maybe I’m Not Crazy. Maybe I Survived.
My dad said something while we were watching Yellowstone that stuck with me.
He said,
“At first, I thought Beth was crazy.
Then you hear her story.
And you realize… she’s really not.”
Um, yeah. It made sense.
Because I’ve thought the same thing about myself.
Maybe I am crazy.
But maybe I had to be.
When you’re pushed far enough, something clicks.
Your brain stops reasoning.
It starts protecting.
You don’t become soft.
You become sharp.
You become what you think you need to survive.
A lion.
Claws out.
No time to feel.
No space to process.
Just survive.
That kind of living changes you.
And getting through it seems to do one of two things.
Some people take that pain and turn it inward.
They numb it.
Hide it.
Drown it in distractions or addictions.
Avoid reality because reality asks too much.
And somewhere along the way… empathy goes quiet.
Others walk straight through the fire.
They feel the hurt.
They learn from it.
And they decide what kind of person they want to be because of it.
For good.
Or for harm.
This isn’t from a book.
This isn’t theory.
This is what I’ve lived.
What I’ve seen.
What I’ve watched people do when survival mode becomes a lifestyle.
Here’s what I’m still learning.
That version of me—the “crazy” one—was necessary once.
But she doesn’t need to run the show forever.
High stress doesn’t always mean danger.
Urgency isn’t survival.
Not every moment needs claws.
Sometimes the strongest move is calm.
When anxiety spikes, I come back to my senses:
What can I see?
Hear?
Taste?
Smell?
Feel?
It sounds simple.
It works because it pulls the brain out of the past and into the present.
It teaches your body: it’s safe now.
So yes.
Sometimes I’m still crazy.
Sometimes it shows up before I catch it.
I’m human.
But I’m learning when that part of me is needed…
And when it’s time to breathe instead.
This blog isn’t from a pedestal.
It’s from the middle of the work.
I’m not perfect.
I’m not finished.
I’m figuring this out in real time.
If you’re here, you probably are too.
