Survivors

Nothing prepares you for the mess that comes with moving on. The weight in your chest, the mornings you don’t want to get up, and the awkward, painful in-between phase where things still feel off, when you’re not quite “fine” but also not fully breaking anymore. Lately, I’ve been learning what it truly means to move on. It’s not just about letting go of a breakup or quitting a job. Sometimes, it’s about the small, everyday losses.

Like the day I was supposed to leave for Lagos, but the rain ruined my plans. I had to be at the bus station by 3 PM, but the rain started falling, messing with the network and everything else. I had a delivery to make, so I went out in the rain, came back, rushed through my bath, and burned the meal I was looking forward to. I’m still unsure which stung more – the burnt food or realising I could’ve spared 20 extra minutes and done it all better.

That’s how it happens, right? It’s in the moments we overspend money we shouldn’t have, the jobs we don’t get after giving everything, the dreams that shift, and the days where life feels just a little bit too heavy. And then there are the bigger losses – the ones that change you, quietly rearranging something in your spirit.

Survival lies in the small, mundane choices: brushing your teeth, returning a text, making a meal again, even after the last one burned. Choosing – even when you don’t feel ready – to keep going. Sometimes, moving on is simply existing through the discomfort, forgiving yourself, or laughing again… and feeling weird about it. But all of it counts; it matters; it’s progress.

If you’re in that place where things feel tender, strange, and hard, remember: you are not alone, you are not weak for struggling, and you’re not broken. You’re just moving through it, in your own way, at your own pace. And that is brave.

In the last three months, I’ve realised that survival isn’t just about staying alive; it’s about learning to move on, and it can be difficult. Healing isn’t a spa day – warm, light, and comforting. It’s gritty, with swollen eyes and shaky hands. It’s texting back even when your chest is tight, cooking again, trying again, and hoping again… even if it ends in smoke.

Grief doesn’t always scream; sometimes it whispers, slowly unravelling everything you thought was solid. Still, you show up, you try again – not because you’re “over it” but because you’re moving through it. That’s survival, that’s strength, and that’s you.

Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting or that the pain disappears; the exam you failed, the friend who disappeared, the relationship that couldn’t hold, the money you blew trying to feel whole, the funeral you showed up for, heart cracked open. It simply means you’ve decided not to let it stop you from living. If all you did today was breathe through it, that’s enough. That’s you surviving, that’s you moving on.