Someone once asked me, "What does success mean to you?"

I froze.

At 54, with a lifetime of struggles behind me, I realized I had never stopped long enough to even think about that question.

For 24 years, I didn't have time to think about success. The pressure of overwhelming debt, an ex-husband with a gambling addiction, and a daughter who needed my full attention—my every day was about survival. There was no room to talk about success. I could only put one foot in front of the other, and keep going.

Being a single mother meant I had to play the roles of both father and mother. Even when my own life was falling apart, I did everything in my power to give my daughter the best I could. It wasn't until my daughter finally entered the workforce that I had a chance to stop and ask myself: "Am I successful now?"

The answer shocked me: I didn't know what success was, but I knew what perseverance felt like.

Looking Back at Those Years

At 54, looking back at those 24 years, there was hardly a single comfortable day.

The fear of late-night calls from creditors. The anger and despair of discovering my ex-husband had been gambling again. The helplessness of facing my daughter's illnesses, school fees, and teenage rebellion alone. The quiet heartache of skipping meals myself just to make sure my daughter was fed.

Even now, my body remembers those years. My shoulders carry a permanent, gentle hunch—the weight of everything I carried. My hands remember the cold sweat that would bloom before answering unknown calls. This body is my living archive of discomfort.

Each of these moments made me want to give up. And yet, each of them also made me stronger.

I began to understand that discomfort is not an enemy to be eliminated, but a teacher to be embraced. In those years, I had no choice but to co-exist with discomfort. Looking back now, it was precisely these experiences that taught me life's most precious lessons.

The Three Lessons Discomfort Taught Me

Lesson One: Stop Pretending Everything Is Fine

In those years, I had no energy left to pretend to be strong.

When the bills piled up, I would cry—but always where my daughter couldn't see. When my ex-husband came home after losing money again, I was left speechless. When I couldn't bear it all alone, I would cry secretly in the middle of the night, sitting on the bathroom floor with the door closed.

But I also learned to say to my daughter, "Mom isn't rich, but I will always give you everything you truly need."

I learned that admitting I was struggling wasn't weakness. It was the first step toward finding my way through.

Lesson Two: Listen to What the Pain Is Trying to Tell You

Every form of discomfort was trying to tell me something.

Financial pressure told me: "You need to work harder, and you need to manage your money smarter."

Marital problems told me: "You deserve to be treated better."

The loneliness of single parenthood told me: "You are stronger than you think."

The guilt I felt towards my daughter told me: "Love doesn't need to be perfect, it just needs to be sincere."

Slowly, I stopped asking "Why me?" and started asking "What am I supposed to learn from this?" It didn't make the pain go away, but it made it bearable.

Lesson Three: Find Your Way to Dance in the Rain

The highest lesson is not waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to find meaning even amidst the hardship.

Even when in debt, I would still bake a cake for my daughter's birthday—even if I couldn't afford to buy one.

Even when exhausted, I would still stay up late to chat with her if she needed me.

Even when afraid, I would still make tough decisions for her future.

This is what it means to dance with discomfort—it's not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

What Success Means to Me Now

After all these years, my definition of success is very simple.

True success isn't the number in a bank account, but my daughter growing up healthy and happy.

True happiness isn't the absence of problems, but the peace of mind that comes after solving them.

When my daughter told me, "Mom, thank you for all your hard work over the years," I knew that the 24 years of struggle were all worth it.

A Message for You

Today, at 54, I hold a heart that has weathered many storms. Not because I avoided difficulties, but because I embraced every uncomfortable moment and let them become my strength.

If you are also going through a low point in your life, if you feel like you can't see the end, I want to tell you: every bit of pain you are enduring now will not be in vain.

If you're struggling right now, know this:

It's okay to admit it. It's okay if you can't see the meaning yet. It's okay if you feel like everyone else has it easier—they don't. Everyone has their own battles.

My life is not perfect. It is full of tears and struggles. But it is precisely these imperfections that make my life so rich and real.

Co-existing with discomfort isn't about becoming numb. It's about becoming more resilient—resilient to hardship, sensitive to beauty, and reverent towards life.

Success and happiness can coexist, but only if you first learn to be at peace with your own circumstances.

When you stop complaining about fate, you begin to master it.

When you stop running from difficulties, you find your true strength.

This is the wisdom I've gained over 54 years of life, especially those arduous 24 years, and it is the story I wish to share. I hope my experience can serve as a light for you in the darkness, a reminder that your current struggles are not in vain.

If this story resonates with you, I'd love to hear: What is one moment of discomfort that taught you something you couldn't have learned any other way?

Share your story in the comments. Let's continue to support each other on this journey.