S is For Survival: Love in The Time of Scripts

Let me tell you something raw: survival isn’t always dramatic. It’s not always the frantic escape from fire or the gripping cinematic moment of choosing life against all odds. Sometimes, survival is quiet. Soft. Hidden in plain sight. Sometimes, it’s doing laundry. Or whispering a prayer while lacing your trainers. Sometimes, it’s replying to a text when you’d rather curl up and disappear.

When I think of everything I have endured in recent weeks, months, maybe even years, I realise that survival has been a consistent theme. Woven into my workouts. Embedded in the laughter I force through the lump in my throat. Echoed in the tears I shed mid-run when the rhythm of my feet was the only thing grounding me. It has been in the way I show up for others, even when I feel undone myself. In the way I pour words into stories, hoping they heal something — in me or someone else.
Survival looks different for all of us.
What does it look like for you?
For some, it’s a strict morning routine. For others, it’s therapy, boxing, running, journaling, retreating into prayer or blasting music loud enough to drown out the noise inside. Some of us survive by keeping busy. Some by staying still. Some through food, some through fasting. Some by reaching out. Others by turning inward.

I have survived by moving my body when my mind felt too heavy. By writing things down that I couldn’t say out loud. By laughing with the girlies about things that aren’t funny. By running, lifting, praying, collapsing, and rising. Again and again. I have survived by sharing parts of my story — the ones I can say — and honouring the parts I am not ready to share. Not yet.

And in between all that, I have talked. With the girls. With God. With myself. About love — or what often passes for it these days. Because let’s be honest: middle-aged dating is an extreme sport. There’s a script now. A template for every scenario, even if it doesn’t match your personality or values. You are expected to play it cool. To time your responses. To stay guarded.

Emotional openness? That’s met with emotional detachment. Vulnerability? Viewed as a liability. And the selfishness? It’s Olympic-level. People want to have their cake, eat it, bake another, and own the whole damn bakery.
But the script doesn’t stop with love.
It’s everywhere now. At work, we are expected to perform like algorithms — polished, programmed, and predictable. AI is replacing not just jobs but human nuance. The way we speak, present, negotiate — it’s all been templated. You don’t just apply anymore. You audition. You don’t just speak — you optimise. You don’t just show up — you must perform in a way that ticks the right boxes, says the right things, follows the right script… and then wish on a star that you are lucky.

Even on social media, there’s a blueprint for what wins — how to dress, what to share, what filters to use, what quotes to post. Curated authenticity is the trend, and truth is inconvenient. The pressure to be a certain kind of beautiful, bold, busy — is relentless. We have become avatars of ourselves, adhering to societal templates that were never designed for individuality, let alone for survival.
But survival, true survival, has never fit into a script.
It is messy and human. It is crying in the shower. It is hitting send on the job application with trembling hands. It is running through grief. It is posting a picture with no makeup. It is saying “I’m not okay” when the world expects you to smile. It’s not just existing. It’s resisting.

Resilience and survival are intertwined. One is the breath you take; the other is the will to keep breathing. Survival is the present tense. Resilience is the future it builds.
So yes, I survive. With playlists and protein shakes. With running shoes and whispered psalms. With a weary smile and a heart that still hopes. Survival doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like simply not giving up.

And if you’re reading this, breathing, carrying on, you are already resilient; you are already #Unshakable. Scripts may be everywhere. But you, dear heart, are not a machine. You’re not built to follow. You’re here to feel, to fall, to rise, to question, to break the mould.
Until then, keep surviving in your own unfiltered way.
And if you can… write your own script.
‘See’ you next week.