For the last seven years, I’ve been afraid to open up about the biggest challenge in my life, dealing with daily chronic back pain. Social media is where we express who we are with the world.

I was embarrassed to say I’m broken. I’m fucking lost.

I thought that opening up and sharing, perhaps, made the situation more real.

Solidified it.

If I kept my pain to myself and on the surface it seemed like everything was normal, then how real was it? Well, very.

I never stopped hurting inside, and I would often break down mentally just trying to keep my shit together. I’ve had so many blessings in my life, but not a day has gone by where my back pain hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind.

Doctors say I’m too young. Physical therapists and chiropractors would literally put their hands up. The toughest part has never been the physical pain — it sucks, but on most days I can handle it.

It’s been the mental battle of feeling hopeless, wondering if I’d spend the rest of my life only degrading more when athletics means so much to me.

As much as I told myself this situation wasn’t forever, that eventually things would just change on their own, it was impossible to make myself truly believe it.

I tried to forget the actual time frame that it had been since the initial injury, again, to make it seem less real — ya, that was something that kind of just happened and would eventually fade away, right? No.

I had no clue what to do. No roadmap, no plan, only a faint glimmer of hope that I’ve never let go of completely.

That hope has grown with time into undying faith, which now serves as the impetus for everything I do in life.

This week is the best I’ve felt in a long time.

I’m progressing in the Back Ability Blueprint, a program run by Brendan Backstrom (Low Back Ability), an exceptional dude who was in my shoes just two years ago.

He changed everything through direct low back training, and is helping countless individuals like me do the same.

I haven’t broken down in a while, for various reasons.

But first, there’s nothing wrong with breaking down. In the past while holding in my pain, I would crumble every couple of months.

We need to cry, accept our state, release, and let go. It’s too fucking hard trying to stay strong forever.

I believe I haven’t broken down in a while because now I have a plan. A route that’s worked for Brendan and others and is proving to work for me.

I’ve been in the program for seven months. It’s taken seven years to get like this, but I’m committed to the long haul, for this is not an overnight fix.

But we’re elevating.

Now, even on the tough days, I know it’s just part of the journey.

Stay the course. It all matters. It all counts, every decision, every day.

It’s the incremental progress towards a goal that brings fulfillment, not crossing the finish line. Many of us don’t shoot for our dreams or take on lofty goals because they seem impossible.

But I can tell you from this experience that getting to the end isn’t the point. Of course I want to fully heal, but the point of the journey is who you become along the way.

This week has been huge for me. I’m celebrating a week of very little comparative pain, as if I just cracked this riddle once and for all. Because in a way, I have.

I’m finding clues. Today on our group BBB call discussing ankle mobility, Brendan brought up how little kids with tight lower legs (ankles, calves, Achilles) might walk on their toes.

Yup, that was me. Ankle mobility is one of my biggest weaknesses now that I’m addressing in the program.

It’s all happened for a reason. Our challenges can be unraveled in the same way if we pay attention to the clues.

Now I don’t ask, why me? I say, Thank God it was me.

I can’t help but be so damn thankful for this challenge. Now, I’m the student of my body. The work I’m putting in during my twenties is establishing the foundation for a healthy body for the rest of my life.

If we can break, we can also build. It doesn’t matter how young or how old we are.

The second reason I believe I haven’t broken down in a while is because I’m owning this difficulty.

Before, when I was more insecure about it, I thought the pain made me weak. Now I see that my vulnerability and tenacity in overcoming this challenge makes me strong.

We can’t determine what happens to us, only how we respond.

I’ve started sharing more and more, realizing that social media doesn’t have to be a place to express our perfection, but our humanity. Brendan showed me that.

Being human is often painful. It’s part of this beautiful ride.

I would have never begun my journey to heal in earnest if Brendan didn’t get vulnerable and share about his pain and his path out of it, giving me the first genuine glimmer of hope I’ve ever had during this.

We don’t have to be strong on our own.

The more I share, the more I understand that we’re all dealing with something. We have or we will. Instead of hiding that, why not find strength, wisdom and love through our collective challenges?

Dealing with this pain has made me who I am. It’s strengthened my spirit and opened my heart more than I can express.

Now I feel it’s my duty, my purpose, to impart this journey, not only when I’m out on the other side of this fire, but while I’m still here, dancing in the flames. So that’s what I’m gonna do.

I hope this message reaches somebody who needs it. Keep the faith, fam.