What’s Survival Got to Do with It?
My Dearest Love,
At 24, you are standing at the edge of something you believe is purpose. You do not know that the suit you just bought will become armor. You think that if you walk with enough confidence and learn the language of boardrooms, you will be allowed to stay. You do not yet understand that being allowed in is not the same as being valued.
You are hungry for change, and I admire that. You believe in justice. You are still close to the girl who organized community tag sales and fish frys, and stayed up late dreaming of what liberation could look like. You think this job is a doorway into the world you want to build. But the world you are entering has its own rules. It feeds off people like you. It will tell you that your exhaustion is a badge of honor. That your sacrifice proves your worth. That your silence is strategic. That if you just stay long enough, you will be able to change it from the inside.
Please listen to me. You cannot heal in a house built to contain you. You cannot grow when every root you try to plant is pulled up for someone else's campaign report. You cannot keep bending yourself into new shapes to survive and still expect to recognize yourself in the mirror. You think your professionalism will protect you. You were taught that excellence is your shield. You do not yet understand that some systems were not built to be impressed. You will learn that your intelligence can be repackaged, your strategies replicated, your voice minimized. You will learn that even in progressive spaces, people will smile in your face and question your competence behind closed doors. They will ask you to lead and then withhold resources. They will praise your passion while quietly draining it.
But let me tell you something else. You are brilliant. That brilliance does not require a platform to be real. Your voice matters outside of reports. Your ideas are not only worthy when they are spoken in policy briefings or funded by philanthropists. Your gift is not your labor. It is your spirit. It is your ability to see through chaos and build something sacred from what others call broken. I know you are scared. You are a single mother. You are trying to build a future that will feel safe enough to bring your child into. You are trying to prove to yourself and the world that you are not a statistic. That you are more than the girl who got pregnant at seventeen. And you are. But please hear me. Survival is not the same as living. There will come a time when your body will shut down because it is tired of trying to prove its worth through suffering. That shutdown will not be a betrayal. It will be an invitation.
I want you to know that rest is not failure. That stillness is not laziness. That leaving is not quitting. You will not always be able to save the projects you are assigned to. You will not always be able to protect your staff from harm. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is walk away. You do not need to die in service of the cause to be remembered as someone who cared. Here is what I want you to do differently. Ask more questions about the spaces you enter. Who benefits from your presence? Who holds the real power? What are you being asked to sacrifice, and for whose legacy? Trust your instincts. If your shoulders start to ache for no reason, it is not just bad posture. If your joy begins to dim, it is not because you are ungrateful. If the meetings drain you more than the movement inspires you, it is time to pause.
Find spaces that allow you to be whole. Not perfect. Not polished. Whole. You deserve to be in community with people who see you clearly and honor what you carry. Document your journey. Write it down. Even the parts that feel too small or too painful. They will become the soil for something beautiful later. Your voice will become a lifeline for someone else trying to find her way out. Love yourself. Not just the parts that make you productive. Love the version of you that cries in parking lots. Love the one that forgot her lines during the panel. Love the one that said yes when she should have said no. She is doing her best. She is worthy too. You will not lose yourself forever. Even when you feel buried under obligations and expectations, even when your inbox becomes a tomb, even when you feel invisible, you are still there. And one day, you will rise. Not with fanfare. Not with applause. But with clarity. And that clarity will lead you home.
You are not here to carry the world on your back. You are here to live. To laugh loudly. To dance barefoot. To create without asking permission. To love without shrinking. To lead in ways that heal. Let go of the myth that burnout and sacrifice of self, family, friends, hobbies, healthy meals and habits is the price of admission. Let go of the belief that you must save everyone. Let go of the roles they gave you and write your own.
Twenty-two years from now, you will still be becoming. But you will be free.
With love, truth, and no more pretending,
Me
This resonated? Subscribe for more like this, directly from me to you. subscribe
Comments ()