"I come to you as myself... as Joshua"
I come to you with these words because I don’t speak from theory. I speak from the life I’ve lived. I know your pain. I know your fear. I know what it feels like to be broken, beaten down, silenced, taken for granted, or made a fool of simply because you don’t fit the mold other people tried to force you into. I know that quiet ache you carry in your chest, the weight you’re afraid to release because you don’t know what will happen if it finally comes out. I know that anger that doesn’t just sit inside you but shifts the whole atmosphere of a room.
I know it because I’ve felt it too. I still feel it sometimes.
Most of my childhood, I wasn’t allowed to have emotions. Silence and obedience were the rules. I was expected to be seen, not heard. By the time I was ten, I had forgotten how to cry. I had forgotten how to feel. I was punished with hunger and thirst. I was beaten until my body learned to brace for impact before my mind even understood what was happening. I was homeless, sleeping beside dumpsters, eating whatever I could find, and beaten by a stranger because I was too young and too small to defend myself. I was sexually assaulted by a teacher who knew exactly how vulnerable I was.
I’ve had bones broken. Skin torn. Teeth ripped from my mouth. I’ve known the kind of pain that makes you question whether you’re even meant to be here. I’ve known the kind of loneliness that makes the world feel deaf to your cries. I reached a point where I gave up on myself, on being seen, on being heard. I tried to end my life three separate times — by hanging, by pills, and by gun — because I truly believed the world had no place for me.
People have called me saint, disciple, anointed, peacemaker, bridge builder. I don’t carry any of those names. They don’t sit right on my shoulders. The names that mean something to me are simpler: daddy, husband, teacher, friend. Those are the ones that remind me I’m still here, still human, still capable of loving and being loved.
I’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve lived there. But I learned something important: rock bottom isn’t the end. It’s the soil. It’s the place where roots grow deep enough to hold you steady when life tries to break you again. It’s where you learn what you’re made of.
So if you’re reading this and you feel like you’re at the end of yourself, hear me clearly. You’re not at the end. You’re at the beginning of something unbreakable.
Never give up. Not because it’s easy. Not because everything suddenly gets better. But because your story isn’t finished yet, and the world is quieter, smaller, and less compassionate without you in it.
Reach-out if you just need someone to listen💚 callme.joshm@outlook.com