Strength has a cost

People always talk about strength like it’s beautiful.

But nobody really talks about what strength costs.

Especially when you become “the strong one.”

The dependable one.
The resilient one.
The one everybody assumes will survive it.

Truthfully?

That role can get lonely.

Because over time, people stop asking:

“How are you really doing?”

And start assuming:

“You’ll figure it out.”

And maybe they’re right.

Maybe I will.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not human while doing it.

This journey has made every part of me stronger.

Not despite fibromyalgia.

Because of it.

Patience got stronger.

Not patience with other people.

I already had that.

Patience with myself.

When brain fog hits.
When my confidence drops suddenly.
When I feel sharp one moment and completely drained the next.

I’ve had to learn grace.

Real grace.

Empathy got deeper too.

I’ve always been able to feel what people carry emotionally.

But now?

I understand struggle differently.

Because bad health is bad health.

And just because somebody else’s battle looks different than mine…

Doesn’t mean it hurts less.

That realization changed how I connect with people.

Especially now.

When I meet someone new, I genuinely want to know:

“What are you carrying?”

And interestingly enough…

When I’m vulnerable first, people usually become vulnerable too.

Even the people who normally hide everything.

Discipline became even more important.

And honestly?

Discipline has always been part of my DNA.

After struggling my first semester at North Carolina A&T (AGGIE PRIDE!!!)…

I locked in.

No partying.
No distractions.

Just class and music.

Songwriting.
Producing.
Engineering.

I sacrificed a lot.

But fibromyalgia changed discipline again.

Because now time feels different.

Energy feels different.

Now I have to ask:

“What matters most today?”
“What can I realistically do with the energy I have?”

That’s a different level of discipline.

Emotional depth?

That got stronger too.

And honestly, maybe too strong sometimes.

Because now I fully understand:
I need emotionally deep people around me.

Not surface-level connections.

Not performative care.

Real depth.

And if someone can’t meet me there?

That’s okay.

But I’ve learned not everybody can walk closely with me emotionally anymore.

Leadership changed too.

Actually…

I finally owned it.

My entire business and mission now is built around leadership.

Creatives are leaders.

And even with my health struggles…

I still know I’m called to lead.

Spiritually?

Man…

That growth has been wild.

I feel closer to God now than ever before.

Not because life got easier.

Because I had to trust Him deeper.

And creatively?

That was probably one of the hardest battles.

For a while, I felt disconnected from myself creatively.

Like I had to force something that used to flow naturally.

That scared me.

But recently?

The creativity came back stronger.

And what I realized is:

If creativity truly lives in you…
it finds its way out anyway.

Even through pain.

Even through exhaustion.

Even through uncertainty.

And discernment?

That thing leveled up heavily.

Health struggles reveal people quickly.

You learn who has empathy.

Who has emotional capacity.

Who only likes the strong version of you.

And who actually sees the human underneath.

Because yes…

I absolutely think people mostly see the strong version of me.

Especially family sometimes.

Especially because I’ve survived so much already.

The surgeries.
The near-death experiences.
The chronic pain.
The setbacks.

People assume:

“He’ll survive this too.”

And maybe I will.

But surviving still costs something emotionally.

That’s the part people miss.

I think about Twitch sometimes.

And how shocked everybody was.

But I understood it immediately.

Because I know what it feels like to silently carry battles while still smiling publicly.

I know what it feels like to choose life repeatedly.

To choose purpose repeatedly.

To choose showing up repeatedly.

And honestly?

Sometimes I don’t want to do the work either.

Sometimes I’m tired.

Deep tired.

But I keep going.

And I think what I want people to remember most about me is simple:

I was a good person.

Not perfect.

Not flawless.

But good.

I showed up for people.

I encouraged people.

I gave wisdom.

I listened.

I helped people execute their ideas.

I tried to leave people better than I found them.

And even when I was struggling…

I still tried to bring light.

Humor too.

Because laughter matters.

I also want people to remember that I fought.

Not just physically.

Spiritually.
Emotionally.
Creatively.

And I never let pain fully take away who I was.

I want people to remember:

“He kept showing up.”

Even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

Because strength isn’t the absence of pain.

Sometimes strength is simply deciding:

“I’m still here.”

Final Thought:
People admire strength. But very few understand the loneliness that often comes with becoming the person everybody expects to survive.