You've Survived Long Enough. Let’s Talk About Living Again

Jun 08, 2025

You’ve Survived

You’ve gotten through the worst day of your life — and the thousand quiet moments that followed.

And now you’re here, reading this, still breathing. Still standing. Still functioning.

That alone says everything.

But I want to ask you something bold, something uncomfortable, something honest:

Are you still living — or are you just surviving?

Because for so many women I’ve worked with, the answer is quiet.
And the truth is painful.

Survival Mode Is a Miracle

It gets us through what should have broken us.
It shows up when everything else falls apart.

But at some point — months or even years later — it becomes a cage.

What Does Survival Mode Really Look Like?

It’s not always dramatic. Sometimes it’s subtle.

It’s the way you rush through your day but feel nothing.
It’s the way you smile politely while your heart feels hollow.
It’s the way you avoid talking about your person because you don’t want to “ruin the mood.”
It’s the way you distract yourself with busyness, silence, or control.
It’s the way you’ve convinced yourself that this is just how life will feel now.

Let me be clear: if you’re there, you’re not failing.

You are doing what you were never taught how to do — grieve.

But grief isn’t just about surviving.
It’s also about asking, eventually:

What’s next?

Grief Isn’t the End of Your Story

Grief is not something to “get over,” but it is something we are meant to move through.

When I say “live again,” I don’t mean erase your grief.
I don’t mean you’ll never cry again or miss them again.

I mean that your life will no longer be consumed by the pain.

You’ll laugh without guilt.
You’ll breathe without a tight chest.
You’ll make plans that don’t feel forced.
You’ll feel like you again — not the version of you who is constantly holding it all in.

Living again means stepping back into your body, your voice, your desires — without shame.
It means honoring your grief but no longer being ruled by it.

And yes, it’s possible.
But no, it doesn’t happen just because time passes.

You Have Survived Long Enough

You Need a Place to Do the Work

You’ve likely done everything you were told to do after your loss.
You’ve been strong.
You’ve been polite.
You’ve kept going.

But here’s what no one tells you: healing takes space, safety, and support.

That’s why I created the Grief Healing Weekend Intensive.

It’s not a retreat to “relax.”
It’s a room where women show up to finally tell the truth. To fall apart. To feel.
To scream. To speak the words they never said.
To finally let it move through them instead of carrying it inside them.

You don’t need more advice.
You need a space to grieve — and be witnessed in it.

And that’s what this weekend is about:
Three days of focused, supported, guided grief work.
Without apology. Without pretending. Without holding back.

Ask Yourself the Hard Questions

Have I been stuck in survival mode longer than I realized?
What have I stopped feeling because I’ve been too afraid to fall apart?
What would “living again” actually feel like in my body?
What has grief taken from my ability to connect, rest, and feel joy?
Am I ready to let go of just surviving?

Survival Got You This Far.

It Doesn’t Have to Take You the Rest of the Way.

If you’ve made it this far, you already have what it takes.
You’ve done the impossible — you kept going when your world ended.

Now it’s time to decide:

Do I want to live again?

You don’t have to have the full answer today.
You just have to be willing to ask the question.

And if that whisper inside of you is saying, “Yes... I want more than this,” — trust her.

That’s your grief asking to be tended to.
That’s your body asking to come back to life.
That’s your heart asking to heal.

And I would be honored to help guide you through it.

10 Journal Prompts to Explore

What does survival mode look like in my daily life?
What am I no longer doing that used to bring me joy?
What would it mean for me to live again?
What emotions am I afraid to feel?
What have I been pretending is “fine”?
What have I been carrying that I never said out loud?
What might begin to heal if I let someone witness my pain?
What’s one memory I’m afraid to touch?
What does the word freedom mean to me now?
What am I longing for that I haven’t admitted until now?