What I wish doctors knew about helping people manage pain is that there seems to be a lot of disconnect and lack of communication in the healthcare system. When I was in acute care, I was prescribed a number of medications that nobody really discussed with me. They just gave them to me. When I found out I was on methadone, I asked what the plan was to wean me off of it because I didn't want to be on it long-term. Nobody seemed to have an answer. When I was discharged from the hospital, they took me off methadone cold turkey and sent me home. After I got home, I received a phone call from an outpatient substance abuse treatment clinic. They told me they would be treating me for methadone dependence, but the earliest appointment they had was three weeks after I had already been discharged and taken off the medication. They actually said they were going to put me back on it so they could wean me off it. I remember thinking, if this was something that needed to be addressed, why was...
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 considered meaningful?
Because when I look at my life, I don’t see emptiness before these events. I see years of living, working, creating, contributing, and impacting people in real ways.
So when survival gets framed as proof of a “higher purpose,” it quietly rewrites everything that came before it.
As if none of it counted in the same way.
And I don’t accept that.
The first time—after my stroke—I started questioning everything.
Life, belief, meaning… all of it.
That kind of experience forces you to look at the world differently.
But this second time feels different.
After this accident, the questions went deeper.
Not just, “What does this mean?”
But also, “Did I do something wrong?”
“Did I make a mistake?”
“Did I somehow bring this on myself?”
“Did I mess with something I shouldn’t have?”
I questioned everything. Again.
Not from curiosity—but from trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense.
And through all of that, I still believe in God.
But I question the idea that suffering is required to reveal purpose.
Because I don’t understand why pain would be part of a plan just to make my life meaningful.
And I’m allowed to ask that.
And yet… I’d also be lying if I said I haven’t had the opposite thought too.
After everything, I’m still here.
And there are moments when I think—maybe it really just wasn’t my time to go.
Maybe there is something unfinished here.
Not some grand prophecy.
Not some giant assignment I’m failing to figure out.
Just… more life.
More to experience.
More to learn.
More to create.
More to give.
Maybe that’s all purpose really is.
Because so much pressure gets placed on people to turn their survival into meaning…
their pain into prophecy…
their life into something that has to lead somewhere bigger.
But what if life doesn’t need to lead anywhere to matter?
What if being here is already enough?
I want to be able to say this—clearly—to other people, and to myself:
You don’t have to figure yourself out to be valid.
You don’t have to turn your life into a mission statement.
You don’t have to suffer your way into meaning.
You are allowed to just be.
And if there is a purpose in that… maybe that’s it.
Because I don’t believe pain and suffering have to be turned into something supernatural just to justify why we’re still here.
Sometimes surviving is just surviving.
And sometimes continuing to live—fully, honestly, and on purpose—is enough.
If you’re in a season of questioning—of rebuilding, redefining, or just trying to make sense of where you are—you’re not alone in that space.
If this story resonates with you, I’m currently in the process of rebuilding my life after a stroke and a recent near-death accident that has left me facing significant physical, emotional, and financial challenges. Any support—whether through a donation or simply sharing my GoFundMe—helps me stay housed, stable, and able to continue healing and rebuilding my life with dignity and independence. Thank you for being part of my journey.
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