I made it to the gym Saturday. And Monday. And today. If all goes well, I’ll go again Friday. It doesn’t sound like much. For some people it’s just routine. For me, it’s everything. Life is still chaotic. Today my workout got cut short because my caretaker had to rush to urgent care — teenage drama, a fight at school, one of those moments that reminds you the world doesn’t pause just because you’re trying to heal. Nothing in my life is moving quickly right now. Insurance is slow. Legal processes are slow. Disability is slow. Every step requires another referral, another form, another phone call. It feels like living inside a system that runs on “eventually.” Meanwhile, my body is still catching up to trauma. Nerves that were cut. Areas that are numb. Pain that lingers. A limb that’s gone. Metal holding things together. Some days I feel like a collection of repairs. And yet — the gym is the one place I don’t feel broken. It hurts to train. I’m tired. My body protests...
Questioning the idea that survival comes with a purpose to fulfill I’ve survived two life-altering events, and what I’ve learned about purpose isn’t what people expect. They say, “God kept your alive for a reason,” or “God still has a purpose for you.” And I need to be honest about how that lands for me. It doesn’t feel comforting. It feels like pressure. Like surviving something traumatic automatically comes with an assignment—something I’m supposed to figure out later, some hidden meaning I’m expected to uncover. And in my case, this hasn’t been said just once. It’s been said twice. Once after my stroke in 2020. And now again after a near-death accident on September 6th 2025 that changed my life forever. So it starts to create a pattern I can’t ignore—that my survival is always being tied to some purpose I haven’t “fulfilled” yet. And that raises a real question for me: Why does it sound like I have to go through something catastrophic in order for my life to be cons...