Getting Real with Myself (And Why It’s the Best Thing I’ve Ever Done)

Marcus Maxed Stage 1

Building anything starts with a foundation, right? You can’t just slap paint on the walls if the whole house is falling down. That’s where I am right now—stage one of Marcus Maxed. This isn’t about throwing on a band-aid or pretending everything’s fine. This is about stripping it all back, looking at what’s actually wrong, and figuring out why I’m unhappy so I can start tackling it.

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Let me warn you: this isn’t the glamorous part of the journey. This is the holy sht, is this really my life?* part. It’s raw. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also the most important step.

Why Acknowledging What’s Wrong Matters

Here’s the thing: you can’t fix what you won’t face. And trust me, I’ve spent way too long avoiding the hard truths about where I am and how I got here. But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away—it just lets the problems pile up until they’re impossible to ignore.

So, I’m doing the one thing I’ve avoided for years: I’m making a list. Not a to-do list, but a what’s-wrong-with-my-life list. I know, it sounds fun, right? But honestly, it’s been eye-opening.

The List: Getting Real About What’s Not Working

Physically: The Never-Ending Battle Getting Real with Myself: What’s in My Control and What’s Not 

Here’s the thing about living with chronic pain: it forces you to face some hard truths about yourself—especially the physical stuff. There’s the sh*t you can’t control, and then there’s the stuff you could do something about, but you’re not. It’s about owning up, being real, and figuring out how to move forward.

First, the uncontrollable. Chronic pain is the uninvited houseguest that wrecks everything. Fibromyalgia adds its little game of hide-and-seek, moving pain around like it’s trying to win a prize. Then there’s the tinnitus—a never-ending high-pitched screech that turns peace into a pipe dream. All of this combines to make exercise a minefield and physical activity a gamble I usually lose.

But here’s where it gets uncomfortable: some of this is on me. My eating habits? Not great. My weight? It’s been an issue for years. Six months ago, I was 132kg. I used injections to get down to 111kg, which helped, but now I need a different solution—one that doesn’t rely on quick fixes. I need something sustainable. I need to take control of what I can control, even when it feels like the deck is stacked against me.

Not being able to work out properly doesn’t mean I can’t make better choices. It doesn’t mean I can’t find a way to keep moving, even if it’s small steps. I owe myself that much. But let’s be real—this is one hell of a challenge. Chronic pain makes it harder, the fatigue makes it feel impossible, and the frustration of not being able to hit a punchbag or go for a run is infuriating. But none of that excuses me from trying.

This is where it gets real: I’ve got to stop hiding behind what I can’t control and start dealing with what I can. The pain might be here to stay, but the way I eat? The way I approach my health? That’s up to me. It’s not going to be easy, and I’ll probably f**k it up more than once. But it’s about showing up, being honest with myself, and taking it one step at a time.

Because at the end of the day, this is my reality. The pain, the weight, the tinnitus—they’re all part of the deal. But so is my ability to change. To take back control of the things I can and not let the stuff I can’t control define me.

Mentally: The Darkness That Won’t Quit

Let’s talk about the mind. Chronic pain might be a constant physical battle, but the mental side? That’s a whole different beast. Depression doesn’t just knock on the door—it kicks it in and sets up camp. It drags you to the darkest places, whispering all the sh*t you don’t want to hear: You’re not good enough. You’re a burden. This will never get better. And then, just for fun, it adds another layer: What do they think of you? Are they judging you? Do they see you as weak, useless, or just a failure? Paranoia creeps in like an unwelcome guest, making you second-guess every interaction, every word, and every glance.

It’s not just the pain that weighs on me—it’s the endless reminders of my perceived failings. The things I didn’t do. The things I should’ve done differently. The weight of expectations—my own, society’s, and everyone else’s—crushes me. Depression turns every small mistake into a monumental disaster, and my mind happily replays those lowlights on a loop. It’s exhausting. It makes you question everything about yourself, even when deep down, you know some of it isn’t true.

Some nights, it feels like I’m wrestling with my own brain just to make it to morning. The mind is so goddamn cruel sometimes—it drags you to places so low, so desperate, that all you want is peace. Not joy. Not happiness. Just quiet. A break from the endless noise and the crushing weight of negative thoughts.

And anxiety? It’s the overachiever in this twisted mental health mess. Always there, constantly reminding me of everything that could go wrong. Every decision, every interaction, every moment becomes another battle. Together, depression and anxiety are like the ultimate toxic power couple—dragging me down and making sure I stay there.

But here’s the thing: even in those moments of desperation, when the world feels like it’s caving in, I’ve found ways to hold on. They’re not perfect, and they’re not always enough, but they’re something. Some days, it’s as simple as grounding outside, barefoot on the grass, reconnecting with something real. It’s a small reminder that I’m here, that the world is still turning, and that I can still feel something other than pain.

Other days, it’s writing down one thing—just one—that I’m grateful for. It might feel small or forced, but those moments of gratitude are like tiny cracks of light breaking through the darkness. And some days? It’s letting myself cry, scream, or fall apart because, honestly, sometimes you just f**king need to.

But if I’m being real with myself, I know these things aren’t enough anymore. They’ve helped me survive, but surviving isn’t the same as living. The darkness—the depression—it has power. I’ve felt its grip, its ability to drag me into the worst places. But what if I could flip that power around?

What if, instead of letting it destroy me, I could use it to rebuild myself? That’s what this journey is about.

It’s about acknowledging the darkness, not as an enemy, but as a teacher. The pain, the depression—they’ve stripped me bare, shown me my vulnerabilities, and forced me to confront the parts of myself I’d rather ignore. But in that raw honesty, there’s potential. The darkness doesn’t have to win. If I can channel it—if I can take that weight and use it as fuel—I can start to create something better.

Right now, I’m working on a plan to do just that. It’s not about pretending everything’s fine or pushing the pain aside. It’s about facing it head-on, finding ways to turn it into strength, and refusing to let it define me. It’s still a work in progress, but I’m experimenting, learning, and trying to piece together a way forward.

This isn’t just about surviving anymore. It’s about flipping the script, taking the darkness and depression that have held me down, and using them to push me forward. And when I figure it out—when I find the tools and strategies that work—I’m going to share them. Not because I think I have all the answers, but because if I can find a way to turn my mess into momentum, maybe it’ll help someone else do the same.

Work: From 7 Days a Week to Nothing

Let’s talk about work. I’ve always been a grafter—working seven days a week, going above and beyond, busting my ass to impress employers who probably didn’t even notice half the time. And now? I’ve gone from always being on to absolutely nothing. Just… f**king nothing.

Stopping work wasn’t a choice I made—it was forced on me by an accident that wasn’t my fault. And that reality eats me up some days. I’ve always defined myself by my work ethic, my drive, and my ability to deliver. Losing that isn’t just about losing a salary—it’s about losing a part of myself.

The thing is, work has always been more than a job for me. It’s been a place where I could channel my energy, test my limits, and, yes, sometimes crash and burn. I’m ambitious—always have been. But ambition isn’t always the blessing it seems. It comes with a shadow side, and I’ve lived that too.

I’ll admit it: I’m impatient, hot-headed, rash, harsh, and, yeah, sometimes a little arrogant. If a job wasn’t moving forward fast enough, if it didn’t challenge me, or if I felt like I was stuck? I’d lose my sh*t and walk away. I can’t stand stagnation, and I’ve never been good at playing the long game. Instead of working through frustrations, I’d burn bridges. Sometimes it worked out; sometimes it didn’t.

And then there are my bad habits: I take on too much, thinking I can do it all. I try to prove myself to everyone, even people who don’t matter. I can be relentless, pushing myself harder and harder until I break—like I have now. My accident might have been the tipping point, but the truth is, I was heading for burnout long before it happened.

But here’s the thing—I see these flaws now. I know where I’ve gone wrong. And while some of this is just who I am, that doesn’t mean I can’t work on it. I can be impatient, but I can learn to pause and reflect. I can be hot-headed, but I can practice holding my tongue. I can be rash, but I can take a breath and think before I act.

I don’t want to lose the fire that drives me, but I want to learn how to use it better. Because right now, I can’t go back to the grind—not the way I used to. Chronic pain makes that impossible. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find a differentway. It means I have to work smarter, not harder.

I’ve become a beta test bed—Maxed X, let’s call it—for everything and anything that might help. Lay it on me. If it works and gets me closer to being back in some kind of work, then let’s go full steam ahead. If it fails, derails, or crashes and burns? Fine. I’ll pick up the pieces and move on to the next thing. Because I’m not giving up on this.

Work is still part of who I am. But now, it’s about doing it differently—acknowledging my flaws, owning my habits, and making the changes I need to move forward. It’s not about pretending I’m perfect or that I’ve got it all figured out. It’s about being real, doing the work on myself, and proving that even with the challenges, I can still build something meaningful.

Life: A Patchwork of Moments

If I’m being honest, my life has been a bit of a rollercoaster. Not the fun kind where you scream and laugh, but the kind where you’re clinging on for dear life, wondering when it’s going to slow down.

As a kid, I was never home much, and I always felt like I had something to prove—especially to my dad. No matter what I did, it was never good enough. I chased his approval like it was the only thing that mattered, but it always felt just out of reach. School wasn’t much better. All-boys grammar school? Brutal. If you weren’t clever, you were branded stupid. And me? They didn’t even know what dyslexia was back then—just assumed you were dumb and treated you like you didn’t matter.

But it wasn’t all bad. There were moments of light, even then. Sailing and swimming saved me as a teenager. Out on the water or in the pool, I felt free. Those were the times I didn’t have to prove myself to anyone. It was just me and the rhythm of the waves or the water. For a little while, I could breathe.

Fast forward to adulthood, and my life’s felt like a patchwork quilt—bits and pieces stitched together in no particular order. I’ve lived everywhere, never really settled, and never found a place to call home. On the surface, it sounds adventurous. A new place, a new start, again and again. But the reality? It’s exhausting. Constantly moving, searching, and running from...what, exactly? I’m still not sure.

The thing about patchwork is that it’s not neat or polished. It’s rough around the edges, made up of mismatched pieces that somehow fit together to form a whole. That’s my life. A chaotic mix of highs and lows, wins and losses, freedom and fear. Some pieces I’m proud of; others I’d rather forget. But they’re all part of the same story—my story.

And as I look back, I can see my flaws—the things I could have done differently, the decisions I might’ve made another way. But here’s the thing: I’m not going to dwell on them. Those mistakes and missteps have defined who I am today—for better or worse. And while I can’t change the past, I can work on the future. I can build a life with more happiness, more peace, and more laughter.

The question is: what does happiness even look like for me? Honestly? I don’t know right now. I can look back at past happy moments, but in the present, life feels like a grind. Every day, it’s the same—letting all the sh*t take priority while the things that really matter, like self-care and self-love, take a backseat. That’s something I’m working on changing.

That’s why I’ve started working through NLP (Neuro-Linguistic Programming). To me, NLP is like affirmations on steroids. It’s not just about thinking positively—it’s about identifying the limiting beliefs that have been holding you back, ripping them out at the roots, and replacing them with positive, empowering beliefs. But here’s the catch: you can’t skip the hard stuff. You have to face your life’s issues, your trauma, your labels—whatever brand of baggage you’re carrying. You have to own that sh*t. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep carrying it.

And for me, the choice is clear: I choose happiness and change. I choose to confront the tough stuff so I can move forward. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. And as I work through this, I’ll share what helps, because if it works for me, maybe it’ll help someone else too.

Relationships: A Mixed Bag

Let’s get real about relationships. I’ve had plenty—some great, some not-so-great, and, if I’m being honest, probably one too many one-night stands back in the day. What does that say about me? Maybe it was a fear of commitment. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was my way of filling some kind of void—a lack of love or my inability to properly express it. Whatever the reason, I know relationships are an area where I’ve got work to do.

Looking back, I can see patterns. I wasn’t always the best communicator. I’ve struggled to open up, to let people in, or to deal with my own sh*t in a way that didn’t spill over into my relationships. Sometimes I pushed people away, sometimes I clung too tightly, and sometimes I just didn’t know what the hell I was doing. And honestly? That’s a tough pill to swallow.

But one thing I can’t brush aside is being a dad. I have three amazing daughters with my ex-partner, and let’s just say that relationship could use some serious TLC. Co-parenting isn’t easy, and neither is navigating the lingering tension and unspoken words that come with a separation. But being a better dad? That’s not negotiable—it’s my priority. It has to be.

My girls deserve the best version of me. They deserve a dad who shows up—not just physically, but emotionally.

A dad who listens, who supports them, and who leads by example.

Am I there yet? No. But I’m working on it. I’m determined to be better, to show them love in ways I haven’t before, and to be someone they can rely on, no matter what.

The thing about relationships—whether they’re romantic, platonic, or familial—is that they’re a mirror. They reflect the parts of you that you’re proud of, but also the parts you’d rather hide. And for me, that mirror’s shown me some things I need to face. Fear of vulnerability. Difficulty expressing love. An instinct to run when things get tough. These aren’t easy things to confront, but if I don’t, I’ll just keep repeating the same mistakes.

So, here’s where I’m at: I’m owning my part in all of it—the good, the bad, and the messy in between. I’m working on being a better dad, a better co-parent, and, maybe someday, a better partner. Because while relationships might be a mixed bag, they’re also one of the most important parts of life. And I want to get this right. Not perfect, but better.

Happiness: Figuring Out What It Really Means

Let’s talk about happiness. Everyone seems to be chasing it, selling it, or pretending they’ve already found it. But what is it, really? I’m not sure I’ve ever fully understood. I’ve spent years looking for it in all the wrong places—work, achievements, relationships, material stuff. You name it, I’ve tried it. And you know what? None of it stuck.

The truth is, real happiness doesn’t come from a shopping spree, a promotion, or the bottom of a cocktail glass. Trust me, I’ve gone down those roads. It’s like putting a Band-Aid on a broken bone—it might distract you for a bit, but it doesn’t fix the problem. The cracks are still there, waiting to widen when life throws the next curveball your way.

Right now, I’m trying to figure out what happiness even looks like for me.

I’m listening Mo Gawdat’s book on happiness because I need to get this sh*t sorted. The way I see it, happiness isn’t just a nice-to-have—it’s the foundation. If you figure out what truly makes you happy, everything else in life starts to fall into place. Without it? You’re just surviving, not living. You’re existing, not thriving.

But here’s the thing: happiness isn’t going to show up on its own. You’ve got to dig for it. You’ve got to do the work. And part of that work is being brutally honest with yourself about where you’re at and what’s holding you back.

So, I’m starting small—taking a hard look at the moments in my life where I felt real happiness. What was I doing? Who was I with? What made those moments different? I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m paying attention. Because if I can figure out what brings me genuine joy, I can start to build a life that revolves around those things, instead of chasing fleeting distractions.

This isn’t about perfection or having it all figured out. It’s about learning, experimenting, and finding what works. And the best part? It’s never too late to start.

Happiness, to me, isn’t just about feeling good—it’s about creating a life where the good outweighs the bad. A life where I’m not constantly grinding against the weight of the world but finding space for peace, laughter, and connection. It’s a process, and I’m in the thick of it.

What does happiness look like for you? If you don’t know yet, that’s okay. Maybe, like me, you’re just starting to ask the question. But I’m telling you—it’s worth figuring out.

Your Turn: Get Real with Yourself

I’ve just ripped myself apart here—been brutal, raw, and honest, sharing things I never thought I’d say out loud. I’ve laid out everything that’s wrong in my life, and now it’s your turn.

Here’s the deal: if you want to change your life, the first step is to get real. Stop bullsh*tting yourself. Stop hiding behind excuses and pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. Grab a notebook, a piece of paper, or even the back of an envelope, and write it all down.

Yes, I know—lists. Some people love them; I don’t. But I’ve learned that breaking things down into sections makes them less overwhelming. It gives me something to focus on, and when I make progress in one area, I’ve noticed it often ripples into others in positive ways.

Make a list of every single thing that’s dragging you down, p*ssing you off, or holding you back. The things you hate, the things you avoid, and the things you know, deep down, need to change. Be brutal. Be raw. Be real.

Yes, it’ll be uncomfortable. Yes, it’ll feel like sh*t. But here’s the truth: you can’t fix what you refuse to face. Once it’s all out there—messy and unapologetically real—you’ve got a starting point. And that’s where change begins.

Now, I’m not going to abandon you at this point. The whole point of this journey for me isn’t just about healing my accident injuries. It’s bigger than that. It’s about looking at who I am, what I am, and leveling up my game in all aspects of my life. Why? Because I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want to thrive. I want to stop fighting every aspect of my life and ignoring the issues that weigh me down.

I don’t want to be broken forever—I want to be whole. I already know some of the pieces to my puzzle, but I’m still finding more on this journey. And the thing is, when I find something that fits for me, I’m going to share it with you. Because maybe it’ll fit into your life too. Or maybe you’ll take something from my experience that helps in your own way.

Together, we can all be better. And for me, that starts with being happier. Happiness isn’t a luxury; it’s the foundation for everything else. If I can find it, if I can figure out how to rebuild from the ground up, then maybe we all can.

Tomorrow, I’ll look at the next steps in this journey—what I already have in my arsenal, what I’m looking to integrate, and what I’m sampling along the way. And, as always, I’ll share it

with you.