To Be Real
It is so wild to me that I am meant to write. My purpose is to write. If I don’t write for a few days, the darkness starts to seep in—and almost succeeds. But when I write, I am surrounded by light. I’m doing what I was sent here to do— to help others. And I will. I don’t need to be a therapist or a life coach. I’m just well-experienced. And I’m wise.
I’ve been through it all—including the burning hot fire, all the way through to ash. I made it to the other side. And I truly believe anyone who’s survived even half of what I’ve lived through has a sacred duty—to tell their story. To share their survival. To help others know they’re not alone. Every survival story matters.
It might sound funny, but talking—or writing, whatever works for you—is a huge part of healing. Unearthing what’s been buried deep, ripping out the roots—It ain’t easy. But it starts with talking. And once you start talking, the roots begin to loosen.
I’ve said this before—40% of people who’ve had open-heart surgery experience depression. And ever since my last one, I can feel that motherfucking darkness pushing to get in. I’m in a very different place now than I was after the first surgery. Back then, I wasn’t mentally all there. And I came out knowing I’d have to do it again. I was in limbo—the weirdest fucking place I’ve ever been in my life—and it lasted two years. I spent those two years climbing. Re-identifying myself. Healing. Growing. Preparing—mentally and physically—for what came next. I didn’t just survive it—I changed inside it.
Now that the second surgery’s happened, I’m in a new place. I’ve got a lot to look forward to. But every now and then, I catch myself thinking about things I don’t want to think about—money. Worries. Fear.
I hadn’t thought about money in over two years. Worrying about money while living in limbo made zero sense to me. I was living one day at a time. If I wanted something? Fuck it, I got it. If I wanted to go somewhere? Fuck it, I went. Tomorrow wasn’t promised. And it sure as fuck wasn’t promised to me—not with a 50/50 chance of surviving another open-heart surgery.
Money comes and money goes. In the wise words of Karl: “Money does what it’s supposed to do—run out.” But it comes back again. It goes, and it comes back. I’ve lived like that my whole life—and I’ve made it this far.
Ya, I’m behind now—playing catch-up on bills after two years of living in the now. But I’m doing my best not to worry. To have faith. To trust. To pray. Because I know I’ll be OK. As long as I have what I need and I can stay afloat, I’ll be fine. I don’t need or want anything more than the love of my kids and my granddaughter.
I’m fucking human. Staying in the light 24/7 takes faith. Blind faith. And strength. The darkness is always there. Just waiting.
I hadn’t written in a couple of weeks. And this whole weekend? I felt it. Gloom. Sadness. A heaviness I haven’t felt in a long time. So last night, I prayed for a new day, a better day. I told myself I’d get up and write—do what I was put here to do. And I did just that.
And today, after writing all day, I feel compelled to write some more—this piece. I realized, as I was working on the last two chapters of my book, that how I’m feeling right now—great, hopeful—is because I wrote today. Writing is my weapon. My witness. My way through. It fulfills me. It gives me purpose. It strengthens my faith. It restores me. It keeps the darkness away. And it brightens the light.
I found it. I found my way. I found what works for me.
The book I’m writing? I’m not expecting a million dollars. Or a million copies sold. That’s not what it’s about. My book isn’t some pretty thing meant to sit on a shelf. It’s my soul. My legacy. What’s in those pages is going to help people—because writing it helped me. And I know it’ll find the ones who need it.
This blog? It’s here to show you what it means to be real. To be humble. To be broken. To rise again.
The podcast? That’s a door. A door for others to walk through—to release what’s keeping them stuck. So they can find themselves. So they can move forward and grow in the light.
So in case anyone’s wondering? No—I’m not trying to make a million dollars. I don’t sit around thinking about monetizing my story. I just want to stay afloat. Pay my bills. And do what I was sent here to do. And I will be provided for—to do just that.
I don’t know if I’m writing this for you today, or for me. Maybe both. But I can tell you this—this is what it’s like to be real.
