A Survivor’s Perspective

by Josie Mac

I come from a generation that drank water from galvanized outdoor hoses, inhaled lead paint particulates like it was seasoning, and I absolutely digested insulation fibers because why not.

We rode bikes with no helmets, no rules, and no supervision. We lived in houses where the adults smoked everything, and we just… existed in it.

We were also raised with that nightly reminder:

It’s 10 o’clock. Do you know where your children are?

I was basically raised on rust, secondhand smoke, tetanus, dirt and grease, and vibes.

And somehow—somehow—

I still have functioning brain cells.

Well… sometimes.

We joke about it now. We meme it. We laugh. But underneath the humor is something real.

We learned how to entertain ourselves. We learned how to disappear into our rooms. We learned how to be independent before we learned how to ask for help. We learned how to survive before we learned how to feel.

We don’t talk enough about how growing up feral shaped us. How it made us resourceful. How it made us resilient. How it also made us tired. We carry a strange mix of pride and grief. Pride because we made it. Grief because nobody noticed how hard it actually was.

So when I look at this generation—overstimulated, exhausted, searching for dopamine and connection—I don’t see weakness.

I see kids trying to cope in a louder world.

Different chaos.

Same nervous system.

Maybe the real story isn’t about who had it harder.

Maybe it’s about recognizing that every generation is surviving something.

We just give it different names.

I call mine:

Raised on hose water