There is a quiet power in the words: «Welcome to wherever you are.» Not where you planned to be. Not where others expect you to be. Not even where you once were. Just… here. Now. You. As you are.
This phrase holds no judgment. It is not a command to stay, nor a promise that you’ll remain. It’s simply an invitation to be present — truly, wholly present — in the very place you’re standing. Even if you’re kneeling. Even if you’re broken. Even if this place feels like failure, disappointment, or disorientation.
Welcome to wherever you are.
The phrase is widely recognized thanks to the Bon Jovi song of the same name, released in 2005 on their album Have a Nice Day. I simply love his music and lyrics. This one’s a powerful anthem of self-acceptance, resilience, and belonging, echoing many of the same themes I wanted to explore in this article. You’re welcome to join me.
Presence: The 1st step
In a world constantly pulling us toward what’s next — the next task, the next success, the next identity — presence can feel like resistance. But it is only by standing still long enough to feel the ground beneath our feet that we remember we are, in fact, standing at all.
To be present is not weakness. It is radical honesty. It is choosing to breathe fully in the midst of discomfort. It is looking at your circumstances not with fear or avoidance, but with clarity. Not what should be. Not what was. But what is.
Presence opens the door to awareness. And awareness — painful, liberating, luminous — is the first light in dark places.
Awareness: Seeing without fleeing
Awareness doesn’t mean being consumed by your struggle. It means recognizing the terrain, naming the shadows without letting them define you. Shame, regret, failure — these are not permanent residents. They’re passing voices, echoing from yesterday’s storm. But if we pretend they’re not there, they only grow louder.
Awareness means acknowledging:
- I’ve failed.
- I’ve doubted.
- I’ve believed I wasn’t enough.
And still choosing to say: But I am here.
That is strength. That is movement.
Grit: The courage to get back up
There’s a myth that grit is about toughness — about clenching your jaw, denying emotion, pushing blindly forward. But true grit is quiet and stubborn. It’s the gentle refusal to stay down. It’s not polished. It’s not proud. It often rises with tears still drying, legs still shaking, heart still aching.
Grit is what makes you rise even when nothing outside of you changes — because something inside of you has.
It says: This is not where I stop.
It whispers: Even from here, I can move forward.
Through the barriers of the mind
Often, the heaviest chains aren’t made of iron — they’re made of thoughts.
- I’m too far gone.
- I’ve messed up too much.
- No one would understand.
- What’s the point of trying again?
These thoughts aren’t truths. They are survival mechanisms gone rogue. They are echoes from old wounds. And they can be replaced.
The mind may say: You can’t walk on from here.
But your soul knows: This is exactly where the journey continues.
Shame: The wall we learn to climb
Shame tells us we don’t belong — not until we’ve fixed ourselves, cleaned up, succeeded. But the truth is: You are allowed to walk on while still healing. You are allowed to show up with your scars, with your doubts, with your imperfections.
Shame may whisper: You’re disqualified.
But grace answers: Welcome to wherever you are.
And from there, you begin.
Yesterday’s failures: Not the end of the story
We are not the sum of our worst days. Your past may inform your story, but it does not write your final chapter. Failure is a mirror — not of your worth, but of your humanity. Everyone fails. Everyone falls. What matters is what you do next.
Will you sit in the rubble? Or will you look up?
Will you believe that your feet still remember how to move?
Will you stand?
Walking On: From pitfalls to higher ground
To walk on does not mean rushing. It doesn’t mean pretending the pain didn’t happen. It means lifting one foot, then the other. It means accepting that progress is uneven — two steps forward, one back, sometimes a pause just to catch your breath.
Higher ground is not a place of perfection. It’s the place where you start to see with new eyes, where you remember your own worth. It’s where compassion becomes your compass, and courage becomes your pace.
The climb is slow. But it is sacred.
This? It’s the beginning
So wherever you are — on the floor or in the fog, halfway up or starting over — you are not lost. You are not disqualified. You are not alone.
You are exactly where the next step can begin.
Welcome to wherever you are.
Let that welcome become a turning point.
Let awareness become your lantern.
Let grit become your stride.
And then — walk on.
DREIESKIVA|Roald Kvam 
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