What Grit Looks Like

When people look at me now, they see an author of two successful books, a business owner, and someone who works full-time while still moving forward with dreams and goals. On the outside, that may look like resilience, stability, or even success. But what most don’t see is the road it took to get here—or the weight I still carry every day.

What I have accomplished in the past five years is unheard of from most people… and unlikely for the insurmountable struggles I’ve had to face nearly alone. It’s grit and miracles all in one.

I started my life over with absolutely nothing. No safety net. No local support system. No friends or family nearby to lean on when everything felt impossible. Starting from scratch is one thing; doing it with layers of trauma and PTSD on your back is another.

Here’s the reality: for most people, research and lived experience show that it often takes seven to ten years to fully rebuild life after starting over with nothing. That timeline assumes you have at least some support—parents who can co-sign a lease, relatives who can help cover rent for a month, friends who can offer a couch to crash on, or a network that can connect you with steady job leads. With those supports, progress may be slow, but it’s steady.

For those with no safety net or local social support, the timeline stretches much longer. Rebuilding after a traumatic event like eviction, job loss, or financial collapse can take a decade or more. Every obstacle takes longer to overcome because there’s no one to catch you when you fall, no backup when things go wrong, and no relief when the burden gets too heavy. Each problem compounds the next, creating a cycle that can feel nearly impossible to break.

In my case, I faced multiple eviction hearings in just two years, unemployment, and the daily impacts of PTSD—while doing it all alone. Every time I fell, I had to pick myself up. . Every hearing wasn’t just a legal matter—it was a retraumatizing reminder that my stability could be ripped away at any second. And right now, I am still navigating unstable housing, receiving notices with varying amounts due, even after making a formal request for accommodation. These notices aren’t just numbers—they are stressors that compound the trauma and uncertainty I’m already managing.

When people look at what I’ve done—publishing books, holding down full-time work, running a business—they don’t always realize that they’re asking me to perform at a level that is superhuman for anyone, let alone someone carrying trauma and living without support. To function at this level while still fighting for housing security, financial stability, and healing is unheard of. Most people with the privileges of family support or financial backup would struggle to do half of what I’ve managed.

And yet, somehow, I am still standing. Somehow, I’ve done what many would consider impossible: I’ve built a functioning life in the face of chaos. I’ve published not one, but two books that did well. I’ve launched and maintained a business. I’ve worked full-time. And I’ve done it all while healing, stumbling, getting back up, and pushing forward—even when no one else was pushing with me.

That kind of grit doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from surviving fire after fire and refusing to let the ashes define you. It comes from knowing that if I quit, no one else will swoop in and save me. It comes from the unshakable decision that my story will not end in defeat, no matter how many times I’ve had to start over.

The truth is, what I’ve done is almost unheard of. To go from starting over with nothing, through multiple eviction hearings and financial instability, to publishing books and running a business—all within just a few years — defies the expected timeline of recovery. Many people in my situation don’t make it to the other side of functioning, let alone to creating something meaningful in the world.

Am I still struggling? Absolutely. Every day is a balancing act between the invisible weight of PTSD and the visible responsibilities of working, writing, running a business, and now, once again, trying to stabilize my housing situation in the face of confusing and destabilizing notices. But the fact that I am here, still building, still standing—that is a miracle in itself.

So if you see me with a smile, know that behind it is a story of survival, grit, and relentless persistence. What I’m doing isn’t just living—it’s rewriting the rules of what true grit looks like.