Because I'm Still Here

There's a song called I'm Still Here by Dorinda Clark, and every time I listen to it, I hear more than a song—I hear a testimony. It's about surviving the things that were meant to break you. And I believe that's why it resonates with so many people, because all of us have sat in something that could have taken us out.

The enemy has a way of trying to convince us that we'd be better gone than here. But that's a lie.

Some people have family they can turn to. Some people don't. I can't speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself. I don't have anyone I can always lean on. And I've had to accept that even the friends I've made don't always have the emotional or mental capacity to carry what I need to release.

I'm everybody's listening ear. I'm the one people come to for advice, encouragement, and strength. And I give what I can. But sometimes, it's not that people don't care—it's that they simply don't have the capacity to receive what I'm carrying.

So when you find yourself sitting in your own pain, whatever that looks like for you, remember this: there is somebody in this world who understands. Sometimes that person is a stranger. Sometimes strangers show more compassion than family or friends ever could.

As for me, I'm still here.

Not because life has been easy. Not because I'm a mother, a grandmother, or a wife. I'm still here because I make the choice to fight every single day. I fight for myself. Because if I don't fight for me, nobody else can do it for me.

And I know this much: whatever I put my mind to, I'm going to come out on the winning side. Not because I never struggle, but because I refuse to let the struggle have the final word.

I am still here. And as long as I'm still here, I still have purpose, I still have hope, and I still have another victory ahead of me.