Emily T-H.
If you are reading this, your struggle is seen, even when the world looks away.
The nights you feel invisible, the moments you doubt your own worth–they are real and they matter. You are not alone in this, even when it feels like it. Every tear you shed, every anxious thought, every silent battle–these are not signs of weakness, but evidence of your resilience. You have come this far, enduring the worst, carrying burdens no one else could understand, and yet here you are, breathing, existing, still capable of hope.
There are days when it feels like the darkness has claimed you. When every step forward feels impossibly heavy. But even in those moments, your courage quietly persists, it lives in the small choices you make. Healing is not a linear journey. You are allowed to stumble, to pause, to feel lost. You are allowed to be human, with all the imperfections, doubts, and fears that come with it.
I know this, because I’ve lived it in my own way. When I was seventeen, I lost both my parents. Suddenly, the world felt unfamiliar and unsteady. I struggled more than I ever let on, carrying grief while still being expected to grow, function, and move forward. There were some days that just showing up felt like the greatest accomplishment. But, over time, I learned that simply surviving didn't mean I was failing–it meant I was adapting. In the midst of great loss, I found moments of strength, connection, and life surprising me in unexpected ways. My experience taught me that pain can exist alongside resilience, and that struggling does not cancel out the possibility of hope. And, one day, without realizing it, I saw that every step I took in the dark was quietly teaching me how to walk toward the light.
Remember, your presence in this world makes a difference simply by being here, simply by being you. The love, the kindness, and the laughter that you carry–even when hidden–touches more lives than you realize. Even if no one says it aloud, your existence is meaningful. You are worthy of care, worthy of patience, worthy of light. So breathe. Be gentle with yourself. Know that your struggles do not define you–it is only one part of a life that is still unfolding, a life that can still hold joy, connection, and hope. Somewhere, in the quiet of your own heart there is a spark still fighting, still reaching toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
Emily T-H., Syracuse University
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