fight will ever end, if you will ever get to just breathe.

But here’s the thing: I did what I had to do, and I survived.

And if that makes people uncomfortable, then so be it. Because the only reason I am here today, writing this, building a future, proving everyone wrong, is because I refused to let the world erase me. Because I chose to survive—even when the cost was everything.

For Those Who Are Still Fighting

If you are in it right now—if you are staring at the ceiling in some place that doesn’t feel like home, wondering if you’ll make it—you will. But not because of some miracle, not because life suddenly gets easier. You will make it because you will refuse to be erased. Because you will adapt, and you will fight, and you will carve a space for yourself in a world that never wanted to give you one.

Let me tell you what I wish someone had told me:

• Your pain does not define you. You are not the suffering you have endured. You are not the nights spent crying into a pillow, the rejections, the betrayals. Those are things that happened to you. They are not who you are.
• No one is coming to save you, but that does not mean you are alone. The world will try to make you believe that you are isolated, that no one understands. That is a lie. There are people out there who will see you, who will fight for you, who will love you for exactly who you are. Hold on until you find them.
• You will have to make impossible choices, and you will regret some of them. That is okay. Do what you need to do to stay alive. The future version of you—the one who has made it through—will understand.
• You are not weak for being tired. Survival is exhausting. It is relentless. And sometimes you will feel like you can’t keep going. But listen to me: you can. You already have. You are still here. That is proof enough.
• Build something from the ashes. You may lose everything. You may have to start over again and again. But every time you do, you will get stronger. Every time you rise, you will be one step closer to becoming the person you were always meant to be.

There are going to be days when it feels like the weight is too much. When you want to give up. When you are convinced that the world has won.

Do not let it.

Stay. Fight. Live.

Because one day, you will look back at the version of you who thought they wouldn’t make it and realize that they did. That they fought their way out of the dark. That they built something no one thought was possible.

You are stronger than you know. Keep going.