Tag: personal-story

What My Life Actually Looks Like Now

This may be hard to believe, but I can actually remember being on the playground in elementary school thinking about what my life would look like.

I was going to live in a huge house.

Have a beautiful wife.

A bunch of kids.

Six-pack abs.

And I was going to be happy… all the time.

Sometimes, when I get caught in a self-loathing spiral, I think back to that little boy.

And I wonder what he would think if he got a glimpse of the man I actually became.

Thankfully, I’ve gotten better at fending off those spirals.

But the thoughts still come.

So what does my life actually look like now?

It’s safe to say I thought I’d be further along.

More established.

More… figured out.

Instead, I’m divorced.

I have two kids—Jack (12) and Anna (6)—that I love more than anything, but I don’t get to see them every day.

And I’m trying to rebuild a life that, at one point, felt like it was on a completely different track.

Especially when I think back to being a 22-year-old, married, graduating summa cum laude from a pretty good university… I really thought I had it figured out.

Somewhere along the way, I feel like I developed a cold, hard exterior.

Sometimes I worry I’ve lost the person I used to be.

I used to be the “life of the party” type.

Now, it almost feels like if I come across as unfriendly, it just makes things easier.

In my friend group, I was always seen as “the successful one.”

And I took a lot of pride in that.

I worked hard. Made sacrifices. Did everything I thought I was supposed to do.

And now… sometimes it feels like it was all for nothing.

MS has made everything more complicated.

I feel like I have a limited bucket of energy each day.

So I have to be intentional with how I spend it.

Strategic.

I’ve tried a few times over the past couple of years to get back into nursing.

But I haven’t been able to.

I simply can’t do what I used to do.

Standing for long periods causes significant leg pain and numbness—and when that happens, my mind gets foggy too.

Stress makes everything worse.

And if you weren’t aware… nursing can be very stressful.

I remember one time in the ER, the nurses were messing around and checking each other’s blood pressure.

I volunteered.

It read 180/110.

I quickly ripped the cuff off and turned off the machine so nobody else would see.

The worst part?

That was before my 12-hour shift even started.

On the surface, I was always calm.

Relaxed. Steady.

But underneath, I was like a duck on water.

Everything looks smooth above the surface—but underneath, the legs are going a mile a minute.

MS is a degenerative disease.

Things don’t really get better—they either stay the same for a while, or eventually get worse.

Because of that, managing stress has become my top priority.

And the reality is… I don’t think I’ll ever go back to nursing.

On paper, I know how all of this sounds.

And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t struggled with that.

There are a lot of moments where I think about how this looks from the outside.

What people might assume.

Where I “should” be by now.

Those thoughts creep in more than I’d like to admit.

But that’s only part of the story.

Because there’s another side to this that people don’t really see.

I wake up every day with a purpose.

It’s not some huge, life-changing mission.

It’s simple.

Hit my nutrition targets.

Get my steps in.

Go to the gym.

Be present when I’m with Jack and Anna.

Try to be a little better than I was yesterday.

That’s it.

And honestly… that structure has become everything.

The gym isn’t just about lifting weights anymore.

It’s where I go to prove to myself that I can still show up.

Even when I don’t feel like it.

Even when I’m tired.

Even when my mind starts going in the wrong direction.

There’s something about finishing a workout, pulling my sleeves up, and seeing the progress—even if it’s small.

It reminds me that I’m not stuck.

The same goes for everything else.

Saving a little money when I can.

Trying to build something with this blog.

Figuring out what the next version of my life is supposed to look like.

None of it is flashy.

Most of it probably wouldn’t look impressive to anyone else.

But it matters to me.

Because the truth is…

I’m starting over.

Not completely from scratch—but close enough.

And that’s a strange place to be.

There’s uncertainty.

There’s frustration.

There are days where it feels like I’m behind.

But there’s also something else.

There’s opportunity.

A chance to build things differently this time.

More intentionally.

More honestly.

I don’t have everything figured out.

Not even close.

But I’m showing up.

I’m putting one foot in front of the other.

And for right now…

that’s enough.

The Day Everything Changed (And What Came After)

I never planned on writing about this.

To be honest, parts of this experience still feel unresolved – maybe even a little traumatic. But I think that’s exactly why I need to.

I’m hoping that by putting it into words, I can make sense of it… or at the very least, take a step forward.

Because in 2020, my entire world flipped upside down.

And ever since then, I’ve been trying to flip it back.

When people hear “2020,” they usually think about the pandemic.

This has nothing to do with that.

This is something different.

I had just turned 30, and physically, I was in one of the best stretches of my life.

I was working as an ER nurse, going to the gym regularly, and fully locked into getting bigger and stronger. Life felt… stable. Predictable. Good.

Then one day, after a heavy back workout, I noticed something strange – I was losing feeling in my feet.

I didn’t think much of it. I figured I had pinched a nerve or tweaked something lifting. It didn’t hurt. It was just … numb.

Over the next couple of days, that numbness started creeping up my legs.

I could still move normally, still go about my day, but something felt off. The sensation wasn’t right. It was dull, almost like my body wasn’t fully connected to itself anymore.

Still, I told myself it would pass.

Until one morning, I woke up and felt that same numbness wrapping around my abdomen.

That’s when something clicked.

Back in nursing school, we learned about Guillain-Barre syndrome – the classic “ascending” pattern of numbness and weakness. And for the first time, I felt a real sense of uneasiness.

Due to the fear of that numbness continuing to ascend up into my lungs and potentially inhibit my ability to breathe (the worst case scenario in Guillain-Barre), my wife and I decided to go to the emergency department.

At first, everything felt routine. Bloodwork. Imaging. Waiting. I honestly expected to be told it was something simple – a herniated disc maybe? – and be sent home.

But as the hours went on, I started to notice subtle changes in the vibe in the emergency department.

The tone of conversations shifted. The staff became more serious. Less casual.

I was admitted to the hospital and told that I’d be going to the neurology floor.

That’s when the anxiety really set in.

Test after test followed – scans, nerve studies, long stretches of waiting in between. I tried to stay calm. I even reassured my nervous wife.

But internally, I was starting to prepare for bad news.

Eventually, a young neurology resident came into my room.

I could tell he was nervous before he spoke.

He explained that the scans had shown lesions on my brain and spinal cord – findings consistent with Multiple Sclerosis.

Everything went quiet.

My ears rang. Time slowed down.

My wife and I broke down together right there in the room.

I wish I would’ve been stronger for her in that moment.

As a nurse, I understood what that diagnosis could mean.

As a person, I wasn’t ready to hear it.

I spent the next several days in the hospital – more tests, IV steroids, trying to wrap my head around what my future might look like.

And even then, I knew something had changed permanently.

Life wasn’t going to be the same.

That moment still stays with me.

But so does something else.

The realization that no matter how much your life changes – no matter how uncertain things feel – you still have to find a way to move forward.

One day at a time.

If you’re reading this, this blog is where I’m going to share that process. Not just the diagnosis – but everything that comes with it.

Being a dad.

Going through divorce.

Trying to rebuild physically and mentally.

Figuring out what life is supposed to look like now.

I don’t have everything figured out.

But I’m showing up, and I’m working on it.

One day at a time.