Tag: survival

They Only Wake When the Ground Moves..

Most people do not begin living when life is calm. They begin when life interrupts them.

When everything is smooth, predictable, and neatly arranged, we tend to drift. We wake up, go through the motions, tick the boxes, smile when expected, and call it a life. But it is not really living, it is existing on autopilot. It is comfort dressed up as purpose. It is routine mistaken for fulfillment. And in that quiet stillness, we often lose touch with ourselves without even realising it.

Because nothing is demanding our attention.

Nothing is asking us to grow.

Nothing is forcing us to feel.

So we settle.

We settle into habits that do not challenge us, relationships that do not nourish us, environments that do not inspire us. We convince ourselves that “this is just how life is,” because discomfort has not yet come knocking hard enough to prove otherwise.

But then… life shakes.

Not gently. Not politely.

Sometimes it is loss. Sometimes it is betrayal. Sometimes it is fear that grips your chest so tightly you forget what peace feels like. Sometimes it is the kind of pain that rearranges you from the inside out, where nothing looks the same anymore, not even you.

And suddenly, you are awake.

Awake to the things you ignored.

Awake to the truths you avoided.

Awake to how fragile everything really is.

That shaking, the very thing we dread, is often the moment life truly begins.

Because now, you are no longer drifting. You are questioning. You are feeling. You are seeing. The illusions fall away, and what is left is raw, unfiltered reality. And in that reality, you are faced with a choice, return to numbness… or step into awareness.

The people who choose awareness, those are the ones who start living.

They begin to understand that time is not guaranteed, so they stop postponing joy. They realise that not everyone is meant to stay, so they stop over-investing in people who do not value them. They recognise their own strength, not the kind that comes from ease, but the kind forged in survival.

And something shifts.

They start speaking more honestly.

Loving more intentionally.

Walking away more bravely.

They stop shrinking to fit spaces that never deserved them. They stop waiting for permission to become who they were always meant to be. They begin to build a life that feels real, not perfect, but authentic.

Because once life shakes you, you cannot unsee what you have seen.

You cannot go back to pretending everything is okay when you have felt what it is like for everything to fall apart. You cannot unknow your worth once you have been forced to rebuild yourself from nothing. You cannot ignore your inner voice once it is screamed loud enough to be heard.

That is the paradox of it all..

The breakdown becomes the breakthrough.

The pain becomes the teacher.

The shaking becomes the awakening.

And maybe that is why not everyone is truly living, because not everyone is willing to face the shake. Some people run from it. Some numb it. Some spend their whole lives trying to recreate comfort just to avoid ever feeling that disruption again.

But those who lean into it… those who allow it to transform them… they discover something powerful..

Life was never meant to be lived asleep.

It was meant to be felt. Deeply. Fully. Honestly.

So yes, most people do not start living until life shakes them up.

But once it does… and they choose to rise instead of retreat…

they do not just go back to life as it was.

They become something more.

They become awake.

THE SECOND HALF OF MY LIFE BELONGS TO ME..

There comes a point in every woman’s life where survival stops being the goal and self-respect becomes the standard. A point where the battles I had fought, the storms I had walked through, and the wounds I had stitched shut with my bare hands became my evidence, proof that I did not survive hell just to tolerate what drains my spirit now.

I have crossed oceans of pain to get here.

I have walked through fire barefoot.

I have carried heartbreak, betrayal, disappointment, and the weight of responsibilities that nearly broke my back, yet here I stand.

So no, I will not apologise for protecting my peace.

I will not shrink myself to fit into places that cannot hold me.

And I will not pour into people who come with empty hands and entitled hearts.

I have learned the hard way that not everyone who had access deserved it. Some people only understood my giving, never my boundaries. Some loved the light I carried but contributed nothing to the flame. Some took and took and took… Then acted offended when I finally stopped bleeding for their comfort or selfish needs.

Forgiveness?

Yes, I have given that.

But forgetting?

No, now that is something I refuse to do. Not because I hold grudges, but because wisdom is born from remembrance. Forgetting would only make me vulnerable to repeating cycles that nearly destroyed me. I owe myself more than that.

This second half of my life will be lived with clarity, with intention, with self-love so strong it intimidates the version of me who once accepted crumbs. My boundaries are not walls, they are gates and I decide who gets the privilege of entering. I decide who gets my softness, my effort, my loyalty, my time. The access I give from here on will be earned, honoured, and never taken for granted again.

I am choosing me now, fully, unapologetically, consistently.

The woman I am becoming is no longer fueled by fear or longing for approval.

She is guided by experience, protected by self-respect, and powered by a heart that refuses to settle for less than what it deserves.

This is the second half of my life…

And I will live it for me. Not for what broke me. Not for what left me. Not for what drained me.

For me.. The woman who survived everything that was meant to destroy her… and decided she would rise anyway.

What Historical Event Fascinates Me the Most..

What historical event fascinates you the most?

“Our history is not beautiful, but it is proof that broken things can still rise.”

If I am being honest, “fascinating” feels like the wrong word when it comes to South African history. Our history does not fascinate me. It breaks me, it challenges me, it humbles me. It is not a story of curiosity, it is a story of pain, of people who bled and wept and still stood tall. The events that shaped this country are not spectacles to be admired, they are scars that whisper reminders of what it cost to survive here.

But maybe that is where the fascination lies, not in the events themselves, but in the endurance that followed. In how a nation so deeply divided, so violently wounded, somehow found fragments of hope to piece itself together again. The transition from apartheid to democracy is not just political history, it is human history. It is the kind of transformation that makes you stop and realize what the human spirit is capable of when it refuses to stay broken.

I do not romanticise it, the pain is still there, the inequality still echoes, the healing is still ongoing. But what grips me, what truly fascinates me, is that through all of it, people still sang. They still prayed, still fought, still believed. We are a nation that turned suffering into a symphony of survival.

So no, South Africa’s history does not fascinate me in the traditional sense. It moves me. It reminds me that beauty can rise from brutality, that resilience can grow in the soil of ruin, and that hope, though battered, always finds a way back home.

We carry pain in our roots, but strength in our veins. Still we rise, not because history was kind, but because we refused to stay broken. Our scars do not silence us, they sing of survival. We are not our history’s victims, we are its proof of victory.