There was a moment—one of those rock-bottom, soul-crushing moments—when I was done. Completely done. Exhausted. Empty. I had nothing left. I was on the streets, wrecked, and for the first time in my life, I prayed.
And I don’t mean some polite, church-approved prayer. I mean a raw, last-ditch plea.
“God, if you exist, right now would be a really good time to show me.”
That was it. No flowery words, no dramatic monologue. Just a straight-up challenge: Show up, or don’t.
And then? Everything changed.
Within days of that prayer, things started moving. It was like some unseen gear finally clicked into place. Before I knew it, I was off the streets and in rehab. It felt like a miracle—like divine intervention—like some force had finally pulled me out of the hell I had been drowning in.
But here’s the real miracle—the thing that changed me forever:
I realized I was responsible for where I was.
Yes, people had hurt me.
Yes, my childhood sucked.
Yes, my family hated me.
Yes, the rejection and pain ran deeper than I could even process.
But at the end of the day? I made the choices that landed me on the streets.
A little tough to take, but with that realization came another: if I had the power to wreck my life so spectacularly, then I damn sure had the power to rebuild it, and that raw, brutal truth set me free. Because if you can drive yourself straight into hell—and admit you were the one gripping the wheel—you can’t deny it:
You have a car. You know how to drive.
And if that’s true, you can drive that same car somewhere better—if you actually want to.
But if you believe you’re just some helpless passenger, being hauled around by an invisible driver, you’ll stay stuck—angry, exhausted, screaming about how unfair it all is.
And that invisible driver you’re yelling at?
He’s not real.
He never was.
It’s been you behind the wheel the whole damn time, screaming at yourself.
So, truth and responsibility. Those are the non-negotiables. Because when you start lying to yourself, making excuses, or blaming everyone else, you give away your power.
- I could have blamed my past forever.
- I could have wallowed in how unfair life had been.
- I could have waited for someone to rescue me.
But excuses don’t fix anything. Blame doesn’t build a future. Waiting doesn’t change your life. Taking ownership does. And let’s be real—it’s brutal at first. It’s humiliating. It means standing in front of the mirror and saying:
“This is all on me. I made these choices. I created this mess.”
But on the other side of that gut punch? Freedom.
Because once you own everything—the good, the bad, the absolute dumpster fires—you realize you are in control of what happens next. And that? That’s real power. Being brutally honest with yourself isn’t cute. It’s not comfortable, actually, it’s terrifying. Most people run from it. But if you don’t face it, you stay stuck—trapped in the same cycles, making the same mistakes, blaming everyone else, wondering why nothing changes.
Truth is the only way forward.
Responsibility is the only way up.
I own everything I do and everything I don’t do.
If I fail, it’s on me.
If I succeed, it’s on me.
There’s no magic fix, no lucky break, no “right time.”
There’s only the moment you decide to take control of your life—and act.
Final Thoughts: Own Your Sh*t, Own Your Life
I clawed my way up from the lowest place imaginable—not because someone saved me, but because I realized I was the only one who could. Now, don’t get me wrong—I didn’t do it alone. My therapist was by my side the whole way. You need help. You need someone—whether it’s a therapist, sponsor, spiritual advisor, or trusted friend—to guide you when the road gets dark.
But you have to seek them out. You have to show up to the meetings. You have to book that first therapy session. You have to take the steps.
So yes, get support. But remember:
The only person who can turn your life around is you.
If you’re stuck, waiting, or screaming at the invisible driver about why things aren’t different yet—stop.
Face the truth.
Take the wheel.
Turn in a different direction.