But did you die? If you’re still breathing after life’s hardest hits, it’s time to own your scars and prove you’re tougher than the pain.
When life shoves you down, stomps on your chest, and leaves you gasping for air, there’s only one question that really matters—but did you die? It’s not polite. It’s not pretty. It’s a gut punch wrapped in a reality check; sometimes, it’s the only thing standing between you and giving up.
Let me set the record straight right now. I’m not here to downplay your pain. Life dishes out some brutal hits, and I know exactly how deep those scars can run. I’ve hit rock bottom so hard that I left a crater. But if you’re still reading this, still alive, still fighting—even if you’re barely holding it together—that means you made it through. You’re still in the game. And that? That makes you a damn warrior.
Surviving isn’t glamorous. It’s messy, raw, and painful. You don’t come out of the fire unscathed. You come out charred, scarred, and forever changed. But those scars? They’re your proof. They’re the receipts that you didn’t quit when life came at you with everything it had. They’re badges of resilience, not signs of defeat.
Most people don’t want to look in the mirror and face that version of themselves—the bruised and battered fighter who’s been through hell and back. But here’s the truth: that person is your strength. Not the polished version you want the world to see, but the real, raw, unapologetic version who stared down the darkness and refused to let it win.
I know what that fight looks like. I’ve lived it. There were times when life shoved me into corners where the only thing keeping me upright was sheer will. Like the nights I spent guarding buildings during the riots in Indy, threats flying fast and bullets even faster. It’s in moments like that—when you’re staring down the barrel of life’s cruelty—that you ask yourself, “Is this it?” And then you dig deep, grit your teeth, and answer back, “Not today.”
But let’s get real—most people don’t ask that question. Most people crumble at the first sign of pain because that’s the easy way out. Pain is terrifying. It’s relentless. And it’s a liar. It wants you to believe you’re too weak and that you can’t possibly survive one more step. But pain doesn’t know who you are. It doesn’t know what you’ve already survived. Pain is the cost of resilience, the toll you pay for becoming stronger. And if you let it, pain will teach you what you’re made of.
For me, that lesson started on August 2, 2015, at 2:33 a.m. That’s the moment I looked my demons in the face—alcohol, pills, weed, the whole ugly mess—and decided to fight back. I was broken, bloated, and on the verge of losing everything, including my wife. Sobriety wasn’t some triumphant montage. It was a war. Every second of withdrawal, every craving, every sleepless night was a test of whether I had the guts to keep going. And every time I wanted to give up, I asked myself, “But did you die?”
It wasn’t about mocking my pain. It was about taking back control. About refusing to let my suffering own me. Because the truth is, every battle you survive isn’t just a victory—it’s a transformation. You don’t come out the same person. You come out stronger, sharper, and more determined to take on whatever comes next.
And let me tell you, life doesn’t stop coming for you just because you’ve survived a few rounds. Losing my career in law enforcement felt like having my identity ripped away. For years, that badge was my purpose, my pride, my everything. When it was gone, I was left standing in the wreckage of who I thought I was. It hurt like hell. But instead of letting that loss define me, I asked myself, “But did you die?” and then I let it fuel me. I used it as a reminder that I’m more than any single role or title. That my worth isn’t tied to what I do—it’s tied to how I show up.
And that’s what resilience is all about. It’s not about never falling. It’s about getting up every single time, no matter how many times you hit the ground. It’s about asking yourself, “But did you die?” and realizing that as long as the answer is no, you’ve still got fight left in you.
Here’s the thing: life doesn’t hand out participation trophies. It doesn’t care if you’re tired, scared, or broken. It’s going to keep testing you, pushing you, daring you to quit. And that’s where your my PRIDE framework comes in—Purpose, Resilience, Integrity, Discipline, and Empowerment. These aren’t just words. They’re your armor, your weapons, your battle plan.
Your purpose is what gets you out of bed when everything hurts. It’s the reason you fight, the reason you refuse to quit. Your resilience is your ability to take the hits and keep moving forward. It’s not about being unbreakable—it’s about being unyielding. Your integrity is doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. It’s standing tall in the face of temptation and saying, “Not today.” Your discipline is the daily grind, the relentless commitment to show up and put in the work, no matter how you feel. Your empowerment happens when you take all of that and use it to lift others up. Because real strength isn’t just about surviving—it’s about helping others do the same.
Every time life knocks you down, every time you think you can’t take another step, remember this: you’re still here. You didn’t die. And that means you’ve got what it takes to keep going. Because resilience isn’t just something you have—it’s something you build, one battle at a time.
So the next time you’re staring down the barrel of life’s cruelty, ask yourself that gut-check question; “But did you die?”. And when you realize you’ve still got breath in your lungs and fight in your veins, get back up. Spit the blood out of your mouth, square your shoulders, and face whatever’s coming with everything you’ve got.
Because you didn’t just survive—you became a warrior. And warriors don’t quit. They adapt. They overcome. And they make damn sure that the next time life comes for them, they’re ready. But did you die? No? Then, keep going. You’ve got this.
Stay disciplined. Stay resilient.
Jim Lunsford
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