Lost in the Filth
I didn’t feel numb. I felt filthy.
Everything in my life was surrounded by some kind of self-inflicted rot. My thoughts? Lust, alcohol, escape. My body? Out of shape. Unwashed. My hygiene was shot—I rarely brushed my teeth, I didn’t clip my nails, and I don’t think I ever washed my sheets. Laundry? Sometimes. But I often just bought new clothes to avoid the hassle. I didn’t cook. I didn’t clean. I survived on fast food and apathy.
I wasn’t partying. I was hiding. The bachelor life I was living wasn’t some freedom fantasy. It was a hazy, ungodly mess with no exit ramp.
I was alone. Spiritually dead. No direction. No pride in who I was.
When Rock Bottom Felt Like a Setup
The lowest point came after a head-on collision that totaled my Ford Ranger. I didn’t have money or credit to replace it, so I scraped together what I could to buy a 20-year-old clunker. One windshield wiper. Embarrassing to drive. The kind of car that made you avoid stoplights so no one could stare too long.
It was the same day my brothers—who lived with me—wrecked their car too. All of us stranded. All of us broke. And I just remember thinking, even when I try to do something good, something God-honoring, it still blows up in my face.
I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. But you can’t. Not as a man. You can spiral, you can numb, but you still have to keep showing up to work. To life. That might be the worst part of rock bottom—you still have to function in it.
A Whisper of Clarity
Sometime after that, I went to see a Vince Vaughn romantic comedy by myself. I don’t remember the plot, but the ending hit me like a brick to the soul.
It reminded me of her. This woman I knew. Someone who’d told me she loved me a year before. We hadn’t talked that way since. We were still friends. Our families were close. But in that moment, sitting in a dark theater, I realized something: the only good thing I had ever truly known was her.
So I messaged her: “I love you.”
Not the casual, friendly kind of love. Not nostalgia. Not loneliness. Real love.
She messaged back: “I love you too.”
After some back and forth—me saying yes, her saying no—I kept reaching out. I sent her love songs, texted her again to say, “No, I mean I love you.” It took weeks of convincing, but eventually she agreed to visit me in Colorado. And once she got there, five days later, we got married.
She Didn’t Fix Me—But She Helped Me Face Myself
Nothing about me changed right away. The marriage didn’t snap me into shape. I was still messy. Still stuck. Still ashamed.
But now, I had to look at myself more clearly.
I had someone in my life who saw me. Who expected something from me. Not in a controlling way. In a loving, hopefulway.
She didn’t save me. I had to do the work. But she did walk beside me while I learned how.
That’s what a helpmate is. Not a hero. Not a bandage. A mirror. A supporter. A gift from God who helps you dig out when you don’t have the strength to believe in yourself yet.
What I’d Tell That Old Version of Me
If I could speak to the man I was back then, I’d tell him this:
“Stop trying to do this alone. You were never meant to. God said it’s not good for man to be alone—and He wasn’t wrong.”
“If you know this isn’t the life God made you for, then stop hiding and start reaching. Find a church. Find a men’s group. Filter who you surround yourself with. Stop expecting broken people to fix you.”
“You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be honest. And you need to move.”
Because here’s what I know now:
No one can change for you. But you were never meant to change alone.
What About You?
If this sounds familiar—if you’re in the fog right now, filthy and numb and feeling beyond repair—I promise you this:
You’re not done.
You’re not disqualified.
You’re not broken beyond saving.
You’re just stuck. And stuck can be changed.
Start by getting around men who’ve already started the climb.
And if you don’t know where to start, I made something for you.
It’s a 31-day devotional for men called Start Strong.
It’s raw. No fluff. Built for guys like us.
Let’s go.
Not perfect.
Not there yet.
But moving.
And that’s enough.
