Navigating the Storms We Can't See

Navigating the Storms We Can't See

    There is a track by Motiversity called Prove Them Wrong. It’s a heavy, driving speech about facing down the doubters—the people who look at you and say you can't do it, that you aren't strong enough, or that you don't have what it takes.

    It’s an incredible message. But here is the hard, unfiltered truth that we don't talk about enough in the western world: What happens when the loudest doubter isn't sitting in the grandstands? What happens when the person telling you that you aren't enough is you?

    This past weekend at the rodeo in Tees, I broke.

    I didn't take a hit from a bull, and I didn't get wrecked out in the dirt. I broke quietly, in the isolation of my own trailer on Sunday morning. My mind and my body completely shut down. Between a blinding migraine and back pain that made it hard to breathe, I was physically grounded. But the physical pain was just the byproduct of a much heavier, invisible weight.

    I probably could have found a way to grit my teeth and fight through the back pain for that six-hour Sunday performance. But then the wind and the rain rolled in, and I knew deep down that I didn't have the strength to fight the weather outside while actively losing the battle against the demons inside. So, I stayed in the trailer. I slept. I waited for the migraine to break, and I waited for the storm to pass.

The Toll of the Ride 

    I am sharing this because I know for a fact I am not the only one sitting in a pickup truck or a trailer feeling this way.

     The hardest thing in my entire life has been trying to keep my brain in check. A lot of that stems directly from the physical toll this lifestyle takes. The brain damage and the concussions I’ve had in my lifetime eventually converted into bipolar disorder, memory loss, and cognitive struggles. I try incredibly hard to protect my brain now, but it doesn't stop the damage that has already been done.

     It doesn't stop my brain from running a million miles an hour. It constantly cycles through the past, the present, and the future. It calculates what I've done right, what I've done wrong, and what I could have done differently, playing out a hundred different outcomes. And none of it matters, because I just can't shut it off. It will wear me out faster than any physical labor, any long drive, or any heavy lifting ever could.

    And lately, it has been running on a relentless loop, telling me that no matter what I do, how hard I work, or how I act, I am just genuinely not going to be enough. It isn't born out of paranoia that the world is out to get me, or a belief that God has forgotten me. It is just a raw, exhausting internal block. You want to scream at the world, "Take me as I am!" while quietly believing it will never be sufficient.

Questioning the Hustle

    In this lifestyle, the default setting is to suffer alone. Nobody said it was going to be easy, and nobody is going to hold your hand out here. When your body says no, and your mind screams no, you force yourself to keep going.

    But you eventually hit a wall. As much as I preach grit and grace, and build this studio around the importance of grace, I find it incredibly hard to give it to myself. I look at the last two weeks—putting absolutely everything into haying, trying to get the best quality product off the field during the day, and staying up at night editing photos and videos just to chase a couple hundred dollars.

    Meanwhile, I’m sitting on tens of thousands of dollars of equipment, and the negative thoughts start creeping in. You have to step back and ask: What am I doing? Why am I fighting so hard? There has to be an easier way to do life, because the way I’m doing it right now is profoundly exhausting. It doesn't matter how many self-management tools I implement; I just can't seem to find that balance. The negative just always wants to creep in, and it's an absolutely horrible feeling I wouldn't wish upon anyone.

Putting the Foundation First

    So before I start anything this week—before I edit a single video or image from Tees—I am taking a step back for myself. You have to protect your energy.

    Today, I am surviving by keeping motivational tracks on a constant loop. The other speech playing in my studio right now features the words of Denzel Washington: Put God First. "When you build your foundation on faith, the storms can come, the winds can blow, but your house will not fall."

    When your own brain is trying to tear you down, you have to find an anchor outside of yourself. You have to ask yourself: what do you believe in? You have to believe you have a unique purpose, even when the silence in the trailer is deafening. For me, it is leaning on faith, finding grace in the quiet moments, and reminding myself that my worth is not determined by my productivity or my presence in the dirt on my darkest days.

The Lifeline is Open

    If you are reading this and you recognize that heavy, isolating silence—if your brain won't shut off and you are convinced you aren't enough—I need you to know that you are not alone.

    Help is out there. It might not always look like the clinical, sterile help that people immediately suggest. Sometimes, help is just finding a different management skill. It’s finding an outlet. It’s trying, failing, and trying again until you find a way to quiet the noise. It is incredibly frustrating, but you do not have to navigate that frustration in the dark.

    If you need help, call me. Text me. Email me.

    I will talk it out with you. I will share the different outlets and management skills that I use to combat this stuff. I don't have all the answers, and I am clearly still fighting my own battles in the trailer, but I will sit in the dirt with you so you don't have to fight yours alone.

    Do not allow others—or the loudest voices in your own head—to validate you, because you are exactly who you are. Nobody is going to be like you. Nobody is going to be as strong as you, or walk the walk like you. That wear and tear is exactly what makes you different and unique.

    We are all just stitched together. We are all perfectly imperfect, carrying weight that nobody else can see. Take the time you need to heal, give yourself the grace to rest, and when you are ready?

Prove them wrong, and prove yourself to be right.

Keep fighting the good fight.

Lee J. Kemp

Every Moment Is A Choice Studio 🔗 emiacstudio.ca

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