I Thought Survival Was Enough — Until I Wanted More

I used to measure my success in days survived.
A day without a panic attack.
A day I didn’t cry in a bathroom stall.
A day I managed to pay the bills with just enough left for instant noodles.

Survival was my default mode. I wore it like armor. Growing up in a home where silence was punishment and chaos was routine, I learned early that wanting more—more love, more peace, more happiness—was a luxury. And luxuries weren’t for people like me.

By the time I turned twenty-eight, I had clawed my way out of a toxic family, a city that swallowed dreams, and two abusive relationships. I was living alone in a studio apartment the size of a generous closet. I had a job that paid just enough to keep the lights on and a few friendships that flickered like a candle in wind.

But I was surviving.

And for years, I convinced myself that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.


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The shift came quietly. There was no dramatic breakdown, no lightning-struck epiphany. Just one Tuesday morning, I sat on my mattress (because I couldn’t afford a bed frame), sipping cold coffee, and I thought: Is this it?

The thought startled me. Because that’s the kind of question you don’t ask when you’re in survival mode. You don’t question the weight of your chains when you're too busy dragging them. But that morning, I did.

Is this it?

What if I could want more?
What if wanting more didn’t make me ungrateful?
What if surviving wasn’t the whole story?


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That day, I started making different choices—small ones. I bought a real mug instead of drinking out of plastic cups. I stopped apologizing in every email. I began unfollowing people who made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I even lit a candle in my apartment—not because I had guests coming, but just for me.

Those tiny acts added up. Not in any miraculous, movie-montage kind of way, but in slow, human ways. I began to believe that maybe I deserved comfort. Maybe I deserved a life that wasn’t just about making it to the next day.

The real transformation, though, came when I dared to dream again.

I signed up for a night writing class. Just once a week. I told myself it was “just for fun,” but deep down, I knew I was reclaiming something I had buried: the part of me that used to scribble poetry on napkins, that dreamed of writing stories people could feel.

At first, I felt like an imposter sitting in that classroom. Most people there had confidence that seemed foreign to me. But week after week, something inside me softened. The instructor—a silver-haired woman with fire in her eyes—once read my piece aloud and said, “There’s real truth in these words.” I nearly cried in my seat.

That was the moment I realized: I had spent so long fighting to exist, I’d forgotten how to live.


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Wanting more didn’t mean I was greedy. It meant I was healing.

I started advocating for myself at work. I applied for a promotion I was sure I wouldn’t get—and got it. I started dating again, but this time, I brought boundaries with me. I allowed myself joy without guilt. Rest without shame. I started choosing friends who uplifted me, not just tolerated me.

And most importantly—I started writing again. Really writing.

Not just journaling or writing to vent, but writing to say something.
To remember that I had a voice. That I had a story.
That I mattered.


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Here’s what I’ve learned: survival is brave. It’s a fight. And for many of us, it’s the first chapter of a long, complicated book.

But it’s not the whole book.

You deserve more than just “making it.”
You deserve love that doesn’t ask you to shrink.
You deserve mornings that feel light.
You deserve to create, to rest, to grow, to laugh so hard you cry.
You deserve to want more—and to go after it without apology.

I don’t have it all figured out. I still have days where the weight creeps back in, where I catch myself bracing for impact that never comes. But now, I have a life that reminds me of what’s possible.

I’m no longer just surviving.

I’m building a life worth living. One messy, beautiful, brave day at a time.


Thank you for reading ❤️.