What Dying Taught Me About Living

There was a moment when everything went quiet. The chaos of boots in the hallway as people went to their offices, the hurried footsteps of people going to meetings, the anxiety and echos of the conversation I had moments before (the one that threatened my livelihood, all because I wouldn’t conform), the weight of my own fear—it all just… stopped. I remember floating somewhere between the world I knew and something else entirely, something vast and unexplainable. It was both dark and light, and in that space, I asked myself one question: "How will I live differently?" No one could hear it. It was just me and my thoughts until all that exsisted was silence. 

Dying—truly coming face to face with the end—taught me more about life than any book, mentor, or experience ever could. It stripped everything down to the core, exposing what really mattered and what never did. And in the time since, I’ve realized how much I was missing before, how much of life I was merely surviving rather than living. Before my body forced me to pause, I was always running—chasing success, approval, a sense of worth that never seemed to settle inside me for long. I thought I was doing everything "right." I was checking the boxes, grinding through exhaustion, pushing past the warning signs my body had been whispering for years. But I was always waiting. Waiting for the next milestone, the next goal, the next version of myself that I thought would finally be enough.

And then, in an instant, I was out of time. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

I woke up in a hospital bed, weak and uncertain, everything had changed. Not just my body, but my mind. My soul. The things I used to stress over felt laughable. The expectations I had placed on myself felt suffocating. And the love—the kind I had given so freely to others but withheld from myself—suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world.

What I Learned from Dying

1. Presence is everything.
   We spend so much time either stuck in the past or anxiously planning for the future that we forget the only moment that’s actually real is this one. The way the sunlight filters through the window. The warmth of a hug. The laughter that shakes your ribs. This is what life is. Not the someday we’re all waiting for.

2. Rest is not earned—it’s necessary.
   My body didn’t betray me. I betrayed it. I ignored the fatigue, pushed through the pain, wore my burnout like a badge of honor. It wasn’t until my body literally forced me to stop that I understood: The rest that I had been avoiding is a basic human need. I didn’t have to earn it. I will never apologize for prioritizing it again.

3. Love yourself like your life depends on it—because it does.
   I spent years pouring love into others while running on empty myself. I thought self-care was selfish. I thought putting my needs first meant I was failing the people who depended on me. But what dying showed me is that I can’t give anything to anyone if I’m gone. Love is not just something we give—it’s something we are. And if I can love others, I owe myself the same kindness.

4. Joy is not something to be earned.
   For years, I treated joy like a reward, something I could indulge in once I had worked hard enough, accomplished enough, been enough. But joy is not a prize at the end of the race—it’s the whole point of the race. And if we’re not making space for it now, then when?

Living Like I Mean It

Since that day, I’ve made a promise to myself: I will live while I am alive. I will take naps when I need them. I will cry when I’m sad and laugh until my stomach hurts when I’m happy. I will stop worrying about being too much or not enough and just be. I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this: Time is not guaranteed. And none of us are promised tomorrow. But we do have today. So take the trip. Say the thing. Rest when you need to. Love yourself fiercely. Because in the end, it won’t be the deadlines or the expectations that mattered—it will be the love you gave, the joy you embraced, and the moments you truly lived.

And if you're reading this, that means you still have the chance. So don’t waste it. You deserve so much more.