Looking Forward Through the Rearview

I didn’t plan to write this today.

This morning, I opened Facebook, scrolled past a few things, and then—boom—it did that thing it does and served up a memory I didn’t go looking for. Actually… it served up two. One from 2021. The other from 2022. Both deeply honest. Both from very different emotional places.

Reading them stopped me in my tracks. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with past versions of myself—one who was barely hanging on, and one who had found his footing again. It caught me off guard and sent me into a spiral of reflection I didn’t expect.

And that’s what led me here—writing this update four years later.

I’m not sharing these to rehash old pain or relive the hard parts, but to remember where I started and to name what’s changed since then.

In 2021, I was in a rough place. I wrote honestly about the noise in my head, the self-doubt, and the exhaustion of trying to look fine while feeling anything but. At the time, it felt like this: “I keep smiling on the outside but I’m dying on the inside. I’m barely hanging on, but I keep putting one foot in front of the next.”

What I remember most about that season wasn’t just the sadness—it was how loud everything felt. The constant loop of second-guessing. The belief that everyone else had it together while I was quietly unraveling. Even knowing that God loved me, it still felt like He was just out of reach.

I shared that post because I needed help. And because, deep down, I believed that honesty might crack the door open to healing.

When this same day came around again in 2022, I was in a different place. Not because everything had been fixed, but because something had shifted. I had support. I had perspective. I had learned—slowly and imperfectly—how to ask for help and actually let people show up.

I wrote then, “I share that news not to brag, but to remind everyone following along that there is hope. There is help. There are people out there who love and support you. You are not alone.”

That still matters to me.

What stands out rereading that post isn’t just the relief—it’s how outward-facing it was. I wasn’t trying to convince anyone, including myself, that I was suddenly fine. I was trying to pass along what I was learning while clawing my way back to the light.

I wrote, “Everyone is fighting a battle. A hard, butt-kicking, overwhelming, ‘nobody else gets this,’ battle. We need to offer kindness and grace to everyone as we hope those same things are offered to us in our times of need.”

And because I live better when things are practical, I added: “Offer a smile, a kind gesture, hold a door, compliment someone, buy the poor soul behind you a polar pop. Spread love.”

Rereading that now, I’m struck by how much of my healing has come not just from being supported, but from learning how to look outward again. From remembering that everyone around me is carrying something heavy, whether I can see it or not.

Here in 2026, I can honestly say I’m doing much better. I’m grateful for amazing support, a loving God, and good friends and family to lean on. Therapy continues to ground me. My wife remains my steady, patient, unwavering partner.

And still—because this is real life—I’m a work in progress.

I’m still full of self-doubt and insecurity. I still feel like a hot mess of emotion and uncertainty some days. I feel like a failure more often than I feel awesome. It’s hard to believe the good things people say about me, and incredibly easy to default to my shortcomings instead.

What’s changed is how I try to respond when those moments show up.

My instinct is still to complain. To spiral. To mentally line up a list of who sucks, why they suck, and how much I hate everything and everyone. That reflex is familiar—and fast.

But lately, I’ve been challenging myself to pause. To breathe. To look for the lesson instead of the blame. To find something—anything—to be grateful for in whatever I’m currently labeling as hateful, horrible, or life-ruining.

I’m not great at it. But I’m trying.

And I really do believe that trying counts.

Turning outward—especially when I want to retreat inward—sometimes helps pull me out of my own funk. Checking in on a friend. Offering encouragement. Being present for someone else who’s struggling. It doesn’t fix everything, but sometimes it shifts enough to keep me moving forward.

Not always.
But sometimes.

And sometimes is enough.

One thing I wrote years ago still feels just as true today: “There is no shame in asking for help. It is brave. You are worth it.”

Depression and anxiety are real. Doubt is real. Feeling lost, overwhelmed, or unsure—even when your life looks fine on the outside—is real. And none of that disqualifies you from love, support, or belonging.

If you’re in a rough season, please hear this clearly: you are not alone. There is hope. There is help. There are people who want to show up for you, even if you’re not sure how to ask yet.

And if you’re in a steadier place right now, maybe this is your nudge to turn outward too—to offer kindness, grace, and encouragement wherever you can. We all need more of it.

As for me, I don’t have it all figured out—but I’m still showing up and figuring it out as I go. Still trying to believe the good more and the lies less.

I’m not finished.
But I’m hopeful.
And today, that feels like enough.