The Things I Wish I Had Said Sooner

There's a different kind of pain that comes with becoming the person you always wanted to be, only to realize that some of the people you wanted beside you are no longer there.

I've been dealing with that feeling a lot lately.

For so much of my life, I was trying to survive things I didn't necessarily know how to explain. I had experienced hurt, disappointment, and situations that made me believe the safest thing I could do was isolate myself, protect my peace, and keep my emotions to myself.

And for a long time, I genuinely believed that was strength.

I thought telling somebody how much they meant to me made me vulnerable in the wrong way. I thought expressing my feelings gave people an opportunity to use those feelings against me. I thought opening up meant giving somebody power over me.

So sometimes, instead of communicating, I became quiet.

Instead of explaining that I was hurting, I distanced myself.

Instead of telling people what I needed, I expected them to understand things I hadn't even learned how to put into words.

And the hardest part about admitting that today is knowing that some of those people genuinely loved me.

I just didn't always know how to receive that love, communicate my own, or coexist with somebody emotionally while I was still trying to figure myself out.

I wish I could say I learned those lessons before losing people who meant the world to me.

But I didn't.

Sometimes, it took losing somebody for me to understand the importance of communicating while they're still there to listen.

It took sitting with the absence of people I loved to realize how many conversations I wished we'd had. How many feelings I wished I'd expressed. How many times I could have said, "I'm hurting, and I don't know how to explain it, but I don't want to lose you."

And that's something I'm still working through.

Because now I'm entering a season of my life where I'm accomplishing things I used to pray about. I'm building a career, pursuing my dreams, and becoming more intentional about the man I want to be.

But sometimes I look around and realize that the people I imagined sharing these moments with aren't here anymore.

And man, that hurts.

Not because I'm ungrateful for where I am, but because success doesn't erase the grief of losing people who mattered to you.

One of the biggest lessons I'm learning is that vulnerability and weakness are not the same thing.

Telling somebody how you feel doesn't automatically make you inferior. Communicating your needs doesn't mean somebody has permission to disrespect them. Loving somebody deeply doesn't mean you have to abandon yourself to keep them.

That's where boundaries come in.

I'm learning that I can be open about my feelings and still protect myself. I can love somebody and still recognize when something isn't healthy. I can communicate what hurts without believing that doing so makes me less of a man.

And I can take accountability for the ways I failed to communicate without pretending that all the pain I experienced beforehand didn't shape how I responded.

I'm not sharing this because I have everything figured out.

I'm sharing it because I don't.

I'm still learning how to communicate. I'm still learning how to love. I'm still learning how to become the kind of man who doesn't allow fear to speak louder than his feelings.

And maybe somebody reading this is in that same place.

Maybe there's somebody you love, but you've been too afraid to tell them how you really feel.

Maybe you've been hurt so many times that you've convinced yourself nobody deserves access to your emotions.

Or maybe, like me, you've already lost somebody and you're learning lessons you wish you had understood sooner.

Whatever your situation looks like, I hope you understand this:

You don't have to wait until somebody is gone to learn how to tell them they matter.

And if they're already gone, that doesn't mean your opportunity to become better is gone with them.

Sometimes the apology we wish we could give somebody becomes the changed behavior we offer the people who come into our lives next.

That's part of what Fueled By Pain means to me.

Not pretending that pain doesn't exist. Not acting like every loss has a beautiful explanation. But learning to confront the things that hurt us so we don't continue hurting ourselves or the people who love us.

Because becoming a man isn't about never feeling pain.

Sometimes it's about finally having the courage to admit that you do.

Pain is the Fuel, Freedom is the Goal.

— Founder, Fueled By Pain Worldwide

A Question for the FBP Family

Have you ever lost somebody because you didn't know how to communicate what you were feeling? Or have you ever mistaken being emotionally guarded for being strong?

If you're comfortable, share your experience in the comments. You never know who might need to hear that they're not alone.