Recently, I was talking to my mother. I was distraught, inconsolable, thinking about my father.
"I'm a failure. Daddy wouldn't be proud of me. I haven't accomplished anything," I said.
"You accomplished surviving something horrible," she responded.
We were sitting outside. It was sunny and beautiful and warm and I was crying and when she said that to me it's like she gave me permission to not be okay, she validated all the pain and brokenness that I was so ashamed of. I couldn't have loved her more in that moment.
Sometimes, your survival must be enough. You may not thrive or succeed in ways that other people think are valid, but you wake up and you live and that matters.
I will never forget her words. Never.