What it does to your mind when your body won’t cooperate

Fibromyalgia didn’t just challenge my body.

It challenged who I thought I was.

I’m a man of responsibility.

I do the work.
I show up.
I want to win.

That’s who I’ve always been.

But life hit me in waves.

I lost my job…
not because I wasn’t good enough…
but because “business needs have changed.”

Then I lost my child.

And somewhere in trying to rebuild, trying to lock back in, trying to be me again…

My body shut down.

I couldn’t move.

Not “I’m tired.”
Not “I need rest.”

I literally couldn’t move.

And when I could?

It hurt so bad I didn’t want to.

That does something to your identity.

Because now it’s not just:

“Who am I becoming?”

It’s:

“Can I still be who I was?”

I had to adjust.

Move differently.
Think differently.
Show up differently.

And as a man, especially a Black man, that’s not something we’re taught to do.

We’re taught to push.
To carry.
To perform.

Not to pause and say:

“I’m not okay.”

There were moments I didn’t feel confident.

Meetings where I didn’t feel strong afterward.
Studio sessions where creativity didn’t flow like it used to.

That part hurt.

Because music?
That’s not just what I do.

That’s who I am.

And when even that gets touched…

You start asking quiet questions:

“Is it still there?”
“Will it come back?”
“Am I still me?”

On my worst days…

The thoughts go deeper.

I think about going to jail over child support.

Not because I don’t care.
Not because I’m not trying.

But because my body won’t let me move the way I used to.

I used to work seven jobs.

Seven.

Now I need flexibility just to survive the day.

I think about dying early.

Because what I deal with isn’t just fibromyalgia.

It’s nervous system shutdowns.
Shortness of breath.
Waking up gasping.
Chest pain.
Moments where I feel like I’m going down.

And in those moments, the question isn’t just:

“Can I do this?”

It’s:

“Will I even have time to become who I’m called to be?”

Because I’ve seen it.

I’ve felt it.

People have spoken over my life, told me I’m going to be great.

That my spirit is different.

And I believe that.

But what if I don’t get there?

What if my health doesn’t line up with my purpose?

What if the system doesn’t understand what I’m dealing with?

What if I run out of time?

Those are real thoughts.

But so is this:

I don’t stay there.

My internal voice is strong.

Not perfect but strong.

It reminds me:

This is bigger than me.

I think about my wife.

I think about my son, Jace.

Even in parental alienation…he’s still part of my reason.

I think about the people I haven’t met yet.

The ones who will hear one song, one message, one moment…

…and it changes something for them.

And I hold onto that.

Because this feels like a calling.

Like being chosen for something heavy.

Like a hero that didn’t ask for the mission…

but still has to carry it.

So I keep holding.

Even when it feels like too much.

It’s like holding weight past the point of exhaustion.

You want to drop it.

But you know if you do…

you lose something.

So you adjust.

You shift.

You breathe.

But you don’t let go.

I let myself feel the doubt.

The frustration.

The “I don’t got it today.”

But I don’t stay there.

Because even on the days where all I can say is:

“This is all I got today…”

I still believe tomorrow can be different.

Fibromyalgia may shake my confidence, but it will never take my identity. I’m still becoming everything I was called to be.