Traci Cortes

I Survived — And Then I Started Building
There was a time in my life when I could not see a way forward.
Last year, I attempted to end my life.
I don't share that sentence for shock value. I share it because it is part of my story, and because I have learned that surviving something doesn't mean we have to spend the rest of our lives hiding the fact that it happened.
For a long time, I believed that surviving meant simply making it through the worst moment.
Now I understand that survival is only the beginning.
After my attempt, I had to confront a lot of things I had spent years carrying. I had to sit with pain, disappointment, grief, anger, fear, and questions I didn't always have answers for. I had to learn how to exist in the space between the person I had been and the person I was becoming.
Healing wasn't a straight line.
Some days I felt strong. Other days, simply getting through the day was an accomplishment. I learned that recovery isn't about suddenly becoming fearless or pretending that the past didn't happen. It's about continuing to choose life, even while you're still figuring out what life is supposed to look like.
And somewhere along that journey, something began to change.
I stopped asking only, "Why did this happen to me?"
I started asking, "What can I do with the fact that I survived?"
That question changed the direction of my life.
My work with the Black Fowlcan Foundation became part of that answer. Being involved in this work has given me a place to turn lived experience into advocacy, compassion, and action. It has reminded me that sometimes the person who understands the darkness best is also the person who can help someone else find a light.
And then came 84 Rainbows.
Starting 84 Rainbows represents something deeply personal to me. It is part of my decision to stop allowing the hardest chapters of my life to be the final chapters. I want to create something that represents possibility, connection, acceptance, and hope.
Because I know what it feels like to believe that your story is over.
I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed by pain and unable to imagine a future that could possibly be worth reaching.
And I also know something now that I didn't know then:
The future doesn't have to look anything like the present.
The life you have today does not have to be the life you have tomorrow.
Sometimes survival looks like asking for help.
Sometimes it looks like admitting that you're not okay.
Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed, answering one phone call, showing up for someone else, or simply deciding that you're going to give tomorrow a chance.
And sometimes, survival eventually becomes purpose.
I don't consider myself someone who has "moved past" what happened. I am someone who has learned to carry it differently.
My attempt is part of my history, but it is not my identity.
I am not the worst moment of my life.
I am not the pain I experienced.
I am not the person I was when I couldn't see a way forward.
I am the person who stayed.
I am the person who kept going.
I am the person who decided that surviving could become something more than survival.
Today, I am building.
I am building through my work with the Black Fowlcan Foundation. I am building through 84 Rainbows. I am building relationships, community, advocacy, and opportunities for people who may be struggling in ways the world cannot see.
And perhaps most importantly, I am building a life I once could not imagine having.
If you're reading this because you're struggling right now, I want you to know something I wish I had been able to believe when I was at my lowest:
You do not have to have your whole life figured out today.
You only have to make room for the possibility that there can be another chapter.
Stay long enough to see what happens next.
There are people you haven't met yet, lives you haven't touched yet, and moments you haven't experienced yet.
I know because I almost missed mine.
But I didn't.
I'm still here.
And now, I'm doing everything I can to make being here mean something.