Last week, I sat in my neurologist’s office for what I expected to be another appointment. Another discussion about symptoms. Another conversation about cerebellar ataxia. Another reminder of what had happened to me over twenty years ago when a stroke changed the trajectory of my life. Instead, I heard words I never imagined I would hear. My neurologist looked at me and said: “You’re going to be around for a long time.” And I started sobbing. Not graceful tears. Not polite tears. The kind of tears that come from somewhere so deep inside of you that they surprise even you. Because for years — if I am honest — I never thought I would hear those words. At 23 years old, after addiction, trauma, and the devastating loss of my father to suicide, I had a cerebellar stroke. My life changed overnight. One day I had independence. The next, I had paralysis. I had to learn how to walk again. How to speak clearly again. How to navigate a body and brain that no longer moved the way they once had. For a long time, life became about survival. And survival is a strange place to live. You are alive, but not fully living. You are breathing, but carrying fear. Fear about what comes next. Fear about what has been lost. Fear about how much time you have. Somewhere deep inside me, I think a part of me quietly wondered for years if my body would continue to decline. If I would ever truly feel strong again. If I would ever feel fully alive again. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. I got serious about recovery. Not just from substances. Not just from an eating disorder. But recovery in the deepest sense of the word. Recovery of mind. Recovery of body. Recovery of spirit. I have now been sober for 12 years. I fought my way through an eating disorder that once consumed my life. I stopped merely surviving and began prioritizing my mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing. I started treating my body less like an enemy and more like something sacred.

Finally registered for the USPC Paranationals! As I sit here organizing digital photos, which I believe were taken by Austin (Holiday Havoc) ….personal photos of Belpre, Monstrrs, coffee shops, Olive Garden… Matt @Matthew Hill @Lauren Hill @Austin Douglas @James Wright Archie, Heather,Abby, Addy, Clayton, Jen :and there are MANY that are not on here. The closer the date gets … make me want to be the BEST version of myself ❤️‍🔥🤩💪

Our team has been working over the last 6 weeks with everything we have to build a Dream: The most comprehensive and customizable personal development app on the market… …And it’s Live Now. 😎 This is a real, fully built phone app that serves as - A personal development tracking platform for all Domains of Performance - A design studio to bring to life the person you are working to build - A Vision space to align yourself with the Impact you want to have on the World PLUS - Weekly reports - Daily Check Ins - Real time feedback from coaches - In-app direct messaging - …and so much more Not only that, but for the coaches in this Community, it is also built to be THE MOST effective interface between Coach and client ever created… And it’s yours now to use. We are opening a Beta Cohort to only 5 people starting today to test and build this app with us while receiving a 6 week 1:1 and Group Coaching course at the same time. ALL DETAILS IN THE LINK BELOW ⬇️⬇️⬇️ https://www.impossibleperformance.com/programs/build-impossible-self Reserve your spot today and help us Change the World ❤️‍🔥 Thank you all…it’s good to be back 😎🙏🏻

@Matthew Hill this is the video of the second squat at Odins. I immediately started to tip forward before I even began to descend. The back spot grabbed me (spotters are the best 🤩). Without the 2nd squat, there would have been no PR. And it ended up adding 18 pounds to the PR. A personal win of practicing adapting to so much in life that it becomes a part of you ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💪

Life is often more like a sink full of dirty spoons than people realize. One spoon left in the sink seems harmless. It is easy to think, I’ll deal with it later. Then another appears. And another. Before long, what could have taken thirty seconds now feels overwhelming. The sink becomes cluttered, heavy, and strangely exhausting to even look at. Life has a way of unfolding in much the same manner. Most struggles rarely arrive all at once. They gather quietly in the background through things left unattended. A difficult conversation postponed becomes distance between people. Stress ignored becomes exhaustion. Small financial problems grow heavier. Emotional wounds left untouched deepen beneath the surface. Even physical pain often begins as something manageable before neglect allows it to grow louder. Rarely is it one catastrophic moment that overwhelms us—it is often the accumulation of many small things we convinced ourselves could wait. Yet the lesson hidden in the sink is not one of shame or failure. It is one of awareness. Taking care of a spoon immediately does not mean life becomes effortless; it means burdens are less likely to pile into something intimidating. Small acts of responsibility, honesty, courage, and discipline have a way of protecting us from carrying unnecessary weight later. A few minutes spent addressing what matters now can save months of struggle down the road. But there is something deeper here too: just as problems accumulate, so does strength. Every small act of resilience matters. Every hard conversation faced, every step taken despite exhaustion, every moment of choosing action over avoidance builds something within us. Strength is not forged in grand moments alone—it is built quietly, repeatedly, in the ordinary choices no one sees. Life will always leave a few spoons in the sink now and then. No one handles everything perfectly. The danger is not imperfection; it is believing the pile is too overwhelming to begin. Often, the path forward is simpler than it feels. You do not have to clean the whole kitchen at once. You only have to start with the next spoon. And sometimes, that small act is enough to change everything.