Once again, I’m trying to make it through the day on just three hours of sleep. Simply because I dared to set an alarm. One of the greater mysteries in my life is the trauma my body carries around having to wake up early. I won’t sleep until a few hours before my alarm is supposed to go off, I struggle with getting myself ready, and the chances of me throwing up in the sink before I have to leave the house are about 100%. Yet, if I wake up without an alarm, my mornings run fairly smoothly.

I’m not afraid to admit that, on a regular basis, I find it quite difficult to be alive – but I assume I’m not the only one familiar with this feeling. It’s one of the things that we have in common, this struggle of being human. And our ability to make it through whatever the world throws at us, is – in my opinion – one of our more beautiful qualities. We grieve, we adapt, we wrestle our way to the other side. And then, we continue living. As best as we can. Until the next storm tries to blow us away, and the cycle repeats itself.

For some reason – and if you know why, please share your thoughts with me – we made ourselves believe that making it through is no longer enough. That simply being alive won’t do. Instead, we have to become these inspirational stories that end with the phrase: “and I’m so grateful for it.” A sentence I have grown to resent.

Sure, living through the loss of a loved one, a traumatic medical event, abuse, or chronic illness – to name a few – has probably shown you a side of yourself you didn’t know existed. Now you’re on the other side, you find yourself with a new strength and resilience that would have stayed dormant hadn’t you suffered this much. And maybe, somewhere deep down, you’re glad you know that you have this power inside of you. But that doesn’t mean you have to be grateful for it.

You don’t have to be grateful for someone making you feel unsafe, for meeting death, for the loss of your health. You don’t have to become an inspirational story for people who refuse to believe in the ongoing impact of what has happened to you. Or even share the details of any part of it, especially with people who feel they are entitled to it. This is your real life, and you carry this pain with you. Sometimes close to your heart. Other times only in the back of your mind. But it will stay with you, no matter how much you – and others – want to pretend it doesn’t.

And regardless of the inconvenience: you get to be angry, upset, panicked, and heartbroken about it. For as long and as often as you need.

What all of this has to do with my not sleeping? Who knows? Sometimes you just require a stepping stone in order to say what you have to say – or the lack of boundaries that come with being sleep-deprived. Maybe I needed to write this to show myself how far I’ve come. I’ve moved past the feeling that my entire day is lost when I sleep very little or wake up incredibly late. I’ve become kinder to myself. Grateful that I get to rediscover some version of myself. But allowing myself to be heartbroken about yet another day lost to the consequences of what happened to me. Both existing together. Both feelings justified. And so I keep on going.