Reclaiming Yourself After a Life of Survival

Some of us didn’t have childhoods.  

Not really.  

We had small windows of stillness in between chaos, long stretches of silence filled with the weight of adult responsibilities, and the invisible ache of raising ourselves while everyone else thought we were fine. 

We were the “good kids.” The smart ones. The quiet ones. We followed the rules. Got the grades. Ate what we were told. Dreamed what we were allowed. We blended in because the goal wasn’t to be seen.  

The goal was to survive. 

And for a long time, we thought that was enough. 

We went to school, because that’s what you do. We worked hard, because the world told us that’s how you escape. We complied, because the alternative was too dangerous, too costly, or simply unthinkable. 

What nobody told us was that surviving and living are two very different things. 

And by the time we figured that out, we were already knee-deep in regret. Not because we failed, but because we succeeded - at the wrong things. At the small version of life we were handed. At the dreams that were never really ours to begin with. 

“You Don't Know What You Don’t Know” 

It’s easy to blame yourself for not knowing better. But let’s be real – how exactly are you to blame? 

If you grew up in a house, a neighborhood, or a culture that prioritized obedience over exploration, survival over identity, and silence over curiosity - then self-knowledge wasn't just unavailable.  

It was dangerous. 

You didn’t get to ask, “Who am I?” 

You didn’t get to say, “What do I want?” 

You got told. 

This is what you're going to be. This is how you’re going to act. This is who you’ll marry. This is what you’ll eat. This is how you’ll love.  

And for a while, maybe it worked.  

You followed the script. You didn’t rock the boat. You didn’t disappoint. 

But one day, something inside you broke. 

Maybe it was a quiet moment. Maybe it was a massive life crisis. But the story stopped making sense. The mask got too heavy.  

And suddenly, you realized you had no idea who you were underneath all that performing. 

That moment? That rupture? It’s painful. But it’s also sacred.  

Because it means the real you is trying to surface. 

The Unbearable Weight of Misaligned Success 

You know what’s harder than failing? 

Succeeding at a life that doesn’t fit you. 

It’s graduating from university, landing the job, marrying the person, checking all the boxes - and still feeling empty. It’s lying awake in a house you bought, wondering how the hell you got so far off course. It’s wearing clothes that don’t feel like yours, living a routine that isn’t yours, being loved for a version of you that was never real. 

This is what happens when you spend your life being shaped by external expectations without ever being invited to explore your internal world. 

And the worst part? The world rewards you for it.  

People applaud your “resilience.” They call you “disciplined,” “strong,” “together.” But they don’t see that you’ve built a palace on a foundation of self-neglect. They don’t know that your success came at the cost of self-awareness. 

And one day, the weight of it starts to collapse in on itself. 

You stop. You look around. And you ask, What the hell happened to me? 

Survival Has a Cost 

Growing up in survival mode is like living in a house with no mirrors. 

You’re so focused on making it through the day - dodging emotional landmines, managing other people’s feelings, staying out of trouble - that there’s no time to reflect. No room to ask what you like, what you believe, what you need. 

Who you are – let alone who you want to be. 

You become a shape-shifter. A performer. A people-pleaser. 

And it works.  

Until it doesn’t. 

Because eventually, your body keeps the score. The anxiety, the exhaustion, the rage that bubbles just beneath the surface - it all comes calling.  

The child inside you, the one who was never nurtured, never heard, never given the space to simply be - starts pounding on the door. 

And when you finally open it, you’re hit with the full weight of everything you’ve ignored. 

You feel anger. So much anger. 

You feel grief. Deep, ancient grief. 

You feel regret - not for being wrong, but for never having been given the chance to be whole. 

Regret, Rage, and Responsibility 

Let’s talk about regret. 

Not the cute kind. Not the “Oops, I should’ve taken that job” kind. I mean the soul-deep regret of realizing you’ve spent decades chasing someone else’s dream.  

The regret of looking back and seeing all the ways you abandoned yourself - because no one ever told you it was safe not to. 

That kind of regret can eat you alive. 

It comes with a side of rage. Rage at the people who failed you. Rage at the systems that neglected you. Rage at the silence, the pressure, the lies.  

And under all that rage? A raw, tender grief. 

You start to mourn the life you didn’t know you could have. 

You grieve for the child you were and the adult you’ve become. 

You grieve for the time you lost. The risks you didn’t take. The love you didn’t let in. 

But here’s the twist: regret doesn’t have to rot you. It can remake you. 

If you let it, regret becomes a teacher. One of the hardest, yes. But also one of the most honest. 

It says: You can’t change the past. But you can meet yourself now. 

And that’s where the real work begins. 

Reclaiming the Self You Never Met 

So, what do you do when you realize you’ve lived an unexamined life? 

You examine it. 

Slowly. Gently. With grace. 

You start asking questions like: 

• What did I believe because someone told me to? 

• What do I value now? 

• Who am I when no one is watching? 

• What do I want - even if I don’t believe I deserve it? 

You become a beginner. Again. 

You let yourself fumble. You allow yourself to not know. You reach out. You read books. You go to therapy. You sit in silence. You scream in your car. You journal like your life depends on it—because, in some ways, it does. 

You begin to rebuild a relationship with yourself. 

At first, it’s awkward. You’re not sure what you like. You second-guess your instincts. You realize how much of your personality was survival tactics. But with time, curiosity replaces fear.  

Compassion replaces shame. 

And one day, you catch a glimpse of the real you in the mirror. 

Not the “good kid.” 

Not the success story. 

Not the survivor. 

You. 

And they are worth fighting for. 

Thriving Is a Daily Practice 

You’ve spent your life surviving. Maybe even succeeding. But thriving?  

That’s new terrain. 

Thriving isn’t about having it all together or some sort of Instagrammable lifestyle.  

Thriving is: 

• Saying no without apologizing 

• Choosing rest over hustle 

• Being honest about what hurts 

• Creating boundaries without guilt 

• Loving yourself without permission 

• Living a life of your creation 

• Setting and achieving goals aligned with who you are 

It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. 

It’s about the joy and freedom of being able to intentionally and actively choose among many available choices. 

When you grow up in trauma, thriving feels selfish. It feels foreign. Sometimes it even feels boring - because drama and chaos were your baseline. 

And, options feel limited if non-existence because they are out of your awareness. 

But slowly, you rewire.  

You soften.  

You root. 

You learn to trust joy without waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

You learn that thriving isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It’s peace in your bones. It’s waking up and not dreading the day.  

It’s choosing yourself again and again - even when it’s hard. 

The Slow Forgiveness of Self 

Eventually, the anger fades. 

Not because what happened to you was okay. It will never be okay. 

But because holding onto rage becomes too heavy. 

You begin to forgive - not the people who hurt you, necessarily, but yourself. 

You forgive yourself for not knowing. 

You forgive yourself for the years spent lost. 

You forgive yourself for surviving the only way you could and the only way you knew how. 

You start treating yourself with the tenderness you always deserved. And in doing so, you begin to heal. 

Not by forgetting the past, but by honoring it and choosing differently. 

Because now you know. 

And that changes everything. 

You Raised Yourself 

Never minimize what you’ve done. 

You raised yourself. You kept going when it would’ve been easier to stop. You navigated a world that gave you no roadmap and still managed to arrive at this moment - with enough strength to ask the hard questions, enough heart to feel the pain, and enough courage to begin again. 

That’s not weakness. That’s resilience. 

But you don’t have to live in survival mode anymore. 

You’re allowed to soften. To rest. To feel joy. To take up space. 

You’re allowed to build a life that feels like you. 

And it’s never, ever too late. 

The journey back to yourself isn’t linear. It’s messy, slow, and often painful. But it’s also real. And beautiful. And deeply, deeply worth it. 

So what do you do now? 

You get curious. 

You ask questions. 

You make mistakes. 

You take breaks. 

You cry. You laugh. You rage. You heal. 

And step by step, you create a life not built on fear or obligation, but on truth. 

Your truth. 

Because the life you build from here isn’t based on who you were told to be. 

It’s built by the person you are finally allowing yourself to become. 

And you are extraordinary. 

Journal Prompts for Personal Development

1. Where does your leadership come from - fear, survival, or purpose? When I lead, do I feel grounded and clear - or do I feel like I’m performing? What am I protecting or proving through my leadership style, and is it rooted in my past need to survive, please, or comply?

2. What part of you had to grow up too soon - and how does that shape how you relate to others now? What roles did I take on early in life that were beyond my years - caretaker, peacekeeper, achiever? How do those same roles show up in my professional relationships today? Am I parenting my team? Am I over-functioning?

3. In what ways do you confuse overworking with self-worth? Do I tie my value as a leader to how much I produce, how available I am, or how much I can endure? If I stopped proving myself through hard work, who would I be - and would I still feel ‘enough’?

4. Where do you still silence your needs or intuition to avoid conflict or rejection? When I feel discomfort with a colleague, a client, or a team member, do I speak up - or shut down? What does my childhood teach me about safety, confrontation, and being allowed to take up space?

5. What version of success have you outgrown - but are still performing? Is the professional life I’ve built aligned with who I truly am now - or with the child I once were, doing their best to follow someone else’s rules? What needs to shift for me to lead from authenticity, not expectation?