A Letter to the One Holding On: 5 Ways to Stay Strong

I see you. Holding on with both hands when everything in you wants to let go. Waking up and choosing, again, to keep going — even when you’re not entirely sure why. Even when the why feels thin and far away and you’re running on something closer to stubbornness than hope.

This letter is for you. Not to offer easy answers — there aren’t any. Not to minimize what you’re carrying — I won’t do that. But to sit with you for a moment and say: the fact that you are still holding on is one of the most significant things I’ve ever witnessed. And here are five ways to make that holding on a little more sustainable.

Hold On to One True Thing at a Time

When everything feels uncertain, the mind reaches for solid ground and finds it hard to locate. But there are always true things available to you, even when hope itself feels shaky. Not big truths — small ones. Specific and personal and irrefutably real.

“I have gotten through every hard day so far.” That’s true. “This morning, there was light coming through the window.” That’s true. “Someone in the world is genuinely glad I exist.” True. “My body is still working hard to keep me here.” Also true.

When you’re holding on, don’t try to hold onto everything at once. Hold onto one true thing. And then the next one. String them together like small lights, and let them be enough to illuminate just today. Tomorrow will bring its own true things to hold.

Let the Hard Days Be Hard Without Making Them Mean Something Permanent

One of the most difficult aspects of holding on is the story we tell during the hardest moments. The 3 a.m. voice that says: this is forever. This is who I am. This is how it will always be. The exhaustion becomes a verdict. The pain becomes a sentence.

But hard days are not prophecy. They are weather. And weather, without exception, changes. The storm you’re in right now is not your permanent address — even if it has started to feel like one.

Practice naming what’s happening without adding permanence to it: “Today is hard” instead of “Everything is hopeless.” “Right now I feel broken” instead of “I am broken.” The language matters. It shapes the experience. You are not the storm. You are the person in it. And that distinction is everything.

Find One Small Act of Care for Your Body Today

When we’re holding on, the body often becomes a casualty. Sleep fractures. Eating becomes erratic. Movement slows or stops. The body’s needs feel irrelevant against the backdrop of emotional survival. But the opposite is true: when we’re holding on, the body is the very thing that needs tending most.

Not dramatically. Not a workout you don’t have energy for or a nutrition overhaul you can’t sustain. One small act. Drink a full glass of water. Step outside for five minutes. Stretch. Eat something warm. Sleep one extra hour.

These acts are not about health as an aesthetic goal. They are about sending your nervous system a signal: I am still caring for this body. I am still here, still choosing, still tending to the physical home of my experience. That signal matters more than you know.

Reach Out, Even When — Especially When — It Feels Like Too Much

There’s a particular kind of loneliness that comes from holding on. You don’t want to be a burden. You don’t know how to explain what you’re feeling. You’re not sure anyone would understand. So you hold on alone, and the aloneness makes the holding harder.

Reach out anyway. Not to fix it or explain it perfectly — just to let someone know you’re still here. A text that says “hard week.” A voice message to a friend. A message to a community of people who understand. You don’t have to have words for it. Connection itself is healing, before any words are exchanged.

And if the people in your immediate life feel like too much right now, professional support exists for exactly this. A therapist, a counselor, a crisis line — these are not last resorts. They are resources built for exactly this kind of holding on. Use them without shame.

Remind Yourself Why You Started Holding On

Somewhere at the beginning of this hard stretch, there was a reason you chose to hold on. Something you loved. Someone you loved. A version of yourself you were still fighting for. A dream that hadn’t yet been fully abandoned. Something that made the holding worth the cost.

You may need to remind yourself of that reason regularly. Write it down. Carry it somewhere visible. Return to it when the night is long and the morning feels impossible. Not because the reason makes the pain smaller, but because it makes the holding more purposeful.

And if the original reason has shifted or faded — that’s okay too. Find a new one. Even a small one. Even a temporary one. “I’m holding on today because I want to see what happens next.” That’s enough. Curiosity about your own story is a legitimate reason to stay.

Remember That Holding On Itself Is Already the Work

Sometimes we hold on while waiting for ourselves to do something more — to be more productive, more positive, more proactive about our own recovery. As if holding on is only the beginning and the real work is something else entirely, something we’re failing to do adequately.

But sometimes holding on is the work. Fully, completely, without qualification. There are seasons where continuing to exist, continuing to show up in whatever limited way you can manage, continuing to get through one day and then the next — that is the entire assignment. Not the preliminary to the assignment. The assignment itself.

If you are doing that — if you are simply, stubbornly, quietly holding on — then you are doing what is required of you right now. Not failing to do more. Doing precisely what this season asks. And when more becomes possible, you will do more. For now, holding on is enough. You are enough. Exactly as you are, right now, in the middle of this.

Final Thoughts

To the one holding on: you are doing something extraordinary. Not because it looks extraordinary from the outside — it probably looks quiet, unremarkable, ordinary. But from the inside, from where you are standing, holding on is an act of profound courage.

Hold onto one true thing. Let hard days be hard without making them mean forever. Tend your body gently. Reach out, even imperfectly. And remember the reason you chose to keep going. It is enough. You are enough. And this is not the end of your story.

A Final Word Worth Remembering

Whatever you’re carrying right now, whatever chapter you’re in the middle of — know this: the fact that you’re reading these words means you’re still searching, still open, still willing to consider that your story has more to offer than its hardest moments. That willingness is not small. It is the very thing that separates the people who eventually find their way from the people who stop looking.

Keep searching. Keep asking. Keep showing up for the life that is still unfolding in front of you. It is not finished. And neither are you.