5 Ways You Made It to the Other Side

There was a night I cried over a broken kitchen cabinet. Not because I loved that cabinet, but because it wouldn’t close and neither could I. You know those moments where something tiny cracks and suddenly, you’re full-on sobbing like a character in an indie drama scored by Bon Iver? Yeah. That was me. In sweatpants. Surrounded by takeout containers and existential dread.

I didn’t know then, but that meltdown? That was me, mid-transition. Not in a cute butterfly way. More like a “what-the-heck-is-happening-to-my-life” soup of chaos and emotional whiplash. The thing is, no one really warns you that healing doesn’t look like a perfect sunrise yoga session. Sometimes it’s ugly crying into cold fries while convincing yourself that 2 a.m. is a totally normal time to reflect on your childhood wounds.

But here’s the wild part—I made it. You made it.
Even if you’re reading this still deep in the mess, I’m writing this as someone who has been on the floor, not metaphorically, but actually. And somehow, despite the spiral, the silence, and the self-doubt, you made it to the other side.

Not perfectly. Not all at once. And not without carrying some of those scars with you like little emotional tattoos. But still—you did it.

If I could go back and talk to that version of me, the one who thought surviving meant smiling through the storm or “being strong” in public while quietly unraveling in private, I’d say: “Hey. You’re not broken. You’re building.”

And that’s what this post is—less of a listicle, more of a love letter. A way to name the hidden, messy, magnificent ways you showed up for yourself when the world didn’t have a map. You didn’t need to be perfect. You just needed to be here.

These five truths? They aren’t the glossy kind you print on mugs. They’re the ones that held me together when everything else fell apart. So if you’re standing somewhere between “still struggling” and “slowly healing,” I hope this is the reminder you didn’t know you needed.

Let’s walk through it, yeah?
Here’s how you made it to the other side.

1. You Fell Apart (and Didn’t Rush to Glue It Back Together)

There was a week where I lived in the same hoodie. My skincare routine was nonexistent, and I was pretty sure my houseplants were judging me. Everything felt too loud, even the quiet.

But for once, I didn’t try to fix it right away. I didn’t slap on a positive quote or make a color-coded plan. I let myself fall apart—messy, real, and raw. And honestly? That kind of surrender takes guts. We’re taught to bounce back, to “power through,” to get over it faster than it takes to load a TikTok. But healing isn’t speed-based. It’s soul-deep.

You made it to the other side not by pretending to be okay, but by giving yourself the dignity of breakdowns. You let the silence speak. You stopped forcing yourself to sparkle when you needed to sit in the dark.

That wasn’t weakness. That was sacred.

2. You Stopped Needing to Be Chosen

There was a time I’d refresh my phone waiting for that one person to text. You know the one—the person whose attention felt like oxygen, even when they gave you crumbs.

Eventually, I stopped. Not all at once, not like a dramatic rom-com monologue. More like… quietly, over time. I realized I didn’t need someone else to choose me in order to be worthy. I could choose myself. And honestly? That felt better than any double text ever did.

You made it to the other side when you stopped begging for belonging in places that kept you small. You left conversations that drained you. You understood that your energy wasn’t a discount bin.

And somewhere in that letting go, you found room to breathe.

3. You Let the Ugly Feelings Stay a While

Jealousy. Resentment. That one flavor of anger that shows up with tears in tow. I used to panic when those feelings came. Like, “I thought I was past this” panic. I’d shame-spiral about still being mad, still hurting, still triggered.

But then I stopped labeling emotions as either “good” or “bad.” I started asking: What are you trying to tell me?

Grief isn’t linear. Neither is growth. And when I let those ugly feelings hang out without rushing them off the stage, something shifted. They softened.

You made it to the other side not because you avoided the messy emotions, but because you sat with them, let them breathe, and didn’t let them turn into weapons.

You allowed yourself the full range of being human. That’s not weakness—it’s emotional fluency.

4. You Created Joy in Tiny, Ridiculous Ways

There was a day when all I did was rewatch baking shows and eat cereal with a fork (because the spoons were dirty and I was too tired to wash them). And somehow, that felt like peace.

You made it to the other side not with some grand reinvention, but with tiny joys stacked quietly on top of each other. Walks with no destination. Cry-laughing over dumb memes. Dancing badly in your kitchen at 11 p.m.

You didn’t wait for life to be perfect to enjoy it. You found little pockets of okay-ness even when everything else was sideways.

And that’s where the magic lived. In the moments that made no sense but made you smile anyway.

5. You Told the Truth—Even When Your Voice Shook

The first time I said out loud, “I’m not okay,” I felt like I was betraying some invisible rule of adulthood. Like we’re supposed to keep it all together and have a five-year plan.

But you made it to the other side the moment you chose honesty over image. When you admitted that something wasn’t working. When you said “no” without explaining. When you stopped performing and started being.

Vulnerability didn’t ruin you. It revealed you.

You learned that the people who matter can handle your truth. And the ones who can’t? They were never meant to stay.

Why This Really Matters

Because surviving isn’t just about making it through the hard parts. It’s about becoming someone in the process.

The version of you who got to the other side? She’s not just older or more “resilient.” She’s realer. More tender. More unapologetic. You didn’t just survive the chaos—you softened and sharpened in all the right places. You became someone who knows how to sit with sadness and still laugh five minutes later. Someone who knows silence doesn’t mean failure. Someone who doesn’t chase shiny things just to feel seen.

And if you’re still in the middle of it? These aren’t distant promises. These are possibilities already unfolding inside you.

Your healing doesn’t need to look impressive to be real.

Conclusion

To the you who cried over broken things—both literal and emotional—look at you now.

You didn’t become “better” by pretending it didn’t hurt. You didn’t become “stronger” by denying the parts of you that fell apart. You made it to the other side by staying. By choosing presence over performance. By showing up for yourself on the days when the mirror didn’t recognize you and the world felt too heavy to carry.

That’s not small. That’s sacred.

So here’s your permission slip, in case you forgot:
You don’t need to earn rest. You don’t need to explain your softness. And you don’t need to go back to who you were before.

You’re not meant to.

You made it to the other side.

Not because you were fearless.

But because you kept going anyway.