Survival Mode vs. Purpose: What I Learned Living in My Car for 6 Months

 Faith Journey, Christian Encouragement, Personal Reflection, Overcoming Hardship, Trusting God, Life Lessons, Survival Mode, Purpose, Healing, New Beginnings

Survival Mode vs. Purpose: What I Learned Living in My Car for 6 Months

There are seasons of life that do not look powerful while you are living them. They look tangled. They look tired. They look like gray hairs showing up faster than you expected, hair pulled back because you do not have the energy to deal with it, and a woman staring in the mirror wondering how she got here.

That was me.

I looked at myself and saw more than stress on my face. I saw survival mode. I saw what happens when life hits hard enough that self-care becomes optional, rest feels irresponsible, and simply making it through the day becomes the main goal. I had spent so much time trying to stay afloat that I had stopped tending to myself like I mattered.

And that is the ugly truth about crisis: one of the first things we often lose is ourselves.

Not because we do not care.
But because survival has a way of making everything else feel more urgent.

Still, somewhere in that raw, unfiltered moment, I knew something had to change. I could not keep waiting to feel better before I started rebuilding. I could not wait until I had more money, more certainty, more support, or a prettier version of the story.

I had to begin with what was already in my hands.

Starting with What I Had

I did not have salon money.
I did not have perfect conditions.
I did not have some polished, beautiful beginning.

What I had was a box of hair color I had been holding onto, a detangling treatment, and a decision.

That day, doing my hair became about more than appearance. It became an act of reclaiming myself. I was tired of looking like everything I had been through. I was tired of letting hardship speak louder than hope. I was tired of postponing my return to myself.

So I started there.

Not because it fixed everything.
But because it reminded me that movement matters.

Sometimes the first holy step is not dramatic. Sometimes it is simply choosing to care again.

The Symbolism of the Detangle

As I worked through the knots in my hair, I realized I was doing something deeper than grooming. I was confronting everything that had become tangled inside of me too.

Old belief systems.
Past mistakes.
Fear.
Shame.
Delay.
Disappointment.
The mental mess that builds up when life keeps hitting and you barely have room to breathe.

Detangling takes patience. You cannot rip through knots without causing damage. You have to work through them gently, section by section, strand by strand. And healing is often the same way.

God does not always untangle us all at once. Sometimes He meets us in the slow process.

Sometimes the breakthrough is not in instantly becoming whole again. Sometimes it is in finally being willing to face the knots.

That is why this moment mattered so much to me. I was not just fixing my hair. I was making a statement over my life:

I will not carry this old weight into a new season.
I will not remain bound by what tried to break me.
I will work with what is in my hands, and I will trust God with the rest.

“Waiting has only gotten me to another year without me stepping into what God told me to do.”  

The Trap of Waiting                  

For too long, I told myself some version of this lie:

When things get better, then I will start.

When I have more money, then I will show up.
When life settles down, then I will create.
When I look better, feel better, and everything is more stable, 

then I will step into what God told me to do.

But waiting did not produce change.

It only produced more waiting.

And one of the hardest truths I had to face was this: waiting for perfect conditions had carried me into another year without me fully stepping into purpose.

That realization hit me deeply.

There comes a point when “good enough” has to become holy enough to begin.

You may not have the polished version yet.
You may not have the full strategy yet.
You may not have the final edit yet.

But you can still push the start button.

You can refine as you go.
You can edit while moving.
You can learn while building.
You can heal while obeying.

Too many people stay stuck because they think starting small means starting wrong. It does not. Starting imperfectly is often how God teaches us to trust Him daily instead of leaning on appearances.

From Colorado to Arizona: The Journey That Changed Me

My 2024–2025 journey was filled with more twists than I could have planned for.

At the beginning of 2025, I was in Colorado Springs, already under pressure and on the verge of eviction. In the middle of all of that, I found a church and thought maybe I had found the place where everything was finally going to come together. At first, it seemed aligned. I was learning discipline. I fasted in ways I never had before. I was re-baptized as a sign of renewal. I was reaching for God with sincerity.

But not every place that looks spiritual is healthy. As time passed, I began to see things that did not sit right in my spirit. Even while I was trying to hold onto hope, the reality of my housing situation crashed in harder. The eviction came fast. I was shocked by how quickly everything moved.

By February, we had moved out.

After that came the bouncing around. Airbnbs. Temporary places. DoorDash. Trying to keep money flowing. Trying to keep faith steady. Trying to make decisions while exhausted.

Then came Texas. Then Colorado again. Then Denver. Then six months in the vehicle.

Not every single night looked the same, but the reality was still heavy. There were long stretches of uncertainty, searching, surviving, wondering, praying, deciding.

At some point, I realized I could not keep sitting still, waiting for some perfect confirmation to fall from the sky.

That is when a deeper lesson began to settle in my spirit:

If you go, God will show you.

Sometimes clarity does not come before movement.
Sometimes provision is waiting on the other side of obedience.
Sometimes the map unfolds while you are in motion.

I considered California. I considered Las Vegas. I wrestled with where I was supposed to be. I tried one direction and quickly realized it was not right. Then I moved again.

And in all of it, I learned this: even when you do not hear every detail, movement can still be an act of faith.

God can redirect a moving person.
He can open doors for someone willing to go.
He can guide you while you are taking the next brave step.

Standing still in fear will often keep you trapped longer than making a prayerful move.

What Losing Everything Taught Me

“Sometimes God strips you down not to shame you, but to show you that what carried you was never the stuff — it was Him.”

One of the most painful lessons in this season was losing my belongings in storage.

That hurt.

It was not just stuff. It represented memories, effort, identity, and all the things I had tried to preserve while life was shifting beneath my feet. I paid and paid to hold onto it, only to lose it anyway.

And yet, even in that pain, God was teaching me something I did not want to learn:

Sometimes what we are fighting hardest to keep is also what is weighing us down.

There are seasons when we become so afraid of losing things that we do not realize how heavy they have become. We drag them emotionally, mentally, financially, and spiritually.

And then there are moments when God allows stripping because He is after freedom.

That kind of surrender is not easy. It does not always feel noble in the moment. It can feel embarrassing, heartbreaking, unfair, and exposing. But there is a strange clarity that comes when so much has been removed that all you really have left is God.

And maybe that is part of the mercy.

Because when everything else falls away, you find out whether you still believe He is enough.

I am still learning that lesson. But I know this much: there is a freedom in being forced to travel lighter. There is a freedom in realizing that your worth was never packed in boxes. There is a freedom in knowing God can rebuild what was lost in ways you never could have planned.

Where Do I Belong?

That question followed me through the wandering.

Where do I belong, Lord?
What do You see in me?
Where do You want me to be?
What is this season even doing in my life?

Some roads felt closed.
Some places felt temporary.
Some decisions felt like choosing between uncertainty and uncertainty.

And yet, in that wandering place, I found something sacred: God’s mercy does not disappear when your life feels directionless.

His grace still covers confused seasons.
His hand still leads weary people.
His voice still reaches those who are trying to find their footing.
His love does not require polished circumstances to remain present.

There were moments when I felt like I was between chapters, between identities, between stability and promise. But even there, God was shaping me.

He was growing my endurance.
He was exposing my fears.
He was confronting my dependence on appearance, on comfort, on “having it together.”
He was teaching me that not every wandering season is wasted.

Some seasons are wilderness, yes.
But wilderness is also where revelation happens.
It is where false supports fall away.
It is where your hearing sharpens.
It is where your dependence deepens.

So if you are in a place where you do not know exactly where you belong yet, let this encourage you:

Not knowing everything does not mean God has abandoned you.
Being in transition does not mean you are out of purpose.
A wandering season can still be a deeply guided one.

Real Talk: 5 Things to Do When You’re in a Financial Crisis

1. Start with what is already in your hands

Do not underestimate what you can do with what you already have. Small action breaks paralysis.

2. Stop waiting for perfect conditions

Perfect timing is often a disguise for fear. Move with what is workable now.

3. Make prayerful decisions and keep moving

Even if you do not have the full map, ask God for wisdom and take the next right step.

4. Release what is draining you

Not everything can go with you into the next season. Some things cost more to keep than to lose.

5. Protect your sense of dignity

Even in crisis, care for yourself however you can. Looking after yourself is not vanity; it is part of staying mentally and spiritually anchored.

A Word for the One in Survival Mode

Maybe you are reading this from a place you never imagined you would be.

Maybe life has stripped things down so far that you barely recognize yourself.
Maybe you are carrying stress quietly.
Maybe you are ashamed of what this season looks like.
Maybe you feel like you should have figured it out by now.

Please hear me clearly: this chapter is not the whole book.

What you are surviving now is not the end of your story. It is not proof that God forgot you. It is not evidence that purpose skipped your address.

Sometimes the chapters we would never choose become the ones that make us stronger, softer, wiser, humbler, and more useful to others.

Resilience is not built in easy places.
Compassion is not deepened in comfort alone.
Testimony is not born from theory.

And one day, the very thing that made you feel hidden may become the thing God uses to help someone else keep going.

Join the Journey

I am not writing from a perfect place. I am writing from a real one.

I am writing as someone who has cried, questioned, lost, wandered, and still seen God remain faithful through it all. I am writing as someone who has had to learn how to begin again without all the pieces neatly in place. I am writing as someone who knows what it feels like to be in a low place financially, emotionally, and practically — and still believe that God is a Provider.

So here is my invitation:

If you can connect with somebody who is still growing, still healing, still rebuilding, and still trusting God in the middle of it, then connect with me.

You do not have to be polished to belong here.
You do not have to be perfect to have purpose.
You do not have to hide your hard chapter to be worthy of community.

Your crisis is not your conclusion.
It is a chapter.
And hard chapters have a way of producing resilient people.

So let’s keep going.
Let’s keep telling the truth.
Let’s keep choosing movement over fear.
And let’s keep trusting that God will meet us on the road.

Watch the full video here: 

Closing Reflection

I have learned that faith is not pretending everything is fine. Faith is moving when life is not fine at all.

It is trusting God while detangling.
It is trusting God while grieving losses.
It is trusting God while making uncertain moves.
It is trusting God while rebuilding your sense of self.
It is trusting God when all you have is what is in your hands today.

And today, that is enough to begin.