Finding the Good in the Bad

Have you ever had something so devastating happen that everyone around you starts saying things like, “This is going to make you stronger,” or “One day you’ll be glad this happened,” or *“You’ll look back and be grateful”?

Let me tell you—when you’re barely hanging on, when your body is still in survival mode and your heart is just trying to breathe through the trauma, those words don’t help. At least, they didn’t help me. Not at first.
Not until someone sent me a video that lit the smallest spark in me—a flicker of fight I didn’t know I still had.

It wasn’t even a month after my world had flipped upside down. I was still living in the same house, still putting a vehicle in my name, trying to act like life hadn’t split wide open. A friend checked in, and I told them, “I hope I’ll be okay one day.”

They said, “You will.”

And then, they sent me this video.

JOCKO "GOOD" link:

https://youtu.be/IdTMDpizis8?si=sM7nPnNeT6ovy2o1

What I was going through was bad—worse than anything I’d ever faced.
I didn’t know it yet, but something good was going to come from it.
I’m still learning. I don’t have all the answers yet—but I believe I’ll find them.

From that dark place, where I was seriously considering leaving this world, something about Jocko’s words cracked through the numbness: “If you can say the word ‘good,’ it means you’re still alive. Still breathing.”

And I was.
I was still here.

And I had a little person—my purpose—worth getting back up for.

Those words still strike something in me. Even now, every single day is a fight… to find the good in the middle of the bad.

Obviously, many of the “good” things I’ve learned have already been shared—each one a milestone in my healing journey. But there are some things… things most people could never imagine being grateful for. And yet somehow, even in those, I’ve found the “GOOD.”

Things are still bad—but now, my ability to see the good that’s come from this journey makes the bad a little more bearable.

Long before I was confronted with the reality that my relationship was ending, there had already been struggles—two years of quiet battles and pain that eventually led me to counseling.

Had I not walked through the devastation of that final breaking point, I don’t think I would’ve gained the tools I needed: self-reflection, emotional regulation, communication. I wasn’t where I needed to be yet—but I was learning. And at one point in that process, I was able to look my partner in the eye and say, “As painful as this has been, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Can you imagine that?

Facing the ultimate betrayal and still being able to say, Yes—I’m grateful.

But healing from trauma like this doesn’t happen in isolation. It takes support. It takes teamwork. And the hurt my person had been carrying—hurt they had been quietly suffering through for years—got buried beneath my trauma, which had suddenly taken center stage.

If anything, it amplified their pain.

From where I stood, any conversation about my trauma only deepened their guilt—reminding them they hadn’t been the man they hoped to be. Their brokenness got pushed aside.

Normally, something like this would’ve ended everything.
But I know the love we share—the love they have for me, and I have for them—is unbreakable.
Sometimes life, and the people in it, have to be fully broken before they can finally find their way back to where they’re meant to be.

After some of the initial resentment and pain, something began to shift. Slowly—definitely not overnight—communication, healing, and honesty started to build between us.

In the quiet, hidden spaces, we began to share our regrets, our fears, and most importantly, the love that was still there. Not just the easy kind of love—the “I’ll always care about you” kind. No. It was “I love you. I’m still in love with you.”

But love doesn’t erase pain. And hurt isn’t so easily undone, even when the love is that strong.

This is where I won’t share much more—not because it’s not worth telling, but because it’s not worth risking what we’ve worked so hard to build. What we’ve built is ours—our circle. It’s raw. I’ve learned things I wish I hadn’t. But those truths also drew me closer. It’s scary, because I’m choosing to trust—that what I’m being told, and what we’re building, is real. Not manipulative. It’s painful at times, because past and present wounds still try to break through.

If there were another universe—one without judgment or outside noise—I believe our reconciliation would be effortless with what we’ve found inside that circle.

But we don’t live in that universe. We live here, where hard things happen. Where healing isn’t linear.

And still… the good that’s come from being completely shattered has given us something rare: the chance to rebuild something stronger, to love better, and to maybe, one day, truly heal—together.

Now, when something bad happens—something that would’ve once dragged me back into the dark—I don’t lead with anger. I lead with hurt, and with love.

That’s my offering. That’s my chance to show them the good. It doesn’t make the pain disappear. But if we never faced the bad, we’d never know how beautiful the good could really be.

I don’t know exactly where this journey will lead, but I know who I am because of it. I know what love costs. And I know what it’s worth.