Fear, the one word that summarized the single demise of every person. Fear is the reason that our society has not progressed at an even faster rate than it should, and fear is what holds people back from their real potential.

In Seth Godin’s Tribes, the concept of fear in great leaders in heretics is never absent in these revolutionary thinkers or leaders, rather they learn to control the fear and use it to drive them. Godin writes “What people are afraid of isn’t failure. It’s blame. Criticism” (Pg. 46).

Looking back on my life I can think of countless times that I have been afraid of rejection or criticism, but who hasn’t. More specifically I am going to talk about a specific time that I overcame my fear of failure and actually used the fear to fuel my success.

Personally I believe fear is the most powerful emotion that can turn even the bravest of people into a puppy who hears lightning for the first time.

I remember that fear to succeed when I finally decided to go after the rank of Eagle Scout when I was 17. For those who do not know, most young adults join the Boy Scouts in the 6th grade and typically, when they apply themselves, can achieve the rank Eagle Scout by the time they are 16 or 17. So, attempting to go for the rank of Eagle Scout at the age of 17, of which 2% of scouts achieve, was definitely intimidating.

So intimidating in fact that I considered just dropping the idea and coasting by instead while all of my friends succeeded in obtaining Eagle Scout right before my eyes. I wish I had read Tribes back then so that I may have had a little more inspiration and understanding of success. However, I realized that obtaining Eagle Scout was something I wanted, and I inevitably went out and overcame all fear of failure, which finally helped me realize that fear of failure and criticism is not something that should hold one back, but actually give us a healthy pressure to work harder.

“It’s about making it clear to yourself (and others) that the world is demanding that we change. And fast.”

It was the fear of not finishing what I started and being criticized, the fear that my project idea’s for my Eagle Scout project would be rejected, and fear that I would not do an outstanding job for my final project that held me back, but I realized those things were irrelevant if I did not at least dare to succeed.

With this new drive to overcome my fear I realized that I would need a team of people to help me accomplish my goal. I needed people who were not in it for glory, but because they genuinely wanted to help out a friend and the community. The right people just so happened to belong in the tribe I was already in, which was the scouts.

Without realizing it, I went from not having a position of leadership in the troupe, to being the guy everyone was following because we had a genuine goal in mind for my Eagle Scout project, which was to fix up the basement of a Bed and Breakfast for women with cancer. With my highly motivated team we eventually defied the odds in April 2013 to finish my Eagle Scout project, and in May 2013 I earned the rank of Eagle Scout.

Not too long after the project was completed there was a horrendous storm that flooded some beach front property, which also included the B&B we fixed up.

This disaster would ruin most people’s confidence, but I had faith that my tribe would not let this be a problem. With the help of my troupe we went back to the B&B and essentially redid my previous project as well as hand made a commemorative Adirondack chair that we put out on the front lawn for guests to sit on.

My experience taught me a couple things that I later read about in Tribes. Fear should not be an inhibitor, it should be used as the fuel to feed the machine. Once you get past the fear of failure and criticism you can be an effective leader. People will follow the one who conquered fear and has genuine ideas to get behind. I have carried those lessons with me ever since.

I believe time is something most of us take for granted. In the literal sense, time is something that we can never get back, yet most people don’t seem to realize that until they lose something of value. I’m not saying be anxious all the time and worry about what you’re doing every second of the day but just ask yourself, are you making the most out of your time today?

Every day at 5 A.M, my alarm goes off. Half asleep, I force myself out of bed into the bathroom to start preparing for the day ahead. What’s my first task of the day? Well, it’s to go and workout and perfect my craft. For those who may be wondering, my craft is football. It’s a sport I fell in love with fairly late in my life, since I only started playing in high school.

Always knew I’d want to play sports professionally when I grew up, but couldn’t decide which sport until I found football.

My story is no different than most athletes, I was just a small town kid with big dreams to play at a big Division 1 school then eventually go to the pros. Funny when I look back, I had my entire life planned out up until I made it to the league. Needless to say, things have not gone according to plan. I’m a junior in college, and at this point of my life I was supposed to have declared early for the draft and be on my way to the NFL. Yet it’s my junior year and I have not even been able to play a single down of college football.

I’ve always felt in life that you could achieve anything you wanted in life as long as you put the work in. No matter what it was, if I worked hard enough, I knew I would be able to achieve any goal. The path to playing college ball has been a tough one for me. I have faced my fair share of obstacles. I had to come to Rutgers University and walk on to the team. I tried out and made the team no problem, but yet was not able to play.

Next semester comes, then my grades stop me from playing.

I get my priorities straight and try out again. Once again I make the team, and I was just a couple days away from getting my jersey until it was discovered I would need surgery on my shoulder because of a previous injury years ago in high school. The obstacles drained me almost completely. I barely even worked out at this point. My surgery was the turning point in my life.

The Stockdale Paradox: a concept introduced in the Jim Collins book Good to Great, explains that you must maintain unwavering faith that you can and will prevail in the end, regardless of the difficulties, and at the same time have the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.

In a study done by the International Committee for the Study of Victimization, they looked at people who had suffered serious adversity. The results of the study showed that people generally fell into three groups. Those who let the adversity keep them down, those who get their lives back to normal, and those who take that adversity and grow stronger.

I’m in that third group.

The brutal facts of my situation? Well the biggest one is time. I have two years remaining to play college football. The surgery sparked something in me, and helped me realize that the journey will be hard, but I’m completely capable of doing it.

I have to work every day, and I have to work harder than everybody else to achieve my goal. Just like the good-to-great companies, I understand the brutal facts, and I will not hesitate to face them.

Everyone has regrets: something you should not have done, or maybe something you should have. Whether that means a hook up that should have never happened or not going on that trip to Europe, we all have them. My biggest regret, however, is one that continues to haunt me. I wanted to make sure people understand that they are not alone when they face such emotional issues. I want to share my mess that has become my message.

When I was six years old, my mother had to start going to the hospital. I never thought anything of it. She was sick, so she would get better. That was what happened to people who were sick. My six-year-old brain couldn’t understand that cancer was not your every day cold.

The hospital was boring and no place for someone my age. I did not want to be there. All I wanted to do was play and have fun. I wanted to be with my friends. Why did I have to be stuck there? Why me? Why was my family not like everyone else?

My mom was always sleeping when we were in the hospital. This chapped-lipped, bald-headed woman was not my mother. This woman silently staring at me with glazed brown eyes was a stranger to me. My mother was fun-loving. She had beautiful, brown hair. She was not this woman who lay in a pale, blue hospital gown, constantly surrounded by men and woman in white coats.

So, I left her alone in her hospital bed with my dad. My mom suffered while I decided to play with the nurses instead. They wanted to make me laugh. They wanted to play with me.

I was more concerned with my own happiness than realizing that this visit at the hospital might be our last.

And, unfortunately, one night it was. I can so clearly remember my dad pulling my sister and I into his room and telling us mommy had passed away last night. My sister immediately began to cry. I did not. I did not understand. What did he mean she was not coming back? She was my mother. Where had she gone?

I had wasted my last moments with my mother and with people I will never, and have never, seen again. How could I have done that to my poor mom? Or even my dad? They are battling a life-taking disease together, and I was just a stupid, attention-seeking girl. I do not even remember my last words to her.

What kind of daughter am I to have done that? – This phrase was constantly ingrained in my head.

So, I became a devoted daughter to my father and built up a huge emotional wall. Everything I did was for him. I wanted to make him proud in order to make up for the disgrace I had done to my mother. Every club I joined, every position I ran for was all for him to love me and be proud of me. I only had one biological parent left, and I was determined to get it right this time.

I was a woman consumed. “Do it for your father. Daddy would hate to see you do badly on this test. How could you disappoint him like that? He would want you to be president of your class. Why didn’t you push harder?” So, I pushed. To be better.

Maybe, I would think to myself, if I was busy enough I could escape these feelings.

I was wrong. I had to constantly tell myself, “Stay strong. Do not let them see how this affects you.” I told myself that everyday. Every counseling session. Every time someone called my step-mom my real mom. Every stupid “your mom” joke. I held back tears.

It continued to bother me, but I had never been truly affected by it until I started college. It started out like any other school; I became super involved and still hoped to make my dad proud. However, college had introduced me to something I had never experienced before: the power of alcohol.

Alcohol was my ultimate escape. It started to become pretty prevalent in my life, as it does with most college students. It made me feel fun and alive. Yet, “Blackout Annabelle” was not fun like other people. I did not do stupid things and make people laugh. “Blackout Annabelle” finally had no more boundaries and could truly express my fears and my biggest regret.

 I was stretched thin, just as I was the rest of my life, but the alcohol made me break down.

My friends in college were the first people to truly get my full story. My true self was revealed; there was no turning back. They discovered that I hated myself for not caring enough for my mother in her last hours. I hated the fact that cancer treatments can cure some but leave some to die. I hated that my sister and I might be next, and the same thing might happen to my future family.

This was the first time I was honest with my friends and myself. No counselor or adult had been able to break down that wall. Unfortunately, it was alcohol-induced. All the same, I woke up the next morning feeling relieved. I had, I guess you could say, officially confessed my sin, my big regret.

I honestly still fight these feelings. It is a constantly battle. However, I have come to terms with the fact that I need to be more open with my friends and, mostly, myself.

I need to stop trying so hard to make up for something I cannot fix. I can no longer hide these underlying feelings. I cannot battle this alone and let it develop into something more serious.

I have learned to channel my sadness and regret through Relay For Life. I run and raise awareness about cancer. There, I am surrounded by people who have suffered just as I have. They understand and support me. I am able to make my father proud in an organization that supports the memory of my mother.

I can share my story and work towards a cause that ensures this regret will not happen to any more daughters. I could not be more thankful for everything that they have done for me.

People who love and care about you surround you, whether you realize it or not. The hardest part is admitting it. Once you do, you have that confidant who will help you out of the dark and into the light.

I honestly do not know where I would be without my friends. They know every flaw and every regret I have; and yet, they still stand by my side and pick me up when I’m down. I believe that they were sent to me by my mom, as her way of saying, “I forgive you. Now, forgive yourself.”

The main point of this story is forgive yourself. A life filled with regret is no life at all. Be true to yourself, emotionally and physically. Happiness will find you if you are willing to find it.

In 49 B.C., during a time of political unrest, the Roman senate ordered Julius Caesar to disband his army. Ignoring this order, he led his army across the Rubicon River in an act of treason. This was called, “The point of no return” because this tiny river represented a boundary that by law prevented generals from leading their troops into Rome. The march across the Rubicon preceded Caesar’s rise to power. The story I’m about to tell does not involve a rise to power, but I can identify with the point of no return.

I grew up in a home where my parents taught us Christian values, and we were always in church. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know about God. My point of no return came when God put me in a position where I had to decide if I believed with absolute certainty the truths that I had repeated for those early years of my life.

I want to take you back to a morning almost seven and a half years ago. I was a bitter sixteen-year-old that hid behind a quiet personality. It was a sunny, November afternoon as I slid into the back of my dad’s car.

My parents were taking my grumpy self to yet another doctor. This time they had to fight a little harder to make it happen. The pastor of our church had called me into the middle of my parents’ counseling session and asked me if I would be willing to see a spine doctor. My brother and sister were both away at college so I figured that my parents must be looking for a kid to distract them from their own problems.

My spine had had an abnormal “s” shaped curvature called scoliosis since I was eight years old. The curve had increased rapidly during my teen years. My rib cage had shifted out of place. Despite my best fashion efforts, my torso was noticeably asymmetrical. I figured this appointment would involve another doctor discussing my “deformity” and trying to convince me to wear a brace.

The whole thing seemed weird and unnecessary but not wanting to seem “unspiritual,” there we were on our way to the doctor again.

Fast forward, about two hours later. The normal x-rays are done. I’d been through this so many times I could almost tell the technician the steps. My parents and I are sitting in a cold, white room waiting. In walks the doctor wearing his white coat.

He perches on his spinning chair, slaps the x-rays up on the lighted board, and the fancy talk begins. He’s bringing the questions and I’m bringing the attitude. I am doing my best to let him know I hate him without saying the words that will get me in trouble. This involves avoiding eye contact, exasperated sighs, and the occasional glare.

The doctor asked, “Do you like water or swimming?”

I slowly raise my head, looked him in the eyes and say, “I hate water.”

The doctor did not hesitate, “Well great. Here’s a pamphlet for water therapy you should sign up for.”

So that clenched it, me and the doc wouldn’t be friends. He’s talking curve progression and I’m daydreaming about how to celebrate my birthday in two weeks. I had almost made up my guest list when I tuned back in.

The doctor spoke, “So yeah, we definitely need to operate.”

I was silently expecting my parents to cut in and let him know that wasn’t in our plans. Instead, questions started flying and they just started making crazy notes.

My dad asked, “What time frame are we looking at?”

The doctor responded, “Really, as soon as possible. Needs to be in the next year at least. Since this case is so advanced, I’m going to recommend you to a specialist surgeon.”

The situation seemed to be getting out of hand. Someone really needed to shut this down.

I responded with a quick, “I’m not having surgery.”

The doctor looked at me like I was an idiot, “If you don’t have surgery, your spine will crush your heart and lungs. Paralysis will set in and this will kill you.”

I wanted nothing more than for him to take those words back. Crying in front of my parents was rare for me. It never ever happened in front of strangers. There didn’t seem any point in holding back now though. I didn’t even avoid eye contact, just started crying a river. I couldn’t have stopped to speak even if I’d had words.

The doctor just looked at me with an incredible lack of emotion, “I can tell this is upsetting you.”

Inside my head, there was a voice screaming, “Way to go Einstein.”

Between my world spinning and wishing this day did not exist, I was searching for evil ideas on how to make this doctor feel the pain he’d just inflicted. My parents somehow got me home.

This was the beginning of where I began to question everything that I’d been told and began to deal with my bitterness.

Being home schooled allowed me to isolate from my friends and put on a cheery face for those times when I was forced to socialize. I felt like life was just flying by, but I was afraid to enjoy it freely because I imagined it would soon be ripped away. I would spend time praying and crying myself to sleep at all hours of the day. Those were some very dark months.

My parents were struggling in their marriage and the issue of my spine condition was a point of serious contention. My mom and I searched the internet for alternative medicine. Reality began to set in as I realized that even if these mildly sketchy options could work, we were out of time. My relationship with my dad was nonexistent. Though I was very wrong in this belief, I was convinced that this push for surgery was his attempt to legally remove me from his world.

By this point, I was seventeen years old. My priority was to either drag this issue out until I was eighteen and could get away from home or convince my mom to deny medical consent for my surgery.

Even though we were on a long waiting list, the months passed too fast. March brought a visit to the specialist surgeon. We met with him to discuss the details of the surgery that everyone except for me was planning. After taking his own x-rays and an MRI, Dr. Horton (the specialist surgeon) was confident of a few things. He was sure that the surgery needed to happen; it would have to be soon; he needed to be the one to operate.

My parents asked a lot more specific questions which he answered. My dad was happy because the other surgeons we had spoken to had refused to operate on me due to the severity of the curve.

The only thing I remember saying was, “I don’t want to have spine surgery. Can you operate without my consent?”

Dr. Horton gave me the answer I wanted but it didn’t give me the warm, fuzzy feeling in my soul that I expected. “No, we cannot make you go through with this. However, if you don’t have the surgery, things will not be good. If you’re still alive at forty, you’ll be in a wheel chair. Your lungs and heart will be crushed. You’ve probably lost lung function already. You have to decide what to do.”

I felt like a bowling ball of responsibility had been dropped in my arms.

My questions to Dr. Horton were always blunt and he responded in kind. He was open with the risks of spinal fusion which included paralysis, non-fusion, and infection.

Still, I did not trust anyone once I was unconscious. Dr. Horton said, “Our team won’t leave the operating room until every screw is in place.” I believed he meant it though I doubted if he could make that promise.

At the very root of it, I did not trust God.

I thought He had it in for me. Despite the best intentions of doctors, I knew God had more power. I was struggling to give anyone else control of my life. I saw God as this impersonal being who was creatively punishing me. In the midst of this, trust began to creep into my heart.

I held onto one particular promise/command. Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”

Another obstacle worth mentioning was my fear of needles. Shots and blood tests made me faint, nauseous, anxious, my heart race, and hands clammy since I could remember. I had been through it many times and each time was worse.

I thought I would die. I thought I would pass out. I thought I would throw up. I focused on how much I could feel the needle in my arm. So even if I could trust the doctors on the day of surgery, it would have to be without any needles. Well, the good doctor assured me that there would be lots of needles. In fact, a needle would have to be in me for the duration of my hospital stay so they could do blood tests.

So my surgeon sent me to a psychologist for systematic desensitization. This is a process where you list the reasons for your fear, the possible outcomes when facing your fear, the likelihood of each outcome, and how you would handle each outcome.

Those weeks of meeting with the psychologist in the spring of 2009 changed how I saw the world. It did not become some warm, safe place. In the end, I realized, my eternal future is secure. Do I believe that my life on this earth will always be safe and pleasant? No, I have seen too much of pain and suffering in my own life and lives of those I have encountered to expect that I would be spared from all future pain.

What I believe is that God sent His son, Jesus, who lived, died, and rose to redeem me not simply from bad circumstances but from my own sin.

No one else could do that. In the words of the apostle Peter, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

I wavered between moments of peace and moments of fear. One afternoon while my parents were gone, I decided to watch a video of another patient undergoing the same surgery on YouTube. Let me tell you, that was not a great idea. The video was just a little too graphic. I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling incredibly nauseous and weeping on the couch.

In those moments of peace, I knew that God was giving me strength because I knew I had none of my own left to carry me.

I remember meeting with a second psychologist who worked closely with my surgeon to ensure that patients were mentally and emotionally prepared to undergo this type of surgery. He gave me an hour long written psychological test. When we met to go over my results, he was actually concerned because my test results showed a lack of stress over the situation.

He was concerned that I might be in denial. In the end, while I was so very aware of the risks, the results of my surgery didn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that I began to trust God to direct my life.

I had spinal fusion surgery on June 2nd of 2009. Dr. Horton moved my spine from an eighty-five degree curve to a 20 degree curve and attached two stainless steel rods and about twenty-two screws to my spine.

The recovery was the roughest thing I have encountered in my twenty-four years of living. My scar is fading and the physical evidence that I ever had scoliosis is so very slight. I hope though that I will never forget the truths that I held so close to my heart in those times.

I’ve always wanted to be a difference-maker. I always wanted to be part of something bigger than myself and inspire millions. Four months ago, I found my way and my mission in life. I decided to turn my adversity into something bigger than myself  and be of service. My story began 22 years ago when my life changed forever…

War broke out in 1992. Serbian troops began occupying my hometown of Livno, a small town in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Bosnia and Herzegovina, along with neighboring Croatia, were at war with Serbia in what was to be called the Patriotic War. I and my mom escaped to Germany to be with her aunt while my father stayed and fought in the war.

One morning, my cousin Marc took me for a walk through his German town. On our walk, Marc was teasing me about seeing the animals, saying he would throw me to the dogs at the zoo. Just after he joked about it, someone passed by us walking their dogs and he jostled me towards them. They were barking at me so loud, I was terrified. I was so intimidated that I couldn’t talk for a moment. Marc just laughed while I stood paralyzed.

The next thing I remember I was hanging from a bridge while he held me with his arms around my waist.

I was crying my eyes out, but it was all just amusing to him. He finally put me down and explained to me that he was joking, but I was beyond terrified by his bullying. I experienced severe stuttering and couldn’t speak fluently afterwards.

This would have been the end of my story if I was a different person. There are people who don’t fight when it gets tough, who accept reality and the limitations imposed by others. But I’m fighter, I always have been, and I wasn’t going to stop there.

Although I suffered so much because of that one man, he helped me to find my way to make a difference and help millions of people. To me, that was God directing my steps.

God gave me that adversity so I could be of service, so I could contribute to society, and alleviate the pain in other people’s lives. I was given stuttering so I could make a difference and make this world a better place.

Two years ago I started expressing my feelings and findings with stuttering on paper. I wrote about my childhood and my struggles. I wrote about my mom. I brought back all these memories and I cried like a baby, but I never stopped writing. Sometimes I wrote for hours locked in my room. I wrote about some useful techniques that I use in dealing with stuttering and how I trained my mind by focusing on my environment  in order to speak fluently. It was liberating to write and share my findings on paper.

Then, in May 2016, I decided that I should turn all my notes in into a book that would change people’s lives and help them speak fluently. I decided to hire an editor and embark on this  journey. Journey of service and contribution. Journey of hope and light in the world.

Then someday while I was reflecting on my life, it dawned on me. I found my purpose for living. All these years I was running away from stuttering and avoiding talking about it. But not anymore. My purpose is to inspire and encourage millions of people who stutter each day with my life story.

I’ve finished the book and it’s on its way to being published. The title is “Overcoming Stuttering, My Story: Five Ways to Speaking Fluently Forever.” The release date is April 3rd 2017 and I cannot be more happy and excited. In order to make a big difference in the world, I decided to send all the profits from my book to building schools for kids in Guatemala with the organization Pencils of Promise. I also want to dedicate it to my late mother. Why?

I want to help and inspire millions of people so that after I’m gone, the whole world remembers that I was here.

One day, friend asked me, “What is your motivation for doing this if it’s not for money or fame?” I said to him, “My motivation is seeing the faces of those kids when I build that school and seeing people speaking fluently after they read my book. Knowing that I made a difference in somebody’s life. There is no greater motivation than that.”

This is how I plan to make a difference and make this world a better place. Now it’s your turn. How are you going to make a difference in the world?

Competition has been in my blood for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I begged my mom to let me do mixed martial arts, and she finally relented when I was eight years old. After my first Tae Kwon Do class, I was ecstatic. After my first competition victory, I was hooked. 

It’s been eighteen years and I’ve lost count of how many long car rides I’ve taken to tournaments, bruises and body aches, first place medals, and last place finishes I’ve had. Through it all I’ve never lost the desire to push myself and look for new challenges. Starting boxing gave me that new challenge; it was a way to take eighteen years of martial arts experience and apply them in a new setting.

I started boxing in 2013 and my first fight was a victory in Athens after about one month of training in a boxing gym. One of the first things I realized once I started boxing was that, when it comes to strategy, there is not a whole lot of difference between Tae Kwon Do and boxing.

You need good footwork and good fundamentals. You want to establish your range early on, you don’t want to be overly aggressive and leave yourself open to counters, and you don’t want to sit back too much on defense and appear passive.

Thanks to my martial arts experience, my punching technique and stamina have been on point since the first day I stepped into the boxing gym. But the tools I used in boxing are different than what I used for Tae Kwon Do; one of the first things I had to adjust to was using my hands in a situation where I would traditionally use my legs.

However, the mental aspect of this training was a challenge to overcome.

I won my first fight, received a W (withdraw) for an opponent who didn’t show up for my second, and then dropped my next two for a 2-2 record (Which felt a lot more like 1-2). My next two fights were a chance for redemption, and, while my third win brought me my first victory by knockout, it was my fourth win that helped me see that I was a fighter.

My fourth victory was a hard-fought battle at the Paul Murphy Title Boxing Tournament on June 1, 2014. The week before the fight, I was in rare form. I went to the gym and forgot how to get tired. I sparred multiple rounds with a couple of different guys and even had my trainer putting me in to work with some guys after I had already done my scheduled rounds.

I’ve never been a big fan of cutting weight right before a fight, so when my dieting had my weight down to 158 lbs – four pounds over the limit for the division I was trying to get to – I decided that I’d take my chances in the 164 lbs division.

When I saw my opponent, my first thought was, “Damnit, I shoulda lost more weight.”

The man in front of me was tall and every bit a natural 164 lbs fighter. I stand at about 5’ 7  inches, and my opponent had at least four inches on me. I’m no stranger to fighting tall opponents, so I stepped into the ring ready to do what I needed to do to achieve victory.

The bell rang for round one, and he went to town on me. Between his longer reach, speed, and great training, he destroyed me in round one.

I got a standing eight count halfway through the round. Towards the end, I spun away from the corner to avoiding getting trapped – I thought it was a pretty decent Russell Wilson impersonation – but the ref apparently thought I was trying to run away and turn my back on my opponent. He took me to the corner and warned me that the next time I pulled that stunt I would get disqualified. That was all the wake up call I needed.

For the first 45 seconds of round two, I fired off nothing but jabs. I had to establish my distance and find a home for my straight right hand (I may be only an amateur, but if you put me in the ring with Floyd Mayweather, I’m not going to win, but I would bet a million dollars that I’ll land plenty of straight right hands by the end).

My right hand found a home on his left cheek and on his ribs. Once I started landing it, everything else opened up. By the end of the round, I had him pinned against the ropes while I fired everything I had. I was punching anywhere I saw open space. My stamina was at a level that allowed me to do it for a good five to seven seconds. The ref pulled me off and gave him a standing eight count.

The bell rang and I went to the corner knowing that round three would determine the winner.

The only thing on my mind at the start of round three were the words of the boxing champion “Sugar Bert” Wells I had heard from the week before: “You’ve got to work the body.” One of my favorite combos is a double jab to the head followed by a straight right hand to the body just before they can put their hands down. If I could establish a crisp jab that keeps his front hand up, it could leave the left side of my opponent’s ribs open to tee off on. That was my strategy.

I came out strong, and I could feel his body slowing down. He was finally giving way on each shot to the ribs, so I started adding extra punches to his stomach and liver with my left hand. At around the one-minute mark, I fired my combo. As my right hand connected with his ribs, he dropped. The ref counted, my opponent got back up, and then he came back for more. So I hit him with the same combo in the same spot again. And again he dropped. This time the ref called it a slip, but I could see the end was drawing near.

I locked onto my sweet spot once more. He kept his left hand close to his body for a while, so I landed a couple of jabs – right hand combos upstairs. As soon as his hand came up, I dropped him with another shot to the ribs. The ref let him up again; however, by this point he was nearly doubling over from the damage his ribs had taken. I could see he was hurt, but the ref let him continue. So, I dropped him for the fourth and final time with another combo to the same spot.

Finally, the ref called the fight – victory by TKO!

I’ve only had one match since then, but it still stands out as my favorite fight. I know how badly I was shaken in round one, and how demoralizing it can be to face an opponent who seems superior to you in every way. For me to fight against that mental adversity, and to win by knockout, is my own personal Rocky movie. I haven’t had a victory in the boxing ring to surpass that one yet.

As our past selves make appearances in our present and our future, it can become difficult to keep hold of the glory that is ourselves. But we have to be stronger than our past.

In life we have many experiences: some extraordinary, others abysmal and some we are just plain indifferent to. We choose to either feel these things or to not feel them.

We live human lives. Lives in which we cry, laugh, and breathe.

Lives where we can create, shape, mold, but also dismantle, destroy, and overturn. We are comprised of moments that we wish we could replay a million times in our heads, and moments that we wish to simply erase.

It is in these innate moments, in these details,  that we can choose to become broken by the world or choose to thrive in a world that’s broken.

I personally had to learn how to do this. For years, I was haunted by low self-esteem, anxiety, and depression. Based on events and chapters of my past, I would get discouraged when trying to live my life’s story.

Having a father who died, a mother who struggled with addiction and was rarely in my life, years of abandonment issues, incidents of sexual abuse occur, and many other things I’ve experienced in life have shaped who I am.

I had come to a place where I let those things dictate who I was as a person.

It took three attempted suicides, a trip to the suicide ward, and various therapy sessions to realize that my life was built upon the feeling of unworthiness. This was not the life I wanted to live anymore. It wasn’t a life that I was meant to live.

It became clear to me that after every attempt to kill myself, I was still alive, my heart refused to stop beating. I came to a realization within myself that I was stronger than I ever thought. It was then I decided that I, not my situations in life, would declare what and who I am.

Who I am is Quinnita Faith Edwards. I am loving and caring, thoughtful and hopeful. I am strong.

Careful but sometimes careless. I am confident yet scared at times, terrified about life and also excited. I am misunderstood, misguided, and sometimes misled. I am hardworking and determined. I believe in passion. I pray to God, wish on stars, and dream my dreams.

In order to reach this level of self I had to go through a lot of rough patches but I know that if I were to reverse any of it, I wouldn’t be where I am today. So I remember to simply live. To make mistakes and have a wonderful time doing so. To never be ashamed of where I have been, and most importantly to embrace where it is that I am going. Though I still have rough times and experience moments where I am insecure, I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought.

What has made the biggest difference in my life has been the knowledge that God loves me and He has a plan. I believe (as presented by my favorite author C.S. Lewis) that life is a series of peaks and troughs, and it is a ridiculous assumption for us to believe that it would be all peaks.

Though God certainly uses the peak times to help us grow, I believe that there’s something special He does in us in these trough times that give us character and develop us into who He wants us to be. My story is a testament to this.

When I was seven, my Dad’s job transferred. As a family of six we packed up and moved across the world to Istanbul, Turkey. At the time, reassured by the fact that there would still be Barbies wherever we moved, I wasn’t too concerned. However, growing up in a country away from your birthplace has its challenges.

I began school at an International school, but when I had not picked up the Turkish language by fifth grade, my parents gave me the option of transferring to a local school. Without giving it too much thought, I took them up on it.

The first week was incredibly rough for me. I spoke little Turkish, and I was placed in a classroom with 53 other students.

I couldn’t communicate and was out of my comfort zone. I came home crying after school every day the first week. However, through this God showed me that He was my refuge, and He would take care of me regardless of my circumstances. Through this tough time also came the ability to speak Turkish, in addition to some amazing friendships that have continued through college.

Another tough transition for me was moving back to the United States. After graduating from high school I decided to attend the University of Georgia, Go Dawgs! However, my friends from high school scattered across the country and world, so apart from my aunt and uncle. I knew no one in this new place. In addition, there was once again a cultural difference, despite no language barrier.

Growing up overseas meant that although I am shaped like an American on the outside, inwardly I am shaped quite differently.

Once again, I was really hurting, and I didn’t feel like I had anyone to cling to. Everything I had known and grown up with was 5,000+ miles away, including my family. Once again, God showed me His faithfulness. He showed me that when He brings me to something,  He’s also going to bring me through it. He showed me that He is with me no matter what. He showed me once again that He wants to have a relationship with me, and that all I have to do is come to Him.

Though this was a challenging time, I’m stronger because of it. Though it might have been easier for me not to move back to the US. for college, God brought me closer to Himself through this, and once again has given me some amazing relationships.

Today, God continues to show me His faithfulness and how He uses the tough times in my life to make me more like Himself. As an aspiring journalist, I interned with a news agency this summer. Confronted with the headlines of international news stories each day has been challenging. Through this too God has shown me more of who He is. When I see how truly broken the world around us is, I recognize the world’s need for a savior.

How fantastic it is to learn that God loved us enough to send His son to die for our sins and to give us hope. What an amazing realization that we have a God who understands suffering, and who promises us His presence through the peaks and the troughs.

I’m so thankful for a God that makes life delightful no matter where in the world we live, as He has promised his presence to us through it all and uses what seems like the toughest times for our good.

My name is Erika Evans. I am 22 years old. I have been attending college for 4 years now, yet still have the academic standing of a freshman. I have made bad choices. I love dogs. And I have Borderline Personality Disorder.

The last part is something I recently discovered about myself. Or at least the proper noun for what it was I was feeling. I was diagnosed almost a year ago after a bad night where I took a knife to my wrist and cried myself to sleep in my closet over an ex-boyfriend. BPD is essentially bipolar, depression, extreme emotional responses, and a dash of instability when it comes to relationships.

“Treatment” is not what I would call whatever has happened in the last year. I tried therapy and didn’t like it. When I am at rest, I know how to logically handle situations, but when I am all caught up, the only thing I know how to do is make an irrational decision based on emotion. So, when my therapist was just giving me logical advise, my answer was “no shit.” Probably another sign of my BPD.

With the diagnosis came a lot of answers to certain things I was feeling and a lot of questions about everything else.

What does it mean? Is there a cure? Will medication turn me into a different person? Can I afford to treat this mental illness for the rest of my life? And so the anxiety ridden person is thrown another load of anxiety with the diagnosis.

Then summer began and I stopped going to therapy. Probably not my best move. Instead I spent a summer full of erratic behavior that included working every day and blacking out every night. And during those blackouts came eating various late-night calzones and going home with random boys. One of my friends compared it to masturbation just with another human-being instead of your own hand. There was no feelings, even though I tried to stir some up just to see if I could feel something. Nada.

Fall semester was much of the same, although I did try therapy again which included adding another medication to my Prozac that would help treat the depression as well as the anxiety. My parents announced that they would be getting a divorce, and my mom ran away to Iowa for a few months to try and figure out her own mental illness. And the guiltless spending continued on food, alcohol, and uber.

It was taking so much energy to be normal, and I think I finally got tired. So here I am now.

Withdrawn from school and looking for another path. I keep waiting for some kind of ah-ha moment. Some kind of moment of clarity for an answer to just appear to me. Still nothing. I’ve taken long showers, gone for a long drive in the country, taken walks- anything that your typical movie scene moment would include. Except for the life-altering decision to be made.

I’m stuck. But the main thing that I keep reminding myself is that I’m not the only one stuck. Whether you’re about to graduate from college with no idea what career your future holds, you’re changing majors, or you’ve decided that school is all too much like me, there are so many other people struggling with you. And maybe it’s a fucked up thing to say that we’re all clueless as to what we’re doing. But I feel comforted by the fact that there are so many of us aimlessly wandering to figure out the answers in life. And I suppose that’s why I feel the need to write and share my deepest secrets here. So that maybe you won’t feel alone either.

As a senior in college, I look forward to the many new beginnings that are fast approaching me—a new internship, new jobs and career to explore, new people to cross paths with, new places to adventure off to, and whatever else “new” that life might bring my way.

I’ve got no clear idea of what I want to spend the rest of my life doing, but I am up for the journey and feel confident that I am not alone during this pivotal moment in life. I am not the only one without a clue or sense of direction and I find comfort in knowing that we are all doing our best to figure it out. We are all hustling to make something marvelous of our lives, big or small, and the only thing we can truly promise to ourselves is take each day at a time and embrace the place where life happens. To live in the present moment, head held high and back to the wind, not worried about the past or future but rather making the most of the very moment at hand.

I’ve been back at school for almost two months now and have been constantly bombarded with questions of my future. “What are your summer plans?” “What does your resume look like?” “How many internships have you applied for?” “Are you graduating on time?” “What’s your next move?” “What’s your 5-year plan look like?”…I barely know what I am going to have for dinner every night so I’m sure you can guess how well answering those questions has been going.

But things got pretty serious when one day I got tired of telling someone that I didn’t have a clue of what I wanted to do. Why don’t I have at least some idea…because I have hopes and dreams as big as the damn ocean but for some reason when I’m asked, “what do you want to do?” I always come up short and default to an answer that is within some broad stroke of communications. Is it because of some social construct that I fear my aspirations won’t be “good enough”? Or is it because I fear failure rather than embrace the opportunity it brings to reshape, refocus or redirect?

Whatever it is, I need to get over it and get over it quickly.

I recently found myself passing time in the library before a lecture class. During this time, I spent the majority of it on my computer bouncing around to randomly selected and suggested philosophical sermons on YouTube. Strange, I know, but it was totally inspiring. One that really struck a chord with me was entitled “What do you want, really?” by Howard Thurman. In this 12-minute audio clip, Thurman shares a very insightful message with his audience and talks of the moment that we ask ourselves, “what is the fundamental thing that I’m after with my life?” What drives us forward? He then explains the two types of people in this world. Ones that believe life to be fixed, hard, pre-determined and finished. And ones of the mind that life of its essence is fluid, creative and that purposes, goals, dreams, ideas, etc. can fulfill themselves because of the fluidity that exists in all life.

Thurman goes on to talk of how people who think of life as fixed and hard quickly exhaust their minds and rarely see the light of happiness and that those who believe in the ebb and flow of this creative life remain inspired and respected. As human beings, it is within our very nature to have a pinned goal or dream, or many, that is of transcendent significance to us. The difference in reaching that goal or dream all relies within the heart and mind of the person. It requires a person willing to put all resources to their disposal, a person unafraid of failure and motivated by all of the challenges along the road. Thurman says that this is the kind of world that honors that journey of the mind and spirit that together can say one thing and be that. This is the type of world that validates the struggle of all dreamers and pushes those dreamers to exceed even their very own limits.

So when someone asks me about my future, I look forward to talking about the pursuit of my passions and the entire unknown that it entails.

Now that my perspective has been adjusted, I am full-heartedly seeking my dreams no matter how unattainable they seem—because to me, that is a life worth living. I hope to get out of my home state and possibly move west, and what better time to do it than now?

No matter what I choose to pursue, I remain hopeful that it incorporates my love for the arts and requires my creativity to be tested constantly. If you too are feeling bogged down by constructs of society, rest assured knowing that this world honors your journey of self-discovery and that there is no “right” path. Always remember to keep an open mind and open heart while exploring the fluidity of the beautiful life you’ve been given. Happiness will meet you along the way.

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” – Howard Thurman