Breathing Through the Hard Things
8/24/25 | By: Christina M. Oyola
From Victimville to the Bay: Choosing Life Every Day
Breathing Through the Hard Things
It’s funny how many people have told me the same thing in one way or another: life is what you make it, what you speak into existence, and what you work toward.
If I constantly worry and talk about not having money, then every thought and decision I make ends up being filtered through that fear. The idea of being without a home has haunted me, so instead of making choices based on logic, I used to ask, How will this affect me financially? instead of, How will this impact or strengthen my life?
I am who I am now—not who I used to be. Most of my worries come from lived trauma and generational trauma. My family tree has always had to worry about money, one way or another. Sometimes the money was there, but the parenting and love weren’t. Other times, the love was there—but the money and stability weren’t. It was like a warm hug with a pinch on the arm: loving, but with a twist of pain.
I’ve spent most of my life stuck in Victimville. Sometimes, I still visit, because I’ve learned it’s okay to sit with it—but not to stay there. We need to look back to remind ourselves how far we’ve come. How many times have you looked up and realized two years flew by? Then, when you look back, you can see the ups and downs, the habits broken, and the real changes you’ve made. Not because you stayed stuck, but because you did the work, sat with the pain, and learned from it.
When you’re worried about tomorrow or yesterday, remember: both exist to help shape the version of yourself you dream of. Sometimes those dreams feel dim and out of reach. That doesn’t mean they’re gone—it just means something else needs your attention right now. Not all roadblocks are here to hurt us. Sometimes they’re here to teach us to slow down, to wait, to sit with it.
I often find myself doing well with my morning routine—then bam—I’m back in the hood, reliving something I don’t want to face. But even those moments hold hidden lessons I need to learn in order to grow.
Like right now—sitting here looking out into the bay, laptop open, radio playing, breeze on my face. I laugh and want to cry all at the same time. I once could only dream of being a writer, of having the time to get away to the shore, sit on a balcony, and write. Whether this turns out to be a blog, book, or storytime—it’s being written with a smile and the reminder to myself: Girl, you’re doing the hard things.
For so long, I was told I didn’t deserve the breath I breathe. But guess what? This is my life. I have the right to be here. I’ve put the work in to become a better human.
I still have days where the rage is strong and the urge to drink creeps up. Just yesterday, driving down to the shore tested me. Old memories rushed back. I even caught myself craving things I left behind—alcohol, even drugs. And yes, I leaned hard on my MJ vape pen yesterday. But I didn’t give up on my sobriety: 3 years and almost 3 months free from drinking and hard drugs. That matters. That’s strength.
Nothing was easy growing up in a home where alcohol and drugs were used to numb the noise. Love was there, but often wrapped in toxicity. My parents did the best they could with what they had. My mom lost her battle with her demons, but my dad is still here—fighting his every day. For that, I am grateful.
I’m proud to be alive. I’m proud of the trauma I survived, because it gave me a perspective many will never understand. Over the last 2.5 years, I’ve gone through trauma workshops, and I just finished Train the Trainer so I can now facilitate workshops myself. Life really does come full circle.
My life is truly what I’ve made it. And when I try to do it all alone, it’s hard—so damn hard. But when I ask for help, life is easier, lighter, even joyful.
Today, I’m simply grateful. For the breath I breathe. For the view in front of me. For the life I’m living—despite it all.
