Standing at the intersection of survivor and thriver.
There’s a version of me that used to live in hiding.
Hiding behind appearances. Behind control. Behind performance. Behind a carefully managed silence that kept me safe—but also kept me small. That version of me was still living inside the aftermath of trauma, somewhere between numb and hypervigilant, angry and apologetic, ashamed and overachieving.
That version of me was surviving.
Recently, I came across a worksheet titled Victim | Survivor | Thriver—a simple chart outlining the emotional and psychological distinctions between each identity. As I read through the columns, I felt my breath catch in my throat. Not because I hadn’t seen these words before, but because for the first time, I saw myself occupying the space in between.
I am no longer in the fog of victimhood, defined by helplessness or despair. But I am not quite yet a thriver who feels entirely free of it either.
I am standing in the threshold.
And there is power here.
Survivor: The Middle Space
The survivor column speaks of someone who has:
Begun to take back control.
Started integrating the trauma.
Recognized that the past is no longer the only narrative running the show.
Realized she is not alone.
That’s me.
I’ve walked through fire, carrying children and silence and stories. I’ve found language where there used to be confusion. I’ve taken my pain and turned it into podcasts, essays, and whispered truths shared with strangers who say, “Me too.”
I have mourned.
I have screamed.
I have unraveled.
And I have rebuilt.
But there’s still a part of me waiting to exhale. Still a part that wonders: When does surviving end, and living begin?
Thriver: The Vision Forward
To thrive is to plan for the future, live with meaning and purpose, feel empowered and resilient, and be at peace with the past—not because it didn’t happen, but because it no longer defines you.
This is what I’m calling in.
A life where my nervous system no longer scans every room for threat. Where intimacy isn’t synonymous with fear. Where love feels like coming home—not negotiating terms for safety. Where I create, not just because I’m healing, but because I’m whole. Where I parent with joy, not survival scripts. Where I lead others from a place of deep-rooted clarity, not just experience.
That’s what I am building.
Every boundary. Every truth spoken. Every moment I stay in my body.
Every no. Every yes. Every piece of art. Every pause. Every quiet prayer.
It’s all part of the architecture of my thriving.
This is My Lion’s Gate Portal
As I write this, the Lion’s Gate Portal is here, and my youngest son turns five. A time of alignment, clarity, love and soul fulfillment. And I can feel something shifting.
Not a finish line. Not a final arrival.
But a crossroads—where past and future meet in the present.
Where survival becomes a bridge to something softer. Stronger. Mine.
If you’re here too—if you’re navigating that in-between space—I hope you know this:
You are not failing because you haven’t fully “arrived.”
You are becoming.
And this moment is sacred.