Making it

One of the things my husband always asks me on my bad days (when I call him at work in tears, or sit on the line in silence, wishing he could run home and rescue me, but knowing he really really can't), is "are you going to make it?"
Or he reassures me that we are just in survival mode. We make it through the day. We get through. We survive.

But it seems like there are always consequences. Of course, we make it. We wake up alive the next morning and we breathe. But what does that mean? Does it mean that we aren't causing damage to our children and those around us? Does it mean that we aren't losing weeks, months and years to misery? Does it mean we aren't wounded by our experience?

So, is it really surviving?

I guess it doesn't mean much to me for someone to tell me, "wow, you made it through that!"
It's not good enough to know I haven't seriously harmed myself or others (physically).
It's not enough to get through each day still breathing.
I need to live.
And I don't know how.