Breaking Points and New Beginnings

I was 28 years old when I cried uncontrollably for the first time in my life. I had a minimum wage job that barely allowed me to pay the rent. My marriage was falling apart. But none of that truly broke me. What shattered my heart, what really broke me, was hearing my three-year-old daughter ask me to buy her a 50-cent ice cream, and realizing I didn’t even have two quarters to scrape together. We had just exited church, and she looked up at me with a big, innocent smile, asking for ice cream. I had to tell her no. I had to say no because I didn’t even have 50 cents to my name. She didn’t argue. She simply said, “It’s okay, Daddy. We can get some later.”

I looked over my shoulder as other parents approached the ice cream cart with their kids, pulling out cash, laughing, and enjoying the moment. I felt too much shame to even look my daughter in the eyes as we began to walk away. But she wasn’t phased. She reached up her hand so I could hold it as we walked. When we got to the car, I quickly placed her in her car seat and then turned over all the mats, squeezing my hand underneath the seats, hoping to find some change. But I had already done this one too many times before. The loose change in my car had been tapped out.

My daughter usually talked a lot during our drives, but this time, I couldn’t respond. Words were getting stuck in my throat. Tears were building up in my eyes, and I was struggling to hold them back. I ended up pulling over. I placed my face in my hands and just sobbed. I was tired of barely surviving. I was tired of wondering how I would make enough money to feed my family the next day. I was angry at myself for not making better choices in life. I was so angry that I couldn’t even buy my daughter a darn ice cream! In that moment, I felt so down and worthless that horrible thoughts started creeping into my mind—thoughts that my family would be better off without me, thoughts that I was a complete failure and disappointment.

I tried to hide my face from my daughter. I even turned up the music so she wouldn’t hear me sobbing. But by God, she’s the smartest person I know! She shouted, “Daddy, turn the music down,” and then asked, “Why are you sad?” I told her that daddies get sad sometimes. She replied, “I didn’t really want the ice cream.” And that completely broke my heart. I said, “Mia, I promise you, I will do whatever it takes, but we’re going to have all the ice cream we can eat.” She laughed, and I smiled through my tears. Then I asked her to pray with me. We prayed, “God, thank you for everything you’ve given us. Thank you for allowing us to have so much love, thank you for always being by our side, and thank you for all the blessings you provide us with.”

I wish I could tell you that things immediately improved after that prayer, but the truth is, things got worse before they got better.

Through struggle, I learned to ask for help, to connect with others, and to be open about my current situation and feelings. It wasn’t easy, but allowing myself to be vulnerable gave my friends the opportunity to help me through my journey. As a Marine, I had been taught to be tough, to keep my head down, and to trudge along no matter how much it hurt. But I couldn’t do that anymore. I was overwhelmed with sadness, and at times, I wanted to bury myself in darkness, to escape my own skin.

One day, a family friend asked me how I was doing. For the first time in a long while, I finally had the courage to say, “I’m not doing well.” That moment of honesty was a turning point in my life. That friend didn’t just listen—he acted. He helped connect me with a company that was hiring, helped me secure an interview, and once I was hired, he personally trained me and made sure I had everything I needed to succeed.

That job was more than just a paycheck. It was an opportunity to make new connections, build new friendships, and grow in ways I hadn’t imagined. It gave me the strength to go back to school and start working toward a future I thought was out of reach.

I now understand that healing isn’t about doing it all on your own. It’s about allowing others to be there for you, about accepting that sometimes, it’s okay to not have all the answers. In the end, it wasn’t just the job that changed my life—it was the connections I made, the willingness to be vulnerable, and the support I received when I finally let go of the pride that had held me back for so long.