You Are One Of A Kind

You are "One Of A Kind"… and I need you to really hear me right now. Not just read these words with your eyes, eel them. Let them hit your chest like bricks dropped from the sky. Because what I’m about to tell you... it’s not poetry, it’s not inspiration junk, it’s not some feel-good morning quote. It’s real. It’s blood. It’s breath. It’s what’s left when everything else is stripped away.

You were a sperm cell once. Yeah, I said it. One. Single. Cell. Racing. Crashing. Crawling through something none of us even remember. You ever think about that? You were in a war before you were even born. One out of hundreds of millions… and you won. You didn’t win a prize. You didn’t win a medal. You won existence.

That means something. I don’t care how many people walked out of your life, how many voices told you that you’re nothing, how many nights you spent curled in a ball asking God or the ceiling or your pillow to please it stop... because the ache is too loud and the silence is even louder...

You were chosen before you even knew what choosing meant.

When I was nine, my father left. I didn’t understand it then. I just remember the sound of the door clicking behind him. That click… it broke something. I waited on the porch that day with a backpack full of drawings, because I thought he was coming back... he didn’t. That’s the first time I realized the world doesn't slow down for your pain.

And yet... here I am.

Every single day since then I’ve carried that backpack inside me. It’s full now. Not with drawings. But with rejections, quiet tears, moments when I had to act strong because everyone needed me to be. When my mom was folding laundry and wiping away tears with the same hands, pretending she was fine... I became a man in silence.

You ever feel that? Like you're the only one holding up the roof but nobody notices until it crashes down?

Some nights I lie on the floor, palms flat, just feeling the ground. Because when you’ve fallen enough times, you stop trusting anything above you… so you get close to the bottom. It’s safer there. But then... I remember.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. None of us were. We fought to exist.

We didn't just appear.

We battled our way into life.

I think about that a lot… especially on the days when my bank account’s in the red, when the people I love don’t answer their phones, when the city feels like it’s chewing me up and spitting me out into alleyways with no names… I close my eyes and I imagine that first race. That microscopic chaos. The noise. The push. The struggle.

And then I remember... I made it. Through that. Through that.

So what the hell is this?

This pain?

This loneliness?

This doubt?

If I outran millions of others just to be, then there must be something in me made of grit. Something divine. Something no failure, no heartbreak, no lost job, no funeral, no betrayal can erase.

I remember this one time, I was maybe twenty-four, working three jobs. Daytime warehouse. Evenings at a diner. Weekends I played guitar on sidewalks just to scrape together enough to cover rent and maybe send a little to my kid brother in college. I had holes in my shoes and calluses on my fingers, but I showed up. Every damn day. Because quitting never felt like an option. You know why? Because something in me refused to forget who I am.

And who I am, is a survivor.

A walking, breathing proof that something miraculous happened inside my mother’s womb and the product of that miracle, is me.

People look in mirrors and see flaws. Acne. Wrinkles. Fat. Scars. But what I see? I see the face of a warrior who’s already beaten the odds before taking his first breath. And I want you to start seeing yourself the same way.

I want you to remember the nights you didn’t think you’d survive, and you did.

I want you to remember the mornings when lifting your head off the pillow felt like dragging a mountain, and you did it anyway.

I want you to remember the time your heart shattered and somehow, some way, you got up the next day and faced the world like it didn’t nearly kill you...

That’s strength. That’s you.

People think strength looks like muscles and confidence and big talk. No. Strength is crying in the shower and still showing up to work. Strength is sitting in a quiet room full of noise inside your head and choosing not to scream. Strength is telling yourself I’m not okay and still putting on your shoes to fight another day.

That’s why I say, we are one of a kind. Every one of us.

Because nothing about our existence is random. Nothing.

Do you hear me?

That pain you carry, it’s not weakness. It’s the evidence of your battles.

And that smile you force, it’s not fake. It’s bravery.

You may feel broken. But you’re not. You’re bent. You’re weathered. You’ve been through storms others wouldn't survive. But you’re still standing.

So, no, don’t you ever tell yourself you’re ordinary.

You are rare.

Unrepeatable.

You’ve already proven the impossible once. When you became you.

So what if they don’t understand you?

So what if the people you gave your heart to dropped it like it meant nothing?

So what if you’re still trying to figure it all out?

You exist. You persist. You resist.

And that… is enough.

You may have scars, but every one tells a story of survival.

You may have cracks, but that’s how the light gets in.

You may fall again. You probably will.

So what?

Falling isn’t failure.

Staying down is.

And you, reader, stranger, kindred soul, you didn’t come this far to stay down.

You came here to rise.

Because inside you is the memory of the greatest race ever run. And you were the victor.

Never forget that.

Even when the nights are long. Even when no one calls. Even when the world feels like it’s forgotten your name…

You are one of a kind.

And I see you.

I see you.