Hold Your Head Up

There will always be days that try to break you—days when the world feels unfair, when people talk without understanding, when life piles on more than it feels like you can carry. But that’s when this truth matters most: hold your head up.

It sounds simple, almost too easy, like something you’d read on a bumper sticker or a T-shirt. But the older I get, the more I realize how profound it really is. Holding your head up isn’t about pretending everything’s fine—it’s about refusing to bow to what’s trying to defeat you. It’s a quiet kind of courage, the kind that doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s just the strength to take another breath, another step, another chance.

And if it’s bad, don’t let it get you down—you can take it. Those words feel like a lifeline on the hard days. Because yes, life gets bad sometimes. People disappoint you. Health fails. Plans fall apart. Bills come due when hope feels spent. But “you can take it” isn’t just blind optimism—it’s resilience born out of survival. You’ve made it through worse before. You’re still standing, even when you didn’t think you could.

Hard seasons don’t define you. They refine you. Every hardship, every heartbreak, every tear you’ve ever cried has shaped a strength inside you that can’t be broken. The world doesn’t see it, maybe—but you know. You’ve walked through fire before and come out with the kind of grit that only comes from being tested.

And if it hurts, don’t let them see you cry—you can make it. Those words aren’t about denying your pain. Cry if you need to—God knows tears are sometimes the only prayer we have left. But don’t let the cruelty of others convince you that your softness is weakness. You can hurt and still be strong. You can bend without breaking. You can make it, even when the path ahead looks too long and too lonely.

There will always be people who stare, who judge, who whisper from the sidelines. But if they stare, let them burn their eyes on you moving. Keep going. Keep walking. Keep living your truth boldly, unapologetically, beautifully. Let your perseverance be your response. Because there’s nothing more disarming to those who doubt you than your decision to rise anyway.

And when they shout, when they criticize or mock or question, don’t let it change a thing that you’re doing. Let them talk. Let them misunderstand. You weren’t made to please the noise—you were made to walk in purpose. Every step forward is a declaration that you will not be defined by the opinions of others.

Holding your head up doesn’t mean arrogance—it means dignity. It means remembering who you are, even when the world tries to make you forget. It’s choosing hope when despair would be easier. It’s believing in your worth when everything around you tells you otherwise.

Sometimes holding your head up means looking up—literally and spiritually. Because when you lift your eyes off the chaos around you and fix them on something greater—on faith, on purpose, on love—you find strength you didn’t know you had. You remember that storms pass, that pain softens, that new days still come.

When Tim’s PNES first began, there were so many moments when I wanted to collapse under the weight of it all—the uncertainty, the fear, the constant waiting for the next seizure. But time and faith have taught me this: you can’t live forever with your head bowed in worry. You have to lift it, even when it shakes, even when you’re exhausted, and keep moving. Because if you let fear keep you down, you’ll miss the moments of light that still find their way in.

And that’s what this song, this sentiment, is really about: resilience. It’s about finding that spark of strength when everything around you feels dark. It’s about refusing to let circumstances steal your joy, your peace, your belief in better days.

Hold your head up—not because life is easy, but because you’ve earned the right to. Because you’ve survived too much to quit now. Because there’s still purpose in your breath and light in your future. Because every time you lift your head, even when it’s heavy, you declare to the world that you’re not done yet.

You are stronger than the stares. Braver than the whispers. Tougher than the pain. And loved beyond measure by a God who sees every battle you fight, even the ones you don’t speak of.

So hold your head up, even if it trembles. Walk forward, even if the ground feels unsteady. Keep believing, even if the miracle hasn’t come yet. You can take it. You can make it. You already have.

And one day, when you look back, you’ll see what others couldn’t: that every time life tried to break you, you held your head a little higher—and that’s what saved you.