A Letter to Those Who Had to Be Their Own Safety Net

A Word for the Ones Who Navigated Life Without a Net and Know the Weight of Holding It All Together

If you're reading this, I have a sense you understand, perhaps deeply, what it means to have navigated life with your survival button perpetually engaged. Perhaps the dawn of your story didn't break on steadfast ground, but on sandy dunes that sighed with the ceaseless whisper of impermanence, each shifting grain a reminder of the unseen currents beneath your feet. There, the dreamt-of hammock of a safety net swayed just beyond your grasp, a mirage in the heat, while the constant state of alert became the silent symphony of your days, a vigilance so ingrained it felt less like a burden and more like the very air you breathed, your unspoken definition of 'living'. Survival became your first language, a deeply ingrained habit born of necessity. This hypervigilance, though exhausting, was a learned strategy, a way to predict and perhaps avoid the inevitable falls when no one else was there to catch you.

Photo by Bruce Christianson on Unsplash

I want you to know, I see the quiet strength it took to function in that relentless mode. It wasn't easy. The world saw a steady surface, a fortress of composure, yet unaware of the frantic paddling beneath, the unseen effort required just to stay afloat where your frayed edges of a spirit were constantly bracing for impact. I feel the echo of that solitude, a silence that stretched like a still, moonless night, growing heavier with each year that passed, the invisible weight you've shouldered, a constant pressure against your heart, as if a small, cold stone had taken root there. It catches up, doesn't it? That moment when you look back and wonder, with a touch of disbelief, how you even managed to do it all. It can feel almost impossible for one person to bear and survive. And in that wonder, I hope you can allow yourself a moment of awe, because the resilience you possess wasn't learned from mantras or self-help seminars, but tempered in the unexpected fires of your life's own trials. Your strength isn't a lack of feeling, it's feeling everything and still choosing to persevere.

I hope you can recognize the quiet strength it took to live with that constant hum of alert. It's a mode learned from necessity, often mirroring a childhood where the next crisis always felt just around the corner.

I hope you can see the wisdom you unknowingly cultivated, a profound understanding of impermanence, a wisdom that was bought with the stolen carefree nature of your youth. You navigated without a map, often carving a life based on necessity rather than desire. And yet, you learned to catch yourself because no one else would, a silent pact you made with your own resilience.

I hope you can acknowledge the quiet ache of opportunities that slipped by, deemed too risky when there was no net to catch you – opportunities that, even if your mind now reasons they weren't the right fit, still carry the weight of "what if”. I understand the feeling of being held captive by the stark reality of "what if it all falls apart?", leading you to the path of caution. Your constant awareness of potential consequence guided your hand as you charted your course, a map drawn with prudence and navigated with fierce resilience. Each detour a testament to your unwavering spirit.

I hope you can recognize the person within you who stepped into roles far too soon, becoming the steady anchor for others. That fierce independence you wear, a badge of honor forged in hardship, became both your shield and your burden. It offered a sense of control in a world where vulnerability felt perilous, yet it also walled off the comfort of shared burdens and understanding from others. What you achieved was hard-won, born not of desire, but of the profound understanding that you had to be your own life raft. And when the well-meaning chorus of people advises you to "just take a risk", I hope you can forgive yourself for your hesitation as they don't understand. They didn't stand where you stood, peering into the abyss without a harness, the fear not just of failure, but of the devastating freefall that would follow, with no hand to grasp, no ground to cushion the impact. No one to catch your fall. That independence, while a testament to your strength, can also feel like a lonely fortress, keeping you safe but also isolating you from the vulnerability that allows for true connection and shared joy.

Those books and podcasts, your makeshift mentors, offered a semblance of guidance- akin to meal replacement bars that quell immediate hunger but never truly nourish the body's deeper needs. They were, perhaps, guideposts in a landscape where none were offered, hinting at a potential within you, a recipe you desperately hoped could be followed. You searched outside of yourself, in those pages and voices, believing comfort and security resided solely beyond your own skin. And yes, you gleaned insight, a sharp awareness that allowed you to navigate the world with a savvy that others often lacked - street smarts, some might call it, but for you, it was a hard-earned understanding born of necessity. Yet, books could only illuminate the path - you were the one who had to walk it, to translate knowledge into action, to do what needed to be done. You already knew the well-worn truth: "No one will save you". It was a reality you'd been living long before the words became a popular saying.

So, my dear friend, I hope you can be gentle with yourself for the different hand you were dealt. You found your own way to create the safety you craved and in the best and perhaps only way you knew how. That takes a profound kind of strength, even if it leaves you weary at times.

I hope you can allow yourself to feel what needs to be felt, the quiet ache of "what could have been," the bitterness that sometimes surfaces. But please, let's not linger too long in that wasteland, where idleness seeps in and hope begins to fade.

This feeling of change you sense is a slow burn, your spirit reawakening, stirring the dust of emotional stagnation to reveal the delicate architecture beneath the cobwebs clinging to long-forgotten dreams, hopes, and desires. This stirring within might feel both hopeful, for what could be, and tenderly painful, for what was lost or never realized.

I hope you can, with a deep breath, begin to selfishly turn inward, away from the clamor. The truest answers, often whispered by a voice you've learned to quiet, bloom in the quiet sanctuary of your own heart, waiting to be heard with a newfound tenderness and self-compassion. The bravest journey you'll ever take, my friend, is the gentle unraveling back to the truth of who you are beneath the layers of survival, shedding the weight of 'shoulds' and reclaiming the vibrant essence that has always resided within.

I know the ache of that sadness that lingers, the quiet grief for the unmet needs of your younger self. Your strength has brought you here and I hope you can honor that arduous journey, an unseen grace that carried you through it all.

I truly hope a dawn breaks within you, revealing that you are no longer obligated to carry the weight of everyone else's sky. Grant yourself the radical permission to be exquisitely self-aware, to finally turn the lantern of your own gentle inquiry inward, illuminating the quiet whispers of what your own weary soul truly needs.

I hope you can redefine "success" beyond mere stability, towards the deeper fulfillment that comes with alignment. Let the ache you feel now be the spark that ignites those long-forgotten dreams. I believe you are worthy of more than just surviving.

I hope you can gently begin to untangle yourself from the illusion that this hard-won survival is the only truth, that you see how you have become so deeply tangled in your own safety net, so knotted within the very threads you wove, that you can no longer see the sky beyond. What if the security you built, brick by weary brick, has become a cocoon spun so diligently it now hinders the wings that long to unfold? Can you feel the ache of that tightly wound self, the exhaustion of a vigilance that has become a silent scream? In the quiet moments, don't you long to truly know what it feels like to inhabit a body that isn't braced for impact, a body finally allowed to simply be at ease? I hope you come to know that and can allow that scream to soften into a whisper, a whisper that finally asks for something more than just survival.

Deep within that fierce bravery, your steadfast lighthouse still beams. And I believe it shines for that precious inner child who still remembers the echo of laughter, the lightness of unburdened joy – a part of you that deserves to finally feel the warmth of unwavering safety.

And as you awaken and perhaps feel a pang of sadness for that inner child who had to grow up too fast, please know they haven't vanished – they are waiting, patiently, with open arms, for your return to the home that resides within you. It's their turn now to help you learn how to play again, to seek joy and lightness in a life that isn't just lived on the paved sidewalk, nor well-trodden path. For in remembering them, you remember the wholeness you were always meant to inhabit.

With heartfelt understanding and unwavering hope,

Your Friend

Till the next time….