Survival Days

17 min read – Link to the audio on Spotify: Your Golden Buddha SPOTIFY

Often, I talk about the things we can do to change, grow, and evolve into a better version of ourselves. We live in a world where social media shows us the best of everyone—the triumphs, the highlights, the moments of success. We see friends, family, even strangers living what seem like perfect lives. But what we don’t see are the behind-the-scenes struggles: the silent battles with chronic illness, cancer, depression, anxiety, or the overwhelming feeling of burnout.

I know countless followers who reach out, and many of them are fighting these invisible battles every day. It’s easy to feel like we’re the only ones facing these hardships, especially when it feels like everyone else is thriving.

It’s a lonely and isolating feeling.

There’s this pressure to “hustle” and push through, to “grind” our way out of the struggles. But for me, that’s been one of the hardest lessons to learn. I have discipline. I have drive. I know what it takes to work toward something greater than myself. But what’s been truly difficult for me to embrace is self-compassion and grace—giving myself permission to rest, to honor those difficult days without guilt.

I used to call these days “give-up days.” They were the days when I no longer had the physical or mental energy to keep pushing forward, when the task at hand felt insurmountable. These were the days I didn’t want to go on, when everything seemed too much. But what I’ve learned on those days of rest is that I wasn’t giving up. I was surviving.

I’ve had more of those moments than I can count. In fact, it often feels like I’ve been living in this space for years now. And the most important thing I’ve learned through it all is that sometimes real strength isn’t found in isolating ourselves, pushing harder, or grinding through. It’s found in giving ourselves the chance to fight another day. 

It’s found in giving ourselves some grace and saying, “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

THE MYTH OF A GOOD LIFE

So often, we’re told that life is about progress — that we need to work hard, to chase our dreams, and to constantly keep moving forward. But there’s a myth that many of us, myself included, have bought into: that a good life is always full of joy, accomplishment, and endless momentum. We’re led to believe that if we’re not growing, achieving, and striving, we’re failing. And this myth adds weight to the struggles we face, making our pain feel even heavier.

In Buddhism, there’s a concept that explains this cycle of suffering: the idea of the first arrow and the second arrow. The first arrow represents the inevitable pain of life — the things we can’t control. Maybe we wake up feeling terrible, physically or mentally. Maybe we get devastating news. Maybe we get sick. These are the events that happen to us, and pain is a part of being human.

But then there’s the second arrow — the suffering we add on top of the pain. It’s the story we tell ourselves about what’s happening, about how we should be handling it, about who we should be and what we should be doing. The second arrow is the guilt, the shame, the pressure to keep going when we feel we can’t, the belief that we’re failing because we’re not living up to some ideal.

The second arrow isn’t just internal—it’s the external pressure we feel from societal expectations.

For me, one of the hardest parts of allowing myself to rest has been seeing everyone else’s accomplishments. On social media, we see people living out their highlight reels — the adventures, the triumphs, the excitement. We’re told that time is running out, that we should be grinding every moment of every day to make our dreams a reality. There’s this constant ticking clock. “You’re on borrowed time,” people say.

This idea — that if we’re not constantly striving, we’re wasting our lives — has fueled anxiety and self-doubt for me. And yes, there are moments when we need to be motivated and driven. But I’ve come to learn that there are also moments when what we need most is compassion, grace, and the ability to rest without guilt.

I’ve lived with chronic illness for a long time, and it’s been a cycle of ups and downs — mostly downs. I’ve seen my body deteriorate, losing muscle over and over again. I’ve lost my ability to walk, to speak, to feel connected to those I love. 

And there are days where I lay in bed, watching my roommates go out and live their lives. They work, hang out with friends, go on trips, enjoy experiences. And there I am, stuck in bed.

They inspire me and show me what I’m working toward, a healthy and thriving life, but also seeing them come home exhausted from long, full days, can be a difficult experience. It is the second arrow that makes this painful at times. While I know exhaustion isn’t easy, I can’t help but wish for the kind of fatigue that comes from fully living. There’s something beautiful about being so immersed in life that it leaves you tired in the best way possible.

These days I wish I was experiencing more of life, and even worse, I feel guilty. I feel like I should be doing more. I know my body doesn’t have the strength to live the same life, but my mind still wants it.

On those days, the depression and anxiety are overwhelming. I think, Why am I here in bed when I should be out living my life? Why am I wasting time when I could be accomplishing more?

But this guilt is the second arrow. The pain — the physical and emotional suffering — is real. But the suffering I add on top of it by telling myself I’m failing, by comparing myself to others, by feeling like I should be somewhere else, doing something else — that’s what compounds the pain.

There are days when just breathing feels like an accomplishment. There are days when getting out of bed, brushing my teeth, eating a couple of meals — that’s my success. But on those days, when I feel like I’ve done nothing, the second arrow strikes again. I should be doing more, I tell myself. I should be getting better, faster. But I don’t have the strength. Sometimes, survival is the only thing I can do. And sometimes, that’s enough.

So I’ve learned to ask myself a different question on those days. Instead of, How much did I accomplish today? or How well did I live? I ask, Did I make it to tomorrow? And if the answer is yes, then that’s enough.

A good life isn’t always about euphoria, bliss, or even passion. Sometimes, the most important thing is simply making it through. We redefine success in these moments — knowing that survival, in its most honest form, is success. These days are different from all the others. They aren’t about what we accomplish, but about what we survive.

And so, when everything feels overwhelming, I remind myself that just deciding to make it to tomorrow is, in itself, a victory.

THE STRUGGLE OF CONNECTION

One of the hardest aspects of my experience is my connection to those around me. For so long, my body and mind have been in survival mode that it’s become my default state. My brain struggles to function, so it decides that emotion is not a necessary energy to spend and instead that energy should be used on my organs or immune system. 

So it’s not just the physical pain that’s difficult to carry—it’s the emotional weight too. Depression, yes, but it’s also something deeper. Most days I feel depersonalized and derealized, like I’m just watching someone else live my life in the matrix, detached and disconnected from any emotions within that experience. It’s like being a stranger in my own body, seeing myself in the mirror, but not recognizing who I am.

I know this isn’t unique to me.

Many of us, at one point or another, struggle to connect with ourselves and others, especially on the toughest days. It’s isolating—not because I don’t care, but because I physically can’t. When I’m in survival mode, I can barely care about myself, let alone others. And so, I isolate, hoping that by being alone, I won’t have to confront the disconnect between me and the world around me. I feel it. I can sense that I’m not showing up the way I want to for the people I love.

Trying to explain what this feels like is hard. It’s like describing a new color to someone—they might try to understand, but unless they’ve felt it themselves, it’s nearly impossible. I remember a conversation with a friend while I was in Germany, going through treatments. I told them how difficult it was for me to keep up with texting or communicating when I wasn’t physically with someone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it’s that I was overwhelmed, and I had to conserve my energy. They understood, or at least acknowledged it.

But when I came back to the U.S. and entered a particularly deep dip, maintaining the boundaries I’d set became even harder. Despite everything I’d explained, this friend was hurt by my silence. And I don’t blame them. I wish I could respond, be more present, go out to dinner, or have the energy to pursue the things I love. But the truth is, I’m often just trying to survive the day. Survival mode takes everything I’ve got.

Explaining all of this to my friend helped, though. They gained a deeper understanding of what I was going through, and that conversation was a lifeline. It was a reminder that sharing what’s happening—whether it’s easy or not—can help others see the bigger picture. It doesn’t mean you have to overshare or give every detail.

But letting people know when you’re struggling can make all the difference.

I know it’s incredibly difficult when the people we care about feel hurt by our silence. And it’s important to remember: that silence doesn’t reflect how we feel about them. It’s part of the struggle. We can’t always give what we want to, and sometimes, we don’t even understand why we act the way we do in those moments. That’s where grace comes in—grace for ourselves and for others. We’re all human, and we all experience moments of disconnection, even when it’s not intentional.

For anyone who feels this kind of isolation, I want to encourage you to reach out when you can. Share what you’re going through, even if it’s just a little bit. Those who care about you will understand. And if they don’t right away, they will in time.

The connection might not always be felt in the moment, but don’t give up on it. There’s always tomorrow, and with it, the chance to reconnect.

THE LONELY COMMUNITY

What’s ironic is how universal the experience of loneliness is. Every one of us has felt that sense of being completely alone in the world, in the universe. And yet, that very experience is something we all share. When I’m isolated, knowing there are countless others out there feeling the same way makes me feel like I can face it, too.

Recently, I’ve been talking with another patient from the clinic, and we’ve shared our experiences with depersonalization and derealization—how hard it is to feel self-love, or even love at all. It’s crushing because we care about the people in our lives, yet it’s like we can’t fully reach them or feel that connection, even though we know they’re there. But what I’ve realized is how comforting it is to talk about this with someone who truly gets it. It makes it feel less lonely. There’s something so deeply human about being understood. And while neither of us are necessarily doing anything for each other, just knowing someone else is there, feeling the same thing, has been helpful in a way I didn’t expect.

I’ve learned it’s not weakness to lean on others; it’s strength. Sharing in our battles brings us closer to the people we care about. That vulnerability is what’s important, because more often than not, there are others who will understand us in ways we don’t expect. They may be fighting their own silent battles that we never knew about.

Still, I know how hard it can be to open up.

So many of us hesitate to share what we’re going through because we don’t want to feel like a burden. I know I’ve had to rely on others—financially, emotionally, physically. And there have been times when I’ve questioned whether I’m just draining the people around me of their energy, their time, their resources. Maybe you’ve felt this too—those days when you feel worthless, like you’re taking up space without offering anything meaningful in return. But what’s helped me is remembering that helping others isn’t just something we give—it’s something that gives back to us.

Science and psychology show that supporting someone else is one of the most fulfilling things we can do. We don’t always feel it in the moment, but showing up for others brings a sense of connection and purpose. So yes, there are times when I feel like a drain. You probably do too. But also know that there are people who want to help, who want to show up for you—not because they have to, but because they want to.

And that’s what makes me so grateful for the people in my life who have been there for me, in ways big and small. The ones who gave me a hug when I needed it most, picked me up from the airport, did my dishes when I didn’t have the strength, or made me laugh on a hard day. There are so many moments when I wonder if I’ll ever be able to show my friends and family how much they truly mean to me—how grateful I am for everything they’ve done. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to return the love they’ve given me.

But I hope that if they read this, they’ll feel just how important they’ve been to me—especially during those dark times when it’s hard to put into words how much they’ve made everything better.

And if you’re reading this and it makes you think of someone who has shown up for you, maybe you’ll send it to them. Maybe they’ll understand how much they’ve meant to you, how much better they’ve made your life, and how deeply you love and appreciate them. They’ve truly made your world a better place to be.

SURVIVAL DAYS

Consistency is often associated with sticking to a set routine—whether it’s a diet, a meditation practice, or a workout plan. But real consistency doesn’t rely on rigid rules. True consistency lies in adaptability: knowing when to take action and, just as importantly, when to step back and allow life to unfold.

There is a Taoist principle called wu-wei, or effortless action. Wu-wei teaches us that sometimes the best way to move forward is to relinquish the need for control and simply let life happen. This doesn’t mean doing nothing—it’s about trusting that action will come when needed and allowing moments of rest when that’s what’s required. It asks for courage—the courage to surrender, to trust that not everything needs to be fixed right away.

It’s like healing a broken bone—sometimes, the best thing we can do is rest and allow time to do the work. We live in a world that tells us to work, grind, and constantly push forward. It’s easy to get caught up in the myth that our worth is tied to perpetual motion. But there’s wisdom in knowing when to step back, breathe, and simply show up, even if it’s not in the way we’d hoped.

A couple of weeks ago, during a particularly rough stretch of symptoms, I felt completely drained—physically exhausted, depressed, unable and unwilling to move or see anyone. I told my friends and family I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday because I just didn’t have the energy that day. So I stayed in bed and gave myself the rest I felt my body and mind needed.

But a couple of days later, I knew I couldn’t keep isolating myself. My parents and roommates had planned a small dinner, and even though I still felt off, I decided I’d go. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to enjoy it, but at the very least, I could show up for them.

When I walked through the door, I discovered my friends had thrown me a surprise birthday party. I ended up being overwhelmed with gratitude that these people would show up for me on a day where I felt so unlike myself. And that simple act of showing up is what gave me the chance to feel that. In that moment, I understood wu-wei. 

Sometimes, life gets better without us trying to force it. That simple act of showing up—even when I didn’t feel like I could—became a victory. And in that moment, I was able to tell the people closest to me just how much they had meant to me through my treatments and low points. They were one of the main reasons I was still here.

So, if you’re struggling, know this: showing up—even on your worst days—is enough. Do whatever you need to do to get yourself to tomorrow. Allow yourself the grace to not be at your best. Try to share with others how much they mean to you, even when it feels impossible to feel those things yourself.

And most of all, trust that tomorrow is a new opportunity. If things can get worse, they can also get better. Change is inevitable. And when it happens, you’ll look back and say, “Damn, I’m proud of how I got through that.”

For now, when you face a survival day, when the weight of pain, doubt, anxiety, and fear feels overwhelming, just keep going. It’s in these difficult times that I’ve discovered the strength and determination I have to keep moving forward — the resilience of that humanity within myself. Even when it’s hard to see, I know I’m still in here somewhere.

In the depths of that isolation, I have learned I’m not alone. And on these days, all I hope to hear from deep within is this:

Tomorrow, I’ll try again.

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