To My Dearest Life,

 We haven’t always seen eye to eye. There have been too many times when I didn’t understand where you were taking me or why. I felt such immense pain, and quite honestly, I didn’t want to get up in the morning more days than I can count. The mere thought of lifting my legs over the edge of the bed, placing them solidly on the floor, and trying to stand up to start another day seemed unbearable at times.

None of it made sense to me then. How could it? This wasn’t the life I had dreamed of as a child. This was by no means what I thought my life would look like. How could I have possibly imagined that one person could go through so many difficult times, over and over again? You just kept throwing one thing after another at me, as if I was built for impact.

Somehow—and to be honest, I am still not sure how—I stayed standing at the end of each thing you threw my way. I was torn up, shredded, and cut deep, like a serrated knife tearing into skin that had already been wounded.

Yet I persisted. I stitched up those wounds with thread made of the same kind of grit as a leather boot—worn for a million miles, yet still refusing to give way. It felt tough. Worn. Like something broken in, not unbreakable.

Within the breaking in, I started to see light. Meaning began to form where there had only been pain, and flashes of hope struck like bolts of lightning.

I didn’t suddenly understand you, but I stopped seeing you as the enemy. I began to realize you weren’t trying to destroy me—you were trying to wake me up.

You were strengthening my gifts and leading me toward a life of depth and resilience, of power and purpose.

I don’t pretend the scars disappeared. Some days I still feel their pull, the familiar urge to brace myself for what might come next.

But then I remember all it took to get me to this moment. I celebrate how far I have come and wear those scars proudly—as imprints of victory—choosing to see their beauty instead of their hurt.

I no longer measure my life by how much I can endure, but by how deeply I allow myself to live. I let joy in without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I honor the woman I became in the suffering. I choose softness where I once chose armor. I choose meaning over bitterness. I choose myself—not because the road ahead is certain, but because I finally trust who is walking it.

I no longer fear you, life. I embrace you.

Thank you for not letting go of me. Every morning when I open my eyes, I see that you are still here, showing up for me—and so I show up for myself. And I feel more alive now than ever before.

I see you now. Just like you saw me. Together, your lessons and my courage carried me here.

Still standing,
Sheryn

P.S. Could you go easy on me now for a bit?

About the Author

Sheryn Senn is a best-selling author, speaker, and the creator of Dear Me, Love Me, a brand born from her own journey of self-reclamation. Devoted to fostering self-compassion and kinder self-talk, her work helps people stop living on repeat and start living on purpose—replacing who they were told to be with who they were born to be.

Be sure to follow Sheryn on Instagram and Facebook.

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