The Day I Found My Will to Go On

Kathy Mattoon
Sep 3, 2025
4 min read

I remember sitting on my deck one morning, coffee in hand, asking myself the question I had avoided for so long: “How did I let it get this bad?”

The truth was, my marriage had reached a point of no return. I didn’t have the strength, or even the desire, to keep fighting for something that was already broken. I felt like I was the only one carrying the battle, bleeding in silence while the other side didn’t even show up.

That morning, I admitted to myself: I’m done.

But then came the next question: Kathy, how are you going to do this alone? You’re exhausted. You don’t even know where to begin.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that the same God I had told I was “done being one of His strongest soldiers” was quietly giving me the will to go on. I just couldn’t see it yet.

The Pit of Exhaustion

Let me be clear: when I say I didn’t have the will to go on, I don’t mean I was suicidal. I mean, I was bone-deep exhausted, stuck in survival mode. I had been running on autopilot for so long that being miserable had almost become comfortable. Fear kept me frozen. Change felt impossible.

Maybe you can relate.

Life doesn’t sugarcoat anything; it hits hard and often without mercy. Some days it feels like climbing invisible stairs, not knowing if the next step will bring relief or a new challenge.

I’ll never forget those first steps. I spent a week lying on my living room floor, barely getting up except to tend to my dogs, shower occasionally, eat just enough to keep going, and then collapse again. I second-guessed my decisions constantly. The soul-pain was unlike anything I had ever felt. It was the kind of pain that shakes your identity to the core.

And yet, at the very bottom of that pit, I found something I hadn’t expected: my will to go on.

The Empty Lights

I was reminded of how many times I begged for even the smallest flicker of attention in my marriage, a light that would stay on long enough to prove I mattered. But instead, I settled for a temporary glow. A brief pacifier. And as soon as I turned my back, the lights went out again.

I sacrificed my own well-being in the process. I weathered menopause, midlife changes, and life’s storms alone. In my mind, I often saw myself standing in the middle of a field, surrounded by chaos, desperate for calm but unable to find it.

It was in that storm, inside the pit of soul-pain, that I rediscovered something I had lost: my why.

I found myself again.

Picking Up My Pen

For years, I helped others see their worth, their story, their value. In the process, I had set down my own pen. I forgot where I left it.

And when I finally found it again, I asked myself: Am I even worthy to hold it anymore? What would I write?

I opened my journal and wrote these words:

“I have found the will to go on.”

From that moment forward, I made a promise to myself: I would never put that pen down again.

Writing My Own Story

Since then, I’ve chosen to keep moving forward, even on the rough days. I allow myself moments of grief or exhaustion, but I don’t live there anymore. I refuse to let guilt and shame hold me hostage.

Instead, I give myself grace. I journal. I practice presence. I lean on the wisdom of books like The Four Agreements and The Power of Now. I “cleaned house," letting go of relationships, even family, that brought only negativity. And in the process, I discovered who was truly meant to walk this journey with me.

I also rekindled a friendship that remains one of the most valuable blessings in my life.

Because here’s the truth: when you find your will to go on and pick up your pen again, you reclaim authorship of your life. You become the writer of your own story.

Don’t be afraid to delete chapters, cut out characters, or start over.

Today, I am both an author and the author of my life. I make mistakes, plenty of them, but I also make powerful comebacks.

And for those wondering what color pen I chose when I picked it back up: it was purple.

Purple, the color of spiritual growth, wisdom, imagination, and uniqueness. My new journey. My rebirth.

A Gentle Reminder

Carrying pain is heavy, but it’s even heavier when you allow someone else to hold your pen.

I share my story with vulnerability, but I also share this reminder: while my “will to go on” came in the form of exhaustion and self-discovery, for many others, the pain may lead to suicidal thoughts.

If you are struggling, or if you suspect someone you love is, please don’t wait. Reach out. Call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988

Closing

I sit here today with my purple pen in hand, still writing, still learning, still healing. And this time, I’m determined never to put it down again.