Are We Healed Or Just Surviving?
Recently, I met an elderly gentleman whose story has stayed with me.
He was a police officer working in one of the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001. One moment, he was going about an ordinary workday. The next, he remembered nothing.
Today, he lives with significant physical, mental, and emotional scars from that day. His home is paid for. His children’s education has been taken care of. He receives financial support and will never need to work again.
His struggle was not money.
It was living with everything he had lost.
Throughout our conversation, he kept repeating:
“I miss my job.”
He also told me how much he loved music. He used to sing and play instruments, things he can no longer do. As we spoke, he asked me several times how many children I had.
“Two,” I replied. “A boy and a girl, at this time.”
Outwardly, he appeared well. He walked, talked, smiled, and carried on a conversation. Yet beneath the surface, he was living with losses that most people could not see.
His story made me reflect.
When our lives are suddenly disrupted, what do we do?
Do we keep moving as though nothing happened?
Or do we give ourselves permission to grieve what we have lost?
Have we become so accustomed to functioning that we mistake survival for healing?
What have We Lost That Others Cannot See?
As I listened to this gentleman, I was reminded that grief is not always caused by death.
Sometimes we grieve the loss of health, memory, independence, work, identity, creativity, relationships, opportunities, safety, or the future we thought we would have.
This man had financial security, but money could not restore the life he remembered. It could not return him to the job he loved or give him back the freedom to sing and play music as before.
His pain was a reminder that people can look functional while carrying deep grief.
We often assume that if someone is walking, talking, working, smiling, or paying their bills, they must be fine. Yet many people are carrying invisible losses beneath ordinary routines.
Unprocessed grief may appear as constant anger, blame, criticism, emotional numbness, restlessness, unhealthy coping habits, or an inability to let go. These behaviors are not always signs of bad character. Sometimes they are signals that the heart is hurting.
Healing begins when we acknowledge our pain instead of pretending it is not there.
What losses are you carrying that others may not be able to see?
The Trip: Joy, Familiarity, and Signs of Growth
In 2025, our children and I travelled to Jamaica, the land of my birth.
We reconnected with family and friends we had not seen in years, and we enjoyed the foods we often daydreamed about. If you know Jamaicans, you know the food itinerary is usually planned long before the airline ticket is purchased: festival, fried fish, jerk chicken, patties, and everything in between.
Beyond the joy and nostalgia, I noticed signs of growth.
Although some businesses were still operating differently after the COVID-19 pandemic and a few places remained closed, the nation was moving forward. Roads were improving, new communities were rising, businesses were expanding, and the entrepreneurial spirit was unmistakable.
At a small-business fair in downtown Kingston, I saw people creating, selling, serving, and believing in what was possible. Across social media, Jamaicans were cooking, telling stories, building brands, and sharing their gifts with the world.
Our small island continues to influence the world through its creativity, resilience, culture, music, food, faith, and determination.
I returned home encouraged by the progress I had seen. Yet Jamaica is more than a place; it is a mindset. Here in NYC, I see the same trends in some communities.
The appearance of growth does not mean that everything has healed.
Communities, like people, can rebuild outwardly while still carrying pain inwardly.
Can we celebrate our growth even while being honest about some areas that still need healing?
What Happens When We Have An Unexpected Storm
Not long after, life changed suddenly.
What began as a storm developed into a devastating hurricane. Images and reports showed trees uprooted, roofs destroyed, roads damaged, homes flooded, and families displaced.
We watched in shock, concern, and in prayer.
In community groups, messages poured in: fear, confusion, updates, songs, scriptures, and requests for help.
Then came the familiar response:
“We still have to eat.”
The meaning was clear. Life had to continue. Bills still had to be paid. Children still needed care. People had to find ways to survive.
We push through. It is part of our mindset.
Our resilience is beautiful. It has carried generations through hardship, loss, injustice, migration, poverty, and disaster.
But even resilience must be examined.
Is pushing forward without processing our emotions true strength?
Or can survival mode sometimes disguise itself as bravery, faith, productivity, or responsibility?
There are moments when continuing is necessary. However, if we never pause to acknowledge what has happened, the pain does not disappear. It becomes mental and also physical. The body keeps score.
Are we truly healing, or have we become skilled at continuing?
What Happens When Life Interrupts Our Dreams?
Storms do not only happen in nature. They also happen in our personal lives, physically, mentally, emotionally, relationally.
Before I left Jamaica to pursue my PhD in Canada, my life felt chaotic. I was robbed, involved in a car accident, and betrayed by someone close to me.
These experiences happened during a season when I was trying to move toward a dream.
Instead of feeling excited, I felt emotionally overwhelmed. The path ahead became difficult to see clearly.
Many of us know what it feels like to have a dream interrupted.
A relationship ends. A job opportunity disappears. A business fails. Someone we love dies. Our health changes. A plan we carefully developed suddenly falls apart.
The loss may be visible, or it may only be known to us.
When our dreams are disrupted, we may withdraw, become irritable, overwork, blame ourselves, blame others, question God, or distract ourselves with constant activity.
Beneath many of these responses is a deeper truth:
We are grieving.
And sometimes we do not even realize it.
Which dream, relationship, opportunity, or version of our lives are we still grieving?
Before Rebuilding, We Must Grieve
After a storm, people naturally begin rebuilding.
Homes must be repaired. Roads must be cleared. Schools and businesses must reopen. Families must reorganize their lives.
But rebuilding does not begin with hammers, nails, materials, and money.
True rebuilding begins with the heart or soul, body, and spirit.
Scripture reminds us:
“There is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”
—Ecclesiastes 3:4 NIV
Grieving is not weakness. It is wisdom.
There have been seasons in my own life when I wanted to move quickly to the next chapter without fully processing what had happened in the previous one. I wanted answers, direction, and progress.
But healing cannot be rushed.
Material things can be restored faster than emotional safety. A roof can be replaced, but a sense of security may take longer. We can recieve or earn money, but trust still need rebuilding. A new opportunity can open, but disappointment may still linger in the background, therefore the grief need to be addressed.
Without grieving we self-sabotage. Whereever betrayal is found, self-sabotage occured in a prior season.
This is why we need counselors, psychologists, pastors, coaches, elders, trusted friends, and compassionate leaders.
Sometimes we overlook the type of resources we need.
Sometimes what we need is to be heard, supported, reassured, challenged, guided, and reminded that we are not alone.
What are we trying to rebuild before giving ourselves time to grieve?
How Do We Begin to Grieve and Heal?
Healing is not linear. It does not happen according to a perfect schedule.
There may be days when we feel strong and hopeful, followed by days when the pain feels fresh again.
Yet we can begin with small, intentional practices.
Cry: The Burden Was Not Meant For Us To Carry
There have been moments when tears were the only honest response I had.
Crying did not solve every problem, but it allowed my body to release what I could no longer carry silently.
Tears are not always evidence that we are falling apart. Sometimes they are evidence that we are finally allowing ourselves to feel. Even Jesus wept. He wept knowing fully well that he would raise Lazarus from the dead.
What might happen if we allowed ourselves to cry or feel without apology?
Pray and Read Scripture: When I Had No Words
During difficult seasons, I have not always known what to pray.
At times, reading the Psalms aloud became my prayer. The words gave language to emotions I could not explain.
The Psalms and Lamentations are filled with grief, confusion, fear, anger, faith, and hope. They remind us that we do not have to hide our honest emotions from God.
David was a warrior and a king, yet he wept, questioned, lamented, and cried out to God.
Faith is not denying pain.
Faith is bringing our pain into the presence of God.
What would an honest prayer sound like for you today?
Talk to Someone: The Power of Being Heard
There have been times when speaking with a trusted person helped me to understand what I was feeling.
A compassionate listener may not change the past, but being heard can reduce the loneliness of carrying it.
Counselors, psychologists, pastors, coaches, mentors, and trusted friends can help us identify patterns, process emotions, and develop healthier ways of responding.
Seeking help is not a sign that our faith is weak.
Sometimes support is one of the ways God provides healing.
Who is a safe person we can speak with honestly?
Fellowship: When Community Helped Carry the Weight
Some of my most difficult seasons became lighter because I was not alone.
A phone call, prayer, meal, visit, encouraging message, or simple presence can remind us that we still belong.
Community does not require perfect words. Sometimes the greatest gift is sitting with someone without trying to fix them.
We were never meant to carry every burden alone.
Where can you find or create a safe community for healing?
Tell Your Story: How Writing Helped Me Heal
Writing has helped me process many seasons of my life.
Some experiences became clearer only after I placed them on paper. Through writing, I could name the lessons, identify the wounds, recognize God’s faithfulness, and see how far I had come.
This is part of why I wrote Fulfill the Dream: Life Lessons from Pursuing a PhD.
The book is not only about earning a degree. It is about the emotional, spiritual, relational, and personal journey behind pursuing a dream.
We can express grief through speaking, writing, music, dancing, painting, movement, prayer, and other forms of creativity.
Expression can become liberation.
What story within you needs a safe place to be expressed?
Practice Self-Compassion: When I Learned That Rest Was Necessary
I have had to learn that busyness is not the same as productivity.
There were seasons when I believed that if I kept working, serving, planning, and producing, I would eventually feel better.
But exhaustion does not heal grief.
Rest is not laziness. Rest creates space for the body, mind, and spirit to recover.
Jesus Himself rested. He withdrew from crowds, prayed, and honoured human limitations.
Self-compassion means giving ourselves the kindness we often extend more freely to others.
What would it look like to treat ourselves gently?
A Time to Reflect Personally and Collectively
As I think about the elderly gentleman, my own interrupted dreams, and the storms (natural, personal, or otherwise) faced by Jamaica and other nations, I am reminded that grief is both personal and collective.
Individuals grieve.
Families grieve.
Communities grieve.
Nations grieve.
We may be grieving a death, a disaster, a relationship, a lost opportunity, a changing identity, a painful childhood, a health condition, or a dream that did not happen as expected.
Healing begins with honesty.
It grows through compassion.
It flourishes in community.
It is strengthened through forgiveness.
And it is sustained through spiritual grounding.
We must ask ourselves:
What are we still grieving?
What have we not allowed ourselves to feel?
Who do we need to forgive?
What fears are keeping us in survival mode?
What dreams need to be released, revised, or rebuilt?
Where can we create safe spaces for healing?
What truth about our grief are we ready to acknowledge?
The Invitation to Become Whole Again
Our real dreams are still possible, personally and collectively.
But healing is not simply about surviving the storm and returning to productivity.
It is about becoming whole again.
It is about rediscovering who we are beneath the pain, the disappointment, the responsibilities, the achievements, and the roles we have carried.
Before we rebuild, we need to grieve.
Before we rise, we need to rest.
Before we receive a new vision, we need to release the emotional weight of the old one.
Return to God.
Tell the truth, without blaming, belittling, grumbling, demeaning, or complaining.
Grieve.
Forgive.
Rest.
Seek support.
Receive healing.
We grieve with those who have had losses, disappointments, discouragement, delays, disruptions of any kind…
We grieve with every nation facing disaster, violence, displacement, and uncertainty.
We stand with every person rebuilding a home, a family, a dream, an identity, or a heart.
We will rise again, not because we ignored the pain, but because we dared to face it.
Our book, Fulfill the Dream: Life Lessons from Pursuing a PhD, shares more of our personal journey through disruption, loss, forgiveness, faith, healing, and the pursuit of purpose. It is an invitation to reflect on your own journey and to believe that even after disappointment, your story can continue.
Do not settle for merely surviving.
Give yourself permission to grieve, heal, grow, and become whole again.
Our stories are not over. All things are possible with God.
With grace, gratitude, and growth,
Sanchia and team.