Living in survival mode
“Survival mode.”
It’s a phrase used to describe the state of constantly bracing for impact—physically present, but emotionally and mentally running on fumes. It often stems from long-term exposure to trauma, grief, burnout, or chronic stress.
For years, that was me. Not just in a fleeting season, but for what now feels like an entire chapter of my life.
At first, I didn’t have language for it. I was just doing what needed to be done. Motherhood. Work. Marriage. Juggling it all, day in and day out. And for a long time, I thought that was normal. That the exhaustion was just part of the job. That losing yourself was a natural byproduct of doing everything for everyone else.
But one day, I saw myself in a photo and didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
My husband had posted a picture of me and our boys at the airport. The two youngest were crawling all over me, the oldest sitting close by. On the surface, it was a beautiful moment of motherhood—but all I could see was someone who looked utterly depleted. Swollen with the extra weight of back-to-back pregnancies and carrying a life that had become about everyone but herself.
That image stopped me in my tracks.
Motherhood, in full immersion
Me, pregnant with my middle son.
When I became a mom 15 years ago, my entire world shifted instantly. Motherhood is sacrificial in the deepest, most permanent way. I gave up my body to bring my children into the world and extended that sacrifice by breastfeeding each of my three sons for a year. I became consumed by their every need—their sleep, their food, their milestones, their moods, their poop. You name it.
And somewhere along the way, I lost track of me.
I loved that they saw me as their safe space. That their instinct was to come to me when they needed help, comfort, or guidance. But I envied the freedom my husband had to come and go without interruption. If I needed to leave the house for errands, I had to give notice. And more often than not, I had to take one of the kids with me just to make things easier for him. I was the constant. The default. The foundation. But no one asked what I needed to stay standing.
The signs I wasn’t okay
There were warning signs, but I brushed them off. My anxiety, which had first surfaced after having my oldest, started creeping back in. Anxiety attacks that had once been rare began showing up more frequently. I gained weight. I vented constantly to my best friend about things I should have been bringing to my husband, but I didn’t feel emotionally safe enough to do that. So I’d complain, cuss, stuff it all down, and keep going like nothing was wrong.
I thought that if I just kept pushing through, things would eventually get easier.
They didn’t.
The work that wore me down
Professionally, I was doing work I loved. I was growing. Taking on more responsibility. But with that came more pressure. I stepped into a manager role with no formal training, under a new leader I didn’t know. She was kind, but her expectations weren’t always clear. The workload got heavier. The stakes got higher. And even though I was being trusted with complex, high-profile work, I often felt like I was in over my head with no one to turn to.
Everyone around me thought I was handling it with grace. And I was, but only because I’d become skilled at hiding the cracks.
A marriage that silenced me
Behind closed doors, my marriage was unraveling. There was tension, resentment, verbal and emotional abuse. Moments I still don’t like to revisit. And even when I felt unheard, unsafe, or dismissed—I stayed. I smiled. I made dinner. I planned family vacations. I tried to keep the peace. I didn’t feel like I had space to fall apart.
So I held my breath through the hard moments, hoping the good ones would be enough to hold us together.
But what I was really doing was surviving.
Finding strength in my vulnerabilities
What I’ve learned through all of this is that there is strength hiding in vulnerability.
When I finally gave myself permission to name what I was going through, to say it out loud, without shame, I began to create space for healing. I started to believe I didn’t have to do it all, or do it all alone. I began to recognize that asking for support is not weakness, it’s wisdom. And it’s brave.
Little by little, I’ve started to reclaim pieces of myself. Through therapy. Through healthier habits. Through learning to rest. Through choosing myself even when it feels unfamiliar or uncomfortable.
I’m not all the way there yet. I still have days where I feel like I’m falling short. But I’m not in survival mode anymore.
I’m living. I’m feeling. I’m healing. And I’m learning that I don’t have to lose myself to love others well.
Journal Prompts
In what areas of your life are you simply surviving instead of thriving?
What have you put on the backburner in order to keep everything else going?
What would it look like to prioritize your well-being, even in small ways?
How does your body respond to long-term stress?
How can you begin to care for it?
