2025. What a whirl.

Day three of the new year… and like getting sucker punched in the gut, I got reminded that I’m not invincible.
Dreams? Torched.
Goals? Shattered.
Icarus flew too close to the sun, and I get it now—wax wings were never meant to last.

Same thing with youth.
It fades fast.
One day you’re charging full speed, the next you’re winded, wondering where the hell the air went.
Life flickers like a dying bulb in a busted hallway.
They say life is what you make it. Sure.
But sometimes?
Life just throws fists.
Cold. Hard. No warning.

That’s been my story. One gut check after another. And it’s only April.

I got hit with news that wrecked me.
Shook the walls inside my head.
Flipped everything I thought I knew.

You ask me what to do next?
I don’t know. I really don’t.
Yeah, I got support—but when it hits this hard, even the real ones feel distant.
Still… I’m supposed to be an example to my boy.

The questions keep circling like vultures.
What now?
Can I survive this?
Will I even make it to December?

I used to think I was tough.
Turns out, I wasn’t as battle-ready as I thought.
I crumbled. I folded.

But rock bottom has a funny way of reminding you—there ain’t nowhere else to go but up.

At the start of the year, I said I wanted to be grateful.
Not just say it—live it.
Be a better man. A good dad. A solid husband.
A guide to anyone who needed one.
That intention got tested real quick.

Life threw a brick through my window the moment I said those words.

I yelled at God.
“I’m grateful, damn it! Why are you letting this happen?!”

And the answer?

Silence.

That same hollow quiet I heard when my brother died.
The kind of silence that mocks.
That makes you ask: Did you forget about me, God?
You watching?
Or did you blink?

Why am I writing this?

Because this pain—it teaches.
It’s a forge.

And yeah, I break. A lot.
But I don’t stay down.
I can’t.

My son needs to see his dad bleed and still move forward.

People tell me, “Bro, if I were you, I’d be gone. Dead. Drunk. Wasted.”

But I don’t get to disappear.
I got a little man watching.
He needs to know it’s possible to get rocked by life and still answer the next bell.

Not everyone reading this shares my faith. That’s cool.
Some of you got different codes. Different gods. Or none at all.
And honestly?
Some of you live freer than I do.
I don’t know why. Maybe it’s ‘cause you already let go.

But when life crashes wave after wave,
and you’re gulping for air only to get dragged under again,
you start searching.
For anything.

As a kid, my dad and I read Proverbs together.
There’s a verse that tattooed itself on my soul:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and don’t lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He’ll make your path straight.”

Sounds poetic.
But when the ground breaks under you, what does that really look like?

It means you stop trying to muscle through everything alone.
It means you admit you don’t have all the answers.
It means trusting someone bigger… even when your fists are clenched.

And yeah, I get mad.
I yell.
I curse the sky.

“WHERE WERE YOU, GOD?
DID YOU SLEEP ON ME?
DO YOU SEE THIS?!”

And right when I’m ready to give up…
a whisper in the wreckage:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted. He saves those crushed in spirit.”

No trumpet.
No spotlight.
Just a quiet reminder that I’m not alone.

This year?
It’s been one long fight camp.

Flushing out the chump in me.
Every hit exposes what needs to go.
Weakness. Ego. Illusion.
It’s a beatdown… but it’s also a build-up.

Losing doesn’t cancel you.

You take a loss? Good.
Now learn.
Get up.
Fix your yourself.

Yeah, I’ve lost my mind. My balance. My calm.

But maybe that’s what I needed.
Maybe the point was to get flipped upside down
so I could finally find solid ground the right way.

This isn’t about pulling a hero card.
It’s not about sounding brave.

It’s about survival.
About pain shaping something that won’t shatter next time.

And if you’re reading this and you’re in that pit too?

Then let it harden you right.
Not bitter—better.
Let it build calluses on your soul.
Let it teach your hands how to stay up when your heart wants to quit.

Because some of us weren’t made to float.

We were made to fight the current…
and drag others to shore.