The hardships we try to avoid are often the ones shaping who we’re meant to become.
Hospitals have shaped more of my life than most people realize. I’ve been there for myself (a lot), for family, and now for the love of the game (work).
But I rarely mention it. Not because I hide it, but because I refuse to let it define me. #MambaMentality
But since we’re here…
I was born with Sickle Cell Beta Thalassemia, a genetic blood disorder. Instead of smooth, round red blood cells, mine look like crescent moons. That shape makes it hard for them to move through the body. Sometimes they get stuck in joints and blood vessels, causing pain.
Not the “take two Advil and keep it moving” kind of pain.
The kind that makes you tap out.
Most days, the pain is manageable. Pain that might send someone else to the ER is just… Tuesday for me. People rarely know when I’m dealing with it.
But every once in a while, there are those days.
Days where the only option is the ER, IV fluids, pain meds through the vein, and waiting for relief.
Living like that does something to your mind.
During some recent time off, I realized something about myself: I don’t always let myself fully enjoy good moments. Not because they aren’t good, but because part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Dr. Brené Brown refers to this as “foreboding joy”—the feeling that arises when life is going well, yet the mind instinctively braces for something to go wrong, questioning how long the good can truly last.
For me, it often shows up around my health. If I’m feeling great physically, part of my mind is already preparing for the next pain crisis.
Even a simple headache can trigger: “Here we go again.”
But it doesn’t stop there.
Vacations?
My brain asks, “Do you really deserve to spend this money?”
Time off?
“Have you earned this yet?”
Planning something fun in the future?
“Life can’t be that smooth. Something will derail it.”
And sometimes it does. After a recent birthday trip to Vegas, I landed and saw the ER before I saw my own house. Not because I went wild on the trip, but because somewhere along the way I had already convinced myself good moments don’t last.
So, the fear isn’t completely irrational.
In that same season of reflection, I read Purpose Formula by Jessica Rimmer—a book I picked up at her January lunch and learn. Her message connected so many dots for me. It honestly changed my life. You should read it too.
One of the things she said in her book was that your disappointments and hardships often point directly to your purpose.
Think about it.
Great leaders often had terrible bosses who showed them exactly what not to do.
People raising awareness for diseases usually fought the disease themselves.
The loudest voices for change are often people who were once told they didn’t matter.
Pain has a way of clarifying purpose.
And that made me realize something.
Most people who know me would never guess I wrestle with enjoying life. If anything, they’d say the opposite.
They see the guy who brings energy to every room, the one who chats with everyone, “flexes” on social media, and somehow knows half the building at work while the other half at least knows his name.
And they’re not wrong. But maybe, deep down, I’m wrestling with how God is shaping who I am. I fear the good days on the inside, even while others see someone who loves life on the outside.
I love what I do because I genuinely love people. I take pride in being a good leader and a good friend.
But that didn’t come from nowhere.
It came from long, quiet days in hospital beds.
I know what a truly bad day feels like.
I know what it feels like to feel alone.
To wonder if things will ever feel normal again.
So when I see someone struggling, I want them to know someone cares. That hard work pays off. That they’ve got that DOG in them.
That’s part of my purpose: inspiring people.
But inspiration usually comes from scars people can’t see.
Those hard moments in my life shaped the person people see today:
The leader.
The extrovert.
The flexer.
The guy who genuinely loves seeing other people win.
That version of me was built through hardship.
So when I talk about growth, goals, or pushing yourself, it’s not arrogance. It’s perspective from days when I genuinely didn’t know if life would ever feel normal again.
Which brings me to a question I’ve been asking myself lately:
Who am I to fear the next difficult day?
Am I worried God won’t show up this time?
Or am I resisting the very experiences that continue shaping my purpose?
Because hardships don’t just test us.
They reveal us.
So this is really a note to myself.
I can’t stop the next difficult day. I can’t prevent every ER visit.
But why live afraid when God hasn’t let me down for 38 years?
Maybe the next challenge isn’t something to fear.
Maybe it’s another opportunity to learn who I’m meant to be.
And if you’re still searching for your purpose, here’s something to consider:
Look closely at your disappointments.
Look closely at your hardships.
The things that hurt you the most are often the very things God uses to show you how you’re meant to serve others.
Your purpose usually isn’t far away.
Most of the time, it’s hiding inside the things you’ve already survived. #RichHonesty