Rebuilding Again

One thing people don't understand about survival situations is that escaping them is not as simple as "just getting a job."

People say things like that because they've never lived inside survival mode long enough to understand what it actually does to a person.

Survival changes your brain.

Not because you're weak. Not because you stopped trying. Not because you gave up.

Because when instability becomes your normal, your mind adapts to survive it.

It becomes a cycle.

Not just financially - mentally. Emotionally. Psychologically.

Fear slowly becomes routine. Chaos starts feeling familiar. You stop planning years ahead and start planning hour by hour. Day by day. Problem by problem.

People don't realize that when safety disappears long enough, your self-worth starts adapting to instability too.

Having nothing starts feeling normal. Needing help starts feeling shameful. Existing starts feeling heavy.

And eventually, without even realizing it, you stop making decisions from confidence.

You start making decisions from fear. Fear of losing what little stability you have. Fear of being completely alone. Fear of one more thing falling apart.

That is what happened to me.

I stayed around people who hurt me because at the time being around somebody felt safer than being completely alone.

Especially as a woman sleeping in vehicles with a dog and nowhere stable to go.

People judge survival decisions from stable environments they've never had to lose.

They judge choices without understanding the circumstances surrounding them.

Fear changes people.

Loneliness changes people.

Humiliation changes people.

Desperation changes people.

When your world keeps falling apart long enough, you start clinging to hope wherever you think you can find it.

I ignored red flags because I wanted so badly to believe there was still good in people.

I wanted friendship again.

Loyalty again.

Safety again.

I wanted somebody to genuinely have my back the way I always tried to have other people's.

I wanted consistency. Comfort. Connection. Something that felt human after spending so much time simply trying to survive.

And despite everything, I never stopped being a good person through any of it.

If anything, hardship made me softer in ways I never expected.

Kinder. More thoughtful. More emotionally aware.

Pain has a strange way of teaching compassion.

But kindness without boundaries can become dangerous.

People take advantage of hopeful people.

Especially people who still choose to believe good exists in others.

At one point, after finally getting a camper so we could stop sleeping in a car, everything we owned disappeared overnight.

Every piece of home we had left.

Clothes. Personal belongings. Comfort items. Memories. Small pieces of life that made survival feel slightly less impossible.

Gone.

Someone manipulated me into leaving the camper temporarily because they convinced me they were helping us.

I believed them.

I wanted to believe them.

Because when you've struggled long enough, hope can sometimes override caution.

Instead, I found myself alone with my dog. Terrified. Sleeping in a laundromat parking lot. Almost nothing left.

I still remember standing there feeling completely broken.

I remember needing clothes and having none.

I remember taking clothes from a dryer because survival had pushed me somewhere I never thought I would end up.

I had never stolen from anyone in my life.

I felt ashamed. Embarrassed. Humiliated.

I carried guilt for something survival forced me into.

People talk about survival like it's inspiring. Like it's brave. Like resilience always looks strong.

Sometimes resilience looks terrified.

Sometimes resilience looks exhausted.

Sometimes resilience looks like crying in parking lots and still finding a way to keep moving anyway.

I rebuilt over and over again.

Rebuilding after the camper.

Rebuilding after losing housing.

Rebuilding after transportation loss.

Rebuilding emotionally every single time I thought stability was finally beginning to return.

And every time life knocked things down again, somehow I kept rebuilding anyway.

Not because it was easy.

Not because I wasn't exhausted.

Because I had to.

Through everything, I kept holding onto one thought.

Maybe if I just kept trying hard enough, eventually I could make it back home.

Not because I needed somebody else to save me.

Because I missed safety.

I missed familiarity.

I missed feeling loved without conditions attached.

I missed family.

My dad understood more than people realized.

Toward the end, I saw that kindness in him again. The same kindness I had known my entire life.

Part of me thinks he knew.

Knew I was trying harder than people gave me credit for.

Knew how hard I was fighting even when nobody else could see it.

Knew I didn't deserve the hell I had gone through - hell I was still currently going through - no matter how much i tried to cover it with my worry for ever losing them and my sister ever again.

I always said that I could never fathom the pain of losing them all over again for a second time. I said I wouldn't make it through that feeling again, that's how bad losing them really fucked me up in more ways than one.

Life forced me to rebuild from nothing more times than I can count.

But every single time life knocked me down - I rebuilt.

Again.

And again.

And somehow - despite everything - I still do.