Tag: pain

  • When Sobriety Meets Suffering: Shingles, Pain, and the Power of Staying the Course

    This week has brought me to my knees, literally and spiritually.

    I was diagnosed with shingles, and not just anywhere, on my eye. The pain is excruciating. It feels like someone lit a fire behind my face and it won’t go out. My eye is swollen, my head is throbbing, and every nerve on the left side of my face is screaming. It’s terrifying. Not only because of the physical pain, but because shingles in the eye can threaten your vision. That kind of fear can rattle you to your core.

    And let me be brutally honest: in moments like this, my old self starts whispering to me.
    “Just one drink. Just one cigarette. Just one moment to take the edge off.”

    That was my go-to comfort before. In pain, in panic, in sadness, I numbed. That’s how I survived back then. But now, I’m sober. And I’m not just sober when it’s easy. I’m learning how to be sober when it’s excruciating.

    There’s nothing easy about walking through a health crisis without your old crutches. My body is screaming, my nerves are shot, and my emotions feel like a rollercoaster. I’ve cried from the pain. I’ve cried from the fear. I’ve cried from the sheer exhaustion of holding the line.

    But I’m still holding.

    Because in this moment, I’m not turning to the bottle or the lighter, I’m turning to God.
    To prayer.
    To worship.
    To quiet moments of begging Him to get me through the next hour.

    And He is. He doesn’t always take the pain away. But He does meet me in it.

    I wanted to share this not because I have it all together, I don’t. But because someone out there might be going through their own storm and wondering how to hold on without falling back. This is your reminder: You can. You can do hard things. You can stay sober through the fire. You can cry and still be strong. You can feel broken and still be healing.

    Shingles on my eye may have knocked me down, but it hasn’t taken my sobriety. And it won’t. Because I’ve fought too long and too hard to get here.

    This is just one chapter, not the whole story.

    So I’m choosing faith over fear. Prayer over panic. Sobriety over suffering.

    And if you’re walking through pain too—physical, emotional, spiritual—I’m walking right beside you.

    We don’t have to hide our hard days.
    We don’t have to keep secrets anymore.
    We heal out loud.
    We stay sober—even in the storm.

    With love and honesty,

  • The Most Gangster Thing I’ve Ever Done

    If you had asked me years ago what it meant to be “gangster,” I probably would have said something about being tough, fearless, and unshaken by the world. I thought strength was about never backing down, never showing weakness, never letting anyone see the cracks in my armor.

    But now? Now I know the real truth.

    The most gangster thing I’ve ever done wasn’t reckless or wild. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else.

    It was getting sober.

    It was taking accountability for my actions.

    It was being willing to change my life.

    Facing Myself Was the Hardest Part

    For a long time, I ran. I ran from pain, from responsibility, from the truth I didn’t want to admit—that the life I was living wasn’t sustainable. That I was hurting myself. That I was hurting the people who loved me.

    Sobriety wasn’t just about quitting alcohol. It was about looking in the mirror and seeing every part of myself—the good, the bad, the broken, the beautiful. It was about acknowledging the ways I had let myself down, the choices I had made that weren’t aligned with who I wanted to be.

    It was about no longer blaming the world for my pain and finally realizing that I held the power to heal.

    Accountability Is Not for the Weak

    Taking accountability was like standing in front of a storm with no shelter, no armor, no escape. It meant saying, “I did this. I made these choices. And now, I choose differently.”

    That’s the part people don’t talk about. The raw, gut-wrenching realization that no one is coming to save you. That if you want change, you have to be the one to create it.

    There’s no shortcut, no way to bypass the hard work of healing. And that’s what makes it so powerful.

    The Power of Willingness

    I used to think change was impossible—that I was too far gone, too set in my ways, too broken to ever live differently. But the truth is, all it takes is willingness.

    Willingness to try.

    Willingness to show up, even when it’s uncomfortable.

    Willingness to rewrite the narrative I once believed about myself.

    Every day, I wake up and choose this path. Some days are easier than others. Some days, the old habits whisper to me, the old doubts creep in. But I keep choosing. Because I know what’s on the other side of this fight: freedom, clarity, and a peace I never thought I’d find.

    The Real Definition of Strength

    You want to know what real strength looks like?

    It’s not pretending you have it all together. It’s admitting when you don’t.

    It’s not about avoiding pain. It’s about walking through it, even when it feels impossible.

    It’s not about being unbreakable. It’s about breaking open and allowing yourself to become something new.

    Getting sober. Taking responsibility. Choosing to heal. That’s the most gangster thing I’ve ever done.

    And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

    If you’re on this journey, keep going. You are stronger than you know.