The Art of Overcoming
I did not learn strength from books. I learned it in silence.
Life did not arrive gently for me. It came in waves some loud, some quiet, some so heavy that I did not know how to breathe under them. There were days when I fought battles no one knew about. Nights when I cried without making a sound, because even tears felt like a burden to carry.
I grew up learning how to survive before I learned how to live.
Family trauma teaches you things early. It teaches you how to read rooms, how to stay alert, how to become strong too soon. Love and safety felt uncertain at times, and I learned to hold myself together when everything around me felt like it was falling apart. There were moments when I wished someone would see me not fix me, just see me.
Loss visited my life more than once. I lost people I loved deeply. I learned what it feels like to grieve while the world keeps moving. And then there was the death of the love of my life the kind of loss that changes you forever. The kind that leaves an empty space no words can fill. That grief was not loud. It was slow, aching, and deeply lonely.
I carried that pain quietly.
For a long time, I believed overcoming meant being strong, not breaking, moving on. But I was wrong. Overcoming is not about pretending you are okay. It is about sitting with your pain and saying, “I see you. You matter.”
My journey toward healing began the moment I stopped running from my feelings. I allowed myself to feel angry. Sad. Confused. Tired. I allowed myself to grieve without timelines. I learned that healing does not mean forgetting it means learning how to live with what happened.
Mindfulness entered my life not as a practice, but as survival. Some days, just breathing consciously was enough. Some days, grounding myself in the present feeling the floor beneath my feet, listening to my breath was the only thing that kept me steady. Healing did not come in big breakthroughs. It came in small moments of awareness.
As I healed, I understood something deeply: pain does not make us weak it makes us human.
Choosing psychology was not a career decision for me. It was a continuation of my healing. I chose this path because I know what it feels like to need help and not know where to go. I know what it feels like to carry trauma quietly and smile anyway. I know how heavy life can feel when you think you must handle everything alone.
You don’t.
If you are reading this and feeling tired, broken, or lost please know this: You are not weak for struggling. You are not failing because you are hurting. And you do not have to overcome everything at once.
The art of overcoming is gentle. It is choosing to stay. It is asking for help. It is allowing yourself to heal at your own pace.
As a counsellor, I do not believe in “fixing” people. I believe in understanding them. Healing begins when someone feels safe enough to be honest. If my story resonates with you, let it remind you that support exists and that reaching out is not a sign of weakness, but courage.
I am still healing. I am still learning. And I am proof that even after deep loss, silent battles, and broken moments life can still hold meaning.
Overcoming does not mean the pain disappears. It means you learn how to live with softness again.
And that, to me, is the real art.
- FIDHA NASHIM