When was the last time you truly paused—not because your phone battery died, not because you were stuck in traffic—but because you deliberately stopped everything, looked at yourself, and said:
“You’ve done well. You’ve really done well.”
Not because everything is perfect. Not because life has been kind. Not because your prayers were answered. Not because things are finally falling into place. Not because you finally got that job, that child, that partner, that healing, that home.
But simply because… you’re still here.
Still breathing.
Still trying.
Still showing up.
Still living—despite it all.
You woke up today. Again. That’s not a small thing.
You survived the chaos of yesterday.
You outlived the fears you thought would drown you.
You walked through worry, pushed through pain, and still opened your eyes this morning.
That alone is worth an ovation.
In this fast-paced, painfully demanding, and sometimes soul-draining world, we rarely look in the mirror and whisper the words we long to hear from others:
Congratulations.
You made it through another day.
You’re doing your best.
And that’s enough.
Let me ask again:
Really—have you?
Have you ever whispered your name and said:
“I’m proud of you.”
Not for any loud success, but for the quiet resilience.
Not for an achievement, but for your endurance.
Not for the laughter, but for how you managed to smile even with tears in your eyes.
You, who battled depression and still showed up at work.
You, who cried yourself to sleep and still cared for others the next day.
You, who lost your job but kept sending applications with hope.
You, who raised children alone and still managed to smile at strangers.
You, who faced heartbreak and still gave love another chance.
You, who buried a loved one and still found the courage to laugh again.
You, who felt lost but kept walking.
You, who failed but didn’t quit.
You, who doubted yourself but tried again.
You are here. Still here.
Still breathing. Still trying.
That’s not ordinary. That’s extraordinary.
This world… this fast, loud, chaotic, technology-driven, pain-inflicting world—it hardly gives us time to just be.
It keeps asking for more—more effort, more smiles, more output, more results.
But what if more is not what we need right now?
What if what we really need is a moment to just say:
“Thank you, me. You’ve held on longer than anyone knows.”
Because let’s be honest… life isn’t easy. Not for most of us.
We live in a world where the weight we carry is often invisible.
A world that claps louder for outcomes than for endurance.
For wins, not for the wounds we hide.
For trophies, not the tears behind closed doors.
But what about the silent victories?
The mornings you got out of bed when anxiety anchored you.
The nights you cried into your pillow but still showed up the next day.
The jobs you work just to stay afloat.
The relationships you maintain even when you feel unseen.
The faith you still carry when everything around you feels like a contradiction.
Some are battling illnesses that have no names.
Others are fighting thoughts they can’t share.
Some are grieving things that never even happened—a love that never blossomed, a dream that never materialized, a life they hoped for but never got to live.
There are people walking around with smiles on their faces and storms in their hearts.
Some laugh loudly, but their pillows are soaked when the lights go off.
Some post happy photos while aching silently with loneliness, regret, fear, and pain.
Isn’t it amazing, then, that you’re still standing?
That you’ve survived heartbreaks, betrayals, sicknesses, near-misses, breakdowns, rejections, and disappointments—and yet… you’re still here?
So again—
Not for being perfect.
Not for having everything together.
Not because the world sees you.
But because you see you.
Because you know what it’s taken to survive this long.
Say your name out loud and declare:
“I’m proud of you. I see what you’re carrying. I know it’s been hard. But you’re still standing. And that’s enough.”
You don’t need perfect words.
You don’t need permission.
You don’t even need to believe it fully yet.
Just say it. Say it until it starts to sound like truth.
Clap before the world does.
Applaud the small victories.
Celebrate your quiet strength.
This is for:
The woman battling infertility in silence. The man juggling three jobs and still feeling like a failure. The young adult watching dreams fade slowly. The wife waking beside a stranger in a home that feels foreign. The husband who feels unseen, unheard, unloved. The child praying for someone to notice their silent cries. The single soul wondering if they are invisible. The married heart feeling lonelier than the single. The sick who’ve lost strength even to cry.
Some people didn’t make it through the year.
Others lost their minds in battles you are still fighting.
Many gave up. But not you.
You may be tired. Bruised. Confused. Alone. But you are not defeated.
Please—clap for yourself.
You don’t need a cake or a crowd to celebrate you.
Sometimes all you need is a mirror and a moment.
Take a deep breath. Whisper your name.
Say:
“I’ve come far. I’ve done well. I may not be where I want to be, but I am not where I used to be. And for that, I celebrate me.”
Give yourself what the world won’t: acknowledgment.
Because here’s the truth:
Some have everything yet feel empty.
Some have nothing but give joy to others.
Some are hurting but still healing others.
Some live in toxicity but find ways to breathe.
Some are tired of life, but life isn’t done testing them.
And yet—you’re still here. Living. Learning. Holding on.
Maybe crying. Maybe confused. Maybe completely unsure of what’s next.
But still… here.
That matters.
That counts.
So let this piece be your reminder:
To rest without guilt. To laugh without reason. To cry without shame. To celebrate your life—even if it’s messy, incomplete, and far from what you dreamed.
You don’t need a perfect story to appreciate the chapters you’ve endured.
So again, I ask:
If not—this is your sign. Do it now.
Before you scroll.
Before you forget.
Because you—yes, you—are the proof that resilience exists.
You are your own miracle.
You are the applause.
#Puobabangna
By Victor Raul Puobabangna Plance from Eggu in the Upper West Region of Ghana
