Introduction:

A year ago, I didn’t think I’d still be here. If I’m honest, I didn’t want to be. The weight I was carrying felt too heavy. The idea of another day and another fight with my own mind just seemed impossible. I thought I’d reached the end as I leaned over the edge of a bridge. My eyes closed, hands crossed over my chest, I felt my body starting to fall forward. Yet somehow, thanks to the intervention from passers-by, I’m still here. And today, one year on, I’m grateful beyond words that I had a guardian angel that day.

The Hardest Year Of My Life But Also The Most Transformative:

This past year hasn’t been easy. Healing and growth never are. There were good days and lots of really hard ones. There were moments I felt strong and moments I fell apart. But slowly, piece by piece, I started rebuilding. Yet, I wasn’t returning to who I was before, but into someone new. Someone who knows how to sit with pain and still choose to keep going.

I took responsibility for my own healing. I challenged myself to get out of my comfort zone (solo trips, attending football matches, social meetups, etc). With the help of therapy, self-help books, podcasts, journaling, and mindfulness, I started to picture what I wanted from life. I made vision boards and spent time meditating. I sat down and evaluated my values; creating goals that aligned with each. In the process, I started to remember what mattered to me and what I enjoyed. I created an action plan to achieve my goals. Failure no longer felt like an option; instead I felt like I was in control of my own destiny. See, feeling like you’re at rock bottom means that the only way is up, right?

What Recovery Really Looked Like:

It was a big turning point, but starting therapy was also extremely difficult. Having to process memories and feelings that I didn’t want to face. Saying things out loud for the first time felt terrifying. It wasn’t like you see on TV, where everything clicks into place after one session. It was uncomfortable, messy, and honestly exhausting. In fact, I needed a nap after most sessions! Some days, I left feeling worse than before I started. Healing meant pulling at threads I’d held tightly for so long. But slowly, therapy helped me understand that those feelings weren’t my enemy. They were the parts of me that had been asking to be seen, heard, and cared for. It taught me that strength isn’t about keeping everything bottled up… it’s about being brave enough to let it out.

As you can probably tell, recovery didn’t happen overnight. It came in quiet moments. Managing to get out of bed, go for a walk, talk to someone, journaling, therapy, running just to clear my mind. It came from choosing to try again, even when I didn’t believe that things could get better. Being consistent was key. Things didn’t have to be perfect or go as planned, but I had to keep showing up for myself. I listened to self-help podcasts, read self-improvement books, did a lot of shadow work. For the first time in what felt like forever, I started to make myself and my healing a priority. I got back to eating regularly and somewhat healthily. Getting myself back to the gym was a big step; it massively helped in giving me a sense of purpose and a way to push myself.

Eventually, there started to be less bad days. It most certainly wasn’t instant, nor was it perfect, but things did get better. The panic attacks became fewer, my sleep routine settled, my self-confidence and belief started to grow. I had a job interview and it actually went well; I was offered the job. After taking some time to reflect, I decided to decline that offer and keep searching. It was a good opportunity and it would have been my first employed role as a fitness instructor. Before I was offered the job I was hoping I’d get it, but then after being offered it, I didn’t feel that it would be the best move for me. I landed a job a couple of months later that felt a much better fit. Prioritising myself also meant keeping a healthy work-life balance, and this role was better suited to that. 

That then led to the tricky part; the stage where you’ve processed a lot. You’ve put the work in to get yourself to a better place. You start to feel good and see the light at the end of the tunnel. Things are looking up… yet you still have days where it all comes flooding back. My C-PTSD flares up if something doesn’t go to plan, but also if things are seemingly going too well. Oh, and also for certain calendar dates… or just because it feels like it. That leads to sleepless nights with night sweats and bad dreams, fatigue, flashbacks, anxiety. The guilt and pressure of survival isn’t talked about enough. It can be so frustrating because it feels like a massive step backwards. It can then also be hard to keep the consistency. On these days, for me, it’s all about avoiding the downward spiral. Accepting the day for what it is, a bad day, and not letting it become more than that.

I have to remind myself that healing isn’t a linear thing; it comes with ups and downs. Learning to live through the hard days was difficult; when the pain won’t go away and the future seems pointless. The days where I sit and wonder why I was saved, yet my brother wasn’t. It’s hard to ride the rollercoaster; in some ways it’s easier to just not have good days, because then the bad ones don’t hit you so hard. These days don’t necessarily get easier, but they do get less frequent. I feel better equipped to handle them now; I allow myself time to sit with my feelings. Instead of running or hiding from them, I give them a space to be. I allow myself to rest without feeling guilty. 

My present, and future, may not be what I’d imagined previously, but it’s now about creating a life that I don’t want to escape from. I find the joy in the little things and spend time with the people who matter. Taking time out to make note of all the things I’m grateful for has also helped to keep me grounded. It’s also a stark reminder of how quickly things can change and the unexpected can happen. Everything in life is temporary; enjoy the good things, but also remember that the bad days will pass too. I try to enjoy each day for what it is, rather than what I’d like it to be. Ultimately, life is what we make of it.

“The only thing in our power is our own thoughts.” – Epictetus

What I’ve Learned About Life Through The Process:

If this year has taught me anything, it’s that hope isn’t a feeling… it’s a practice. It’s something you build by showing up, one small step at a time. Happiness is something that you can create and is ultimately always there if you find a reason for it. Consistency is key; don’t focus on the big picture all at once, the small actions build up into something beautiful.

I also learned that:

• You don’t have to have it all together to keep going.

• Asking for help is a strength, not a weakness.

• You’re not broken for having dark days.

• Life after surviving can be beautiful; not because it’s perfect, but because you get to live it.

I definitely take time to appreciate the smaller things in life. As simple as it is, the first morning in my own home was a moment I’ll never forget. Just the pleasure of sitting in my garden with a coffee, watching my dog have zoomies. Just being able to sit and reflect on my journey and truly appreciate the work that I’d put in. I truly felt proud of myself.

Survival, One Year On:

Today isn’t about celebrating pain… it’s about acknowledging survival. It’s about recognising that somehow, I made it through the moments I was sure I couldn’t. I’ve learned how to find joy in small, ordinary moments: a morning coffee, a run that clears my head, laughter that feels real again.

If you’d told me then, when I was standing on that bridge, feeling completely lost and certain there was no way out, that within 9 months I’d be driving my dream car, owning my own home, and working in a job I loved… I’d have called you insane. I couldn’t see a future that looked anything like this. I couldn’t even see a tomorrow.

But that’s the thing about survival; you don’t always come back to the same life you left. You build a new one, piece by piece, from the ashes of what ended. You learn to see beauty in places you once overlooked. You start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were meant to stay for a reason.

I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting what happened. It means finding a way to live with it and to grow around it. To let it soften you instead of harden you. Every small joy now feels sacred, because I know what it’s like to believe I’d never feel it again.

I don’t take any of it for granted: the roof over my head, the work that gives me purpose, the people who remind me I’m loved. I don’t measure my life by what I’ve achieved anymore, but by the fact that I’m still here to experience it.

Because being here – being alive – is enough. 

For Anyone Struggling Right Now:

If you’re reading this and you feel like you can’t keep going – please hold on. The world needs you here, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. You are loved, you are needed, and there is help.

You don’t have to face it alone.
If you’re in the UK, you can reach Samaritans at 116 123; they’re there 24/7, for free.
If you’re outside the UK, you can find international hotlines here: findahelpline.com, which lists local support in over 150 countries.

Reaching out can feel impossible, but it’s the first brave step towards survival.