When life kicks you down, slams you against the ropes, and knocks the wind out of you, there’s a question worth asking—”But did you die?” It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s the kind of gut check we all need when we’re stuck feeling sorry for ourselves or playing the victim. Now, let’s get one thing straight: I’m not talking about minimizing real trauma or hardships. Life throws some devastating punches. I’ve been there—rock bottom doesn’t even begin to describe the pit I clawed my way out of. But the hard truth is, if you’re still here, still breathing, still standing—even if you’re staggering—then you’ve already done the impossible. You survived.
Surviving is messy. It’s ugly. It’s blood, sweat, tears, and then some. When you look in the mirror after life’s relentless assaults, you’re not going to see some polished hero standing tall with perfect hair and a clean uniform. No, you’re going to see the broken, battered, scarred-up warrior who chose not to quit when everything screamed for surrender. That’s the person you need to acknowledge, respect, and learn from. That’s where you find your real strength. But most people shy away from that part, afraid of their own reflection because it’s not pretty. Well, tough luck. Life isn’t about pretty. It’s about the grit to keep moving forward after life hands you your own ass on a silver platter.
I remember times when I served warrants in downtown Indy, adrenaline coursing through my veins; the world around me seemed to be on fire with tension. You’re out there, bullets whizzing by, threats landing way too close for comfort. It’s in moments like that when life whispers in your ear, “This might be it,” and you have to respond, “But not today.” That moment stays with you, imprinted in your muscles, in your bones. It’s the memory that fuels the voice in your head when things go sideways in life. You’re out there, standing in the arena, blood dripping down your face, and the crowd’s roaring for your defeat—and you look up, spit blood, and say, “But did you die?”
So why don’t more people ask themselves this question? Why is it that when things get tough, we default to crumbling, folding up like a cheap tent in the wind? Because it’s easy. Because pain is a bully, and most people don’t have the will to stare it down and remind themselves that they’re still in the game. Pain is the tax you pay to build resilience. It’s the entry fee for growth. You can’t buy it with comfort or hack it with shortcuts. You earn it by surviving the fire and realizing that on the other side, you’re tempered steel.
Let’s not forget the days when addiction had me in a chokehold, squeezing the life out of me, one bottle, one pill, one hit at a time. August 2, 2015, 2:33 a.m. That’s a timestamp that is burned into my soul. The day I looked at myself—bloated, defeated, and losing everything—and decided enough was enough. Sobriety was not a straight line. It was hell on a good day and chaos on a bad one. My wife leaving me was the blow that made me stumble and realize that if I didn’t fight, there wouldn’t be any getting back up. Every moment since, every second of pain and withdrawal, was a test—a gauntlet designed to see if I would stand up and say, “But did you die?” Not to mock my suffering but to remind myself that it didn’t own me. It wasn’t the end. It was just another mile marker on the road back to who I wanted to become.
I didn’t die that night or the thousands of nights since when life tried to push me back into the bottle or the pit. I didn’t die when my career in law enforcement hit a wall and shattered. That loss cut deeper than I knew it could. It was my identity, my purpose—stripped away and laid bare. I had a choice to make: let the loss define me, turn me into a hollow shell of who I was, or push forward, scars and all. And I know I’m not alone in this; everyone faces their version of that moment—when life’s demands seem greater than what you think you have left. And when it hits, and you’re on the floor, that’s when you ask, “But did you die?”
Here’s what that question does: it exposes the lie that discomfort is fatal. It forces you to look beyond the pain and see the undeniable fact that you’re tougher than what tried to break you. You can’t erase what’s happened, you can’t wish away the hardships, but you can own them. And that ownership is where the magic happens. It’s the fuel for resilience and the cornerstone for growth. Each battle you survive becomes a badge of honor, proof that you didn’t just make it through—you became more because of it.
You might be thinking, “That’s easy for you to say now,” but don’t get it twisted. Every scar I’ve earned has its own story, its own demons, and none of it came without a price. I’m not standing here spouting some movie line for inspiration. I’m telling you that if you’re still breathing, you’ve got more in you. It’s not about ignoring the pain or pretending it doesn’t exist. It’s about using it, owning it, and letting it shape you into someone who’s not just surviving but ready to fight the next round. Life’s relentless like that. It doesn’t care if you’re tired or beaten. It’s going to test you again and again. And you? You look it dead in the eye, knuckles bleeding, breath ragged, and say, “Come at me. I’m still here.”
Remember, resilience isn’t about winning every fight or avoiding every setback. It’s about surviving the battle and showing up for the next one. It’s looking at the wreckage around you and realizing that you’re far from finished, even if you’re not where you want to be. So, the next time you feel life pressing down on your chest, suffocating you with doubt, ask yourself that gut-check question. And when you answer—when you realize that you didn’t die—you’ll know that whatever’s ahead, you can handle it because you’re a survivor, not just in name, but in practice. And that’s where real power comes from. You didn’t just survive the storm—you became it.
Stay disciplined. Stay resilient.
Jim Lunsford
Disclaimers:
Use of Artificial Intelligence: Jim Lunsford is committed to sharing authentic and meaningful content. To enhance the clarity and effectiveness of his writing, Jim utilizes Artificial Intelligence (AI) as a tool in the content creation process. While AI assists in organizing and refining his ideas, every thought, insight, and story shared on this website is genuinely his own. The use of AI does not alter the authenticity of his work; rather, it helps Jim communicate more effectively with you, his audience. Jim's goal remains to inspire, motivate, and connect, and AI is simply a tool that supports that mission.
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