10 Things That Kept Me Going When Everything Fell Apart

I know what it feels like to wake up in a life you barely recognize.

After years of pain and escalating prescription medication use led to dependence and a near-fatal medical crisis, I spent approximately three and a half weeks in a coma. When I woke up, surviving was only the beginning.

I faced intensive rehabilitation, lasting physical limitations, and the difficult process of rebuilding a life that had changed permanently.

Recovery wasn't one dramatic moment. For me, it happened through family, rehabilitation, work, faith, difficult choices, setbacks, and the determination to keep moving forward.

These are 10 things that helped me keep going when everything fell apart.

1. I Let My Family and Friends Help Me

My recovery started with survival.

After I came out of the coma, I spent about eight weeks in rehabilitation at the VA learning how to function again. My left side had been severely affected, and basic things I had once taken for granted suddenly required tremendous effort.

When I eventually left rehabilitation, I went home to live with my parents. I still had a long way to go.

What I did have was a loving family and good friends around me.

They were there when I was frustrated, discouraged, physically limited, and trying to understand what my life was going to look like.

I had always thought strength meant handling things myself. Recovery taught me something different.

Sometimes strength means allowing the people who love you to help carry the load.

Not everyone has family nearby. Support can also come from friends, a faith community, counselors, healthcare professionals, support groups, or other people who genuinely want to help.

The important thing is not to disappear into isolation when you need people the most.

2. I Gave My Body Time to Heal

I couldn't rebuild my entire life in a week, a month, or even a year.

People hear that someone survived a coma and may think the worst part is over.

For me, it wasn't.

Surviving was the beginning of another fight.

I had to relearn basic movement and adjust to physical limitations that didn't simply disappear when I left the hospital.

Some days, progress seemed almost insignificant.

A little more movement.

A few more steps.

Getting through another difficult day.

Learning to do something differently because my body no longer worked the way it once had.

I eventually learned an important lesson:

Slow progress is still progress.

Recovery doesn't have to happen according to someone else's timetable.

3. I Learned to Recognize What Could Pull Me Backward

As I became more independent, another challenge appeared: empty time.

Boredom could be dangerous for me.

There were periods when I made choices that weren't helping me move forward, including returning to drinking for a time.

Looking back, I learned that unhealthy decisions rarely appear out of nowhere. There are often patterns behind them.

For me, recognizing those patterns became important.

Was I bored?

Frustrated?

Lonely?

Angry?

Trying to escape something?

Understanding what was happening underneath the behavior helped me become more honest with myself.

I couldn't change patterns I refused to recognize.

4. I Stopped Pretending I Had to Do Everything Alone

There is a difference between independence and isolation.

I learned that the hard way.

My family helped me. Friends helped me. Later, people in my church community became another source of encouragement and stability.

They couldn't do the work of recovery for me, but they could stand beside me while I did it.

Sometimes support was practical.

Sometimes it was simply someone checking on me.

Sometimes it was having somebody willing to listen when I was having a bad day.

Those things mattered.

You can be responsible for your own recovery without believing you have to accomplish it entirely by yourself.

5. I Rebuilt the Man Before I Rebuilt the Life

I wanted my life back.

But before I could concentrate on rebuilding my career, business, and independence, I had to concentrate on myself.

Rehabilitation came first.

Rest came first.

Learning how to function again came first.

Accepting that some things had permanently changed came first.

That was humbling.

There is nothing glamorous about struggling with things that once came naturally. But fighting reality wasn't going to change it.

Eventually I realized that rebuilding my life required a foundation.

I had to rebuild the man before I could rebuild everything around him.

6. I Reached a Point Where I Wanted Something Different

Later in my recovery, I reached a point where I became tired of some of the habits I had allowed back into my life.

For me, that included drinking and smoking.

I eventually decided I didn't want to continue living that way, and I stopped.

That was my personal experience—not a recommendation that everyone should stop alcohol, medication, or other substances abruptly. Depending on the substance and level of dependence, withdrawal can require medical supervision.

What mattered in my life was the decision that I wanted something different.

I couldn't change the past.

But I could decide what I was going to do next.

That distinction became important:

I wasn't powerless over every decision that came after what happened to me.

7. I Put My Energy Into Building Something Again

As my health improved, work became an important part of rebuilding my life.

I had spent so much time focused on what I had lost that I needed something constructive in front of me.

For me, that became my business.

Work gave me responsibility.

It gave me goals.

It gave me problems to solve.

Most importantly, it reminded me that I could still contribute and build something worthwhile.

My physical abilities had changed, but my ability to think, work, help people, and create a meaningful life had not disappeared.

That realization was powerful.

Instead of constantly asking what I had lost, I began asking:

What can I still build?

8. I Created Structure and Purpose in My Days

Structure helped me.

Having somewhere to be, something to accomplish, and people depending on me gave my days direction.

Today, I still work hard. Probably harder than some people think I should.

But meaningful work gives me purpose.

The lesson isn't that everyone should work long hours. That's simply part of my personality and my life.

The larger lesson is that I needed something meaningful to move toward.

For someone else, that might be family, volunteering, a hobby, education, exercise appropriate for their abilities, faith, creative work, or helping others.

Recovery can't only be about what you're trying to leave behind.

Eventually, you need something worth moving toward.

9. I Leaned Into My Faith

My recovery wasn't only physical.

Faith became an important part of how I understood what had happened to me and what I wanted to do with the life I still had.

Church helped me.

People in my church helped me.

Prayer helped me.

Faith didn't erase the consequences of what happened. It didn't restore everything I had lost or make difficult days disappear.

But it gave me hope.

It reminded me that surviving might mean something.

After coming as close to death as I did, I couldn't look at life exactly the same way anymore.

I began to see every additional day differently.

I was still here.

And I wanted that fact to mean something.

10. I Stayed Around Long Enough to See Life Become Good Again

This may be the most important lesson of all.

There were times when I couldn't see very far ahead.

I could see the physical limitations.

The rehabilitation.

The frustration.

The things I couldn't do anymore.

What I couldn't see yet was the life that was still waiting for me.

I couldn't see the business I would rebuild.

I couldn't see the people I would eventually help.

I couldn't see the book I would write.

I couldn't see myself telling this story years later.

I certainly couldn't see Almost Gone.

But those things were ahead of me anyway.

That's why I believe so strongly in continuing forward even when you can't see where the road leads.

The darkest chapter of your life does not automatically have to be the final chapter.

If You're Struggling Right Now

You don't have to solve your entire life today.

Start with the next responsible step.

Tell someone you trust what's happening.

Talk with your doctor or another qualified healthcare professional if prescription medication, alcohol, or another substance has become a concern. Don't abruptly stop a medication or substance when withdrawal could be medically dangerous without appropriate medical guidance.

If you feel that you're in immediate danger or might hurt yourself, seek emergency help immediately or call or text 988 to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

Asking for help isn't surrender.

Sometimes it's the decision that allows everything else to begin.

Your Story Is Not Over

I was almost gone.

That isn't just the title of my memoir. It's what happened to me.

I survived prescription medication dependence, a near-fatal medical crisis, a three-and-a-half-week coma, intensive rehabilitation, and the long process of rebuilding my life.

There were setbacks.

There were consequences I couldn't undo.

There were physical limitations I had to learn to live with.

But there was also family.

Friendship.

Work.

Faith.

Purpose.

And eventually, a second chance I learned not to take for granted.

I've spent years learning that recovery isn't only about what you leave behind. It's also about what you build in its place—honesty, discipline, faith, connection, responsibility, and purpose.

That's one of the reasons I wrote Almost Gone.

I can't tell anyone else exactly what their recovery will look like. I can only tell the truth about mine.

And the truth is this:

There was life on the other side of the worst thing that ever happened to me.

If you're somewhere in your own difficult chapter right now, keep taking the next responsible step.

Your story may have more pages left than you can see from where you're standing.

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