Victorious Lascurain, Shirlene Buy this Art Print at AllPosters.com

As time passes and I repeat my new title to myself, thriver, the word settles in me, takes root, mixes with my energies and becomes an evolution in myself. I feel filled with possibility. Yet, as I pass from the limits of survivor into the vast openness of thriver, I find myself delivered into a land of unfamiliarity. The old rules, habits and sayings hold little meaning. The landscape awaits painting, and the brush lies silently, listlessly, in my hand. The key lies in understanding the variations of the landscape, the core differences between thriver and survivor.

A survivor carries a list of symptoms, most of which she or he wants to eliminate, particularly those that are self destructive, deadly or diminishing. This is a list of symptoms that the survivor carries, a heavy shroud of darkness that invades day and night. As a survivor I focused on my flaws; the symptoms of my abuse. Despite all the items I'd checked off the list, all I saw were the remaining tasks and self-chores still to be done. I would look at my list and see ahead a life of endless toil, ever mending and repairing. I incorporated a routine and rhythm: erase one item from the list and move on to the next. The word survivor keeps one linked to the past, to the thread of destructive history.

A thriver holds a list of skills and abilities, many of which are a tribute to the act of surviving and moving on. The thriver learns how to transform the list from a compilation of disdain, to a collection of strengths and compliments. As a thriver, I feel I lend myself more freely to positive thinking. Instead of life's downfalls, I see life's potentials. The word thriver links one to the present, to the day's accomplishments and future possibilities. Thriver implies birthing, blooming; the proverbial red carpet rolling out to greet a special day.

I can close my eyes now and see how I once spent my days spinning a web around a repeating past. I can see much of the movement in my life was a way of placing myself on an edge that felt common to my spirit of survival. I see the discomfort I felt any time my life began to feel warm, comfortable, safe, and steady. I can feel the anxiety that was the fear of unfamiliarity. I see myself jerking away from safety and security, because I believed that some event would innately crush those feelings or steal them from me. Rather than wait for the blow, I simply moved on, caused my own change or created a new beginning, even if it was a catastrophe. I had created a life of beginning again and again.

The transition from to survivor to thriver is a difficult one steeped in the unfamiliar. I felt lost in my newfound state. Before, I at least had the familiarity of the chaos, the turmoil, the terror and depression. I at least knew where I was. But I found myself again on scary ground, feeling the fear I felt as a little girl. Lying in my bed at night, I was convinced that some evil lurked in the closet. So frightened was that girl, I mistook my own breathing for the non-existent dark breathing behind the door. In the void, I feared that another step, any step, might take me where I wasn't meant to go. I feared the calm. I had grown used to the clamor of catastrophe, but believed I could adapt to a softer, calmer state of living.

I knew then that I had to exchange the familiar for the new. The mind can be trained to either build or annihilate. I had to rewire myself, so to speak, and change the brain patterns that controlled my old thoughts and actions. In the beginning, one of the most difficult aspects of thriving was the depression that would seep back in, its presence a constant since childhood. I knew it no longer served any purpose, that I had no need for it now, but there it was, on any given morning or night, looming in the shadows. And I would accept it back like an old friend. As unhealthy as I knew it was for me, it was familiar, almost like a safe place. Joy and calm felt uncomfortable, and though I should have embraced them with glee, I shuddered at their newness.

I was talking to a friend one day and she asked me what was wrong. I told her I was depressed, and she asked me why. Only then did I realize that I truly had no response, no reason, except that it was familiar and a place of common ground. Oh no, I thought, this won't work. From that point on, whenever that blanket of darkness loomed, I would sit myself down at the table, place a pen and a writing pad before me, and make a list all of the reasons for my depression. If the pad was still empty after five minutes, I'd put it away and make myself begin the day. Doing the dishes, taking a walk, preparing for work, anything to get going. I made myself move, just move, and before I realized it, the fog would lift and evaporate to nothing. In time the uncomfortable unfamiliarity lifted too, and I realized I had given myself the grandest gift of all - the permission to allow myself the calm and the joy.

In this new place, I have learned to honor my self and my journeys. I have gone from doubting the future to designing one. I have freed myself to endless possibilities, for no act is more honorable than the act of committing one's self to life. I look at the woman I have become in spite of my history - strong, empathetic, courageous, intuitive, persistent, respectful, open. I am a thriver. The present is mine, and my future is finally unfolding.