Since 2019, life has been an unrelenting series of challenges, losses, and upheavals. Each event seems to pile onto the last, compounding exhaustion, grief, and emotional weight. From personal tragedies to global crises, from fleeting moments of hope to crushing setbacks, the past six years have been a struggle to survive, to maintain stability, and to find even the smallest measure of peace.
2019 began with a loss that changed everything: the death of my uncle on my dad’s side. He wasn’t just an uncle—he was like a father to me, a steady presence in my life when my real father was absent. Losing him was like losing a foundation, a sense of safety I had always taken for granted. His death was sudden, shocking, and devastating, creating a void that I still feel over six years later, a grief that hasn’t faded, a wound that hasn’t healed. That loss set the tone for everything that followed. Later that year, another family member who had been like an aunt to me passed away, young and unexpectedly. These losses were not isolated—they compounded one another, leaving no time to grieve, no opportunity to process, and no space to heal. Every day after felt heavier, every new event layered atop an already fragile sense of stability. 2019 was the year that fractured my life, the year that taught me that grief can be relentless and unforgiving, and that some wounds take years to even begin to heal.
2020 brought a different kind of upheaval. My grandpa passed away just before the pandemic, and the world closed down. Lockdowns brought isolation, uncertainty, and fear, magnifying the sense of helplessness that had already taken root. Public tragedies—violent unrest, societal breakdown, the deaths of figures I looked up to, and the chaos of the election—collided with personal grief in ways that felt overwhelming. Each external event added pressure to an already heavy heart, leaving no space to breathe or recover. Watching the world unravel around me while navigating personal pain created a feeling of constant anxiety, as if life itself was unpredictable, unsafe, and relentless. 2020 was the year that compounded everything I had lost in 2019, layering personal grief on top of global crisis and chaos, and it left me reeling, unsteady, and emotionally exhausted.
The years that followed brought no pause. Personal setbacks, professional disappointments, and further losses continued without end. Every time I tried to catch my breath, another wave arrived. Then came 2025, a year that tested me in ways I had never experienced before. This was the year that brought sickness unlike anything I had faced. My body began to fail in new ways, and the effects spilled over into every part of my life. I became the “sick person” at work—something I had never been before. Being late, leaving later than usual, missing most of the day, being sent home by managers, having EMS called on me—these were all firsts, each one disorienting, exhausting, and terrifying. There was no manual for what this felt like, no reference for how to navigate becoming suddenly vulnerable in such a visible way. The sickness was relentless, and it compounded the weight of six years of accumulated grief, loss, and stress. Each day brought new uncertainty, new limitations, and a constant reminder that life could shift in an instant. 2025 was a year defined by unprecedented challenges, by firsts that felt overwhelming, and by the realization that endurance sometimes meant simply making it through the day, step by step, despite fear, exhaustion, and constant uncertainty.
Through all of this, hope remained fragile but persistent. Even in moments of despair, there was the wish that life could improve, that circumstances could shift, that people could heal. But hope was never simple—it was intertwined with fear, caution, and the awareness that life could change—or end—without warning. Relationships were complicated; boundaries became essential for survival, even when they came with sadness. Wanting the best for someone while knowing I could not protect them from themselves became a recurring lesson in helplessness, repeated across multiple layers of grief and challenge.
The accumulation of stress, grief, and uncertainty created a sense of constant vigilance. The world felt unsafe not just physically but emotionally and psychologically. The losses I experienced were compounded by external events—the political upheaval, societal unrest, and global crises that made every day feel heavier. Fear and anxiety became familiar companions, shadowing the grief that never fully lifted.
Yet amidst the struggle, there were moments of clarity. Survival itself became an act of strength. Enduring didn’t mean weakness, and setting boundaries didn’t make me cold or uncaring. Acting with integrity, even when unseen or unrecognized, became a way to preserve humanity amidst chaos. Acknowledging pain while continuing to move forward—even in the midst of sickness, grief, and relentless challenges—was itself a triumph.
The past six years have been relentless in their intensity. Loss, grief, disappointment, illness, fear, and upheaval have tested me continuously. Yet resilience has persisted. The willingness to keep going, to hope, and to act with care and integrity, even when circumstances feel impossible, demonstrates quiet but profound strength.
Life since 2019 has been a constant battle against circumstance, grief, and unrelenting challenges both personal and global. 2019 fractured everything. 2020 compounded it. 2025 tested me in ways I never imagined. And through it all, I have persisted, carried the weight, navigated the chaos, and continued to seek moments of clarity, hope, and integrity. That is resilience. That is survival.
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