Purpose Pulls You Back

It’s 2 a.m. My voice is hoarse. My heart is heavy. And the window of my car is shattered—an almost poetic symbol of what the last few hours felt like.

Earlier today, I had what I can only describe as the worst anxiety attack of my life. The irony? It came just before I was scheduled to speak to a group of student leaders about vision, values, and resilience. I was meant to inspire—but I was unravelling.

And yet, what pulled me back wasn’t willpower. It was purpose.

The Pressure Beneath the Surface

For months—maybe years—I’ve carried a weight that’s hard to articulate. Not the external load of meetings, metrics, or milestones. That I can manage. It’s the internal tension that wears you down quietly: trying to hold space for everyone’s needs, trying to be enough in every role—father, husband, leader, son.

There are dynamics in my home life that test me deeply. Emotions run high. Expectations run higher. Sometimes, I feel like I’m walking through a relational minefield—never sure which step will trigger disappointment, or conflict, or silence. I’ve tried to anchor myself in grace, to love without condition. But lately, I’ve been wondering: at what point does compassion turn into quiet self-erasure?

The Breaking Point

Today, that weight finally buckled. On the way to the student event, a family conversation turned sharp, cutting deeper than usual. I felt trapped—cornered between loyalty and logic, between love and the quiet scream of exhaustion.

At an intersection, I lost it. Pulled over. Got out. And let out a scream so deep it shook something loose inside me. I collapsed on the roadside—more emotionally spent than physically tired. Strangers stared. I didn’t care. That moment wasn’t about appearances. It was about survival.

What Pulled Me Back

Then something happened. A small voice—innocent, earnest—called out, reminding me of a promise I’d made. A simple plan. A place we were supposed to go together. It pierced the fog.

Suddenly, I remembered: I’m not here for control. I’m here for connection. I’m here because my presence still means something to the people I lead and love. I took a breath. Then another. I got up.

Not fixed. But anchored.

The Power of Showing Up

I still made it to that student council camp. Broken window. Raspy voice. Raw spirit. But I showed up.

And when I told the story—not the polished version but the real one—I saw eyes widen, hearts open. Students leaned in, not because I had it all together, but because I didn’t. Because I was real. Because leadership isn’t about impressing people. It’s about connecting in truth.

Realignment

Anxiety feels like your heart is sprinting while your life stands still. That misalignment—between what’s happening inside and outside—is what wrecks you.

But healing isn’t about escaping. It’s about re-aligning. Sometimes that means running—literally—just to let your body catch up with your soul. Sometimes it means running toward the very thing you feel unworthy of: your mission, your children, your calling.

That’s what I’m choosing now. Not to numb the pain. Not to dismiss the strain. But to keep stepping forward toward purpose.

Guard Your Heart. But Keep It Open.

There’s an ancient proverb that says, “Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” Today, I failed at that. But I also glimpsed the grace in breaking. Because when we break open—not apart—what flows out can be truth, love, clarity.

I don’t have all the answers. My home isn’t always peaceful. My soul still feels sore.

But I’m learning this: love matters most when it costs you something. Purpose matters most when it pulls you out of your lowest point and reminds you what still burns inside.

So, if you’re in the fog—keep walking. If you’re breaking—let it be a breakthrough. And if you’re tired—don’t retreat from your purpose. Let it pull you back to life.

In gratitude and quiet hope, Daniel