I've been in the mud hole.

I grew up in St. George, Utah — a small town where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew your business. When you're a kid in a place like that, your reputation follows you everywhere. Mine got decided early.

I was labeled a troublemaker. Told I'd never amount to anything. And the thing about labels — especially the ones put on you when you're young — is that you start to grow into them. Not because they're true, but because you stop believing anything else is possible.

I served a mission for my church. Not because I wanted to — because it was expected. That was the pattern of my life for a long time: doing what was expected, not what I knew I was meant to do. When I came back, I made some decisions that got me removed from the church. And with that, the friends I thought I had disappeared too. That's when the slide toward what I call the mud hole of life really began.

At 22, I married the love of my life. My true North Star. We came home from our honeymoon to a phone call that changed everything — her OBGYN had found precancerous cells and told us if we wanted a family, we needed to start right away.

So we did. I have four amazing children — three girls and a boy. I also have an adopted son, but that's a story for him to tell.

With a young family to provide for, I was handed a wrench and pointed toward my family's automotive shop. This is how my dad did it. I accepted my fate. I crashed straight into the mud hole — and I didn't even realize it yet.

At 30, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Before I could blink, I was rushed into surgery and treatments. My world collapsed.

My loving wife hung on for dear life while I shut down completely. I became angry. Mean. Nasty. Ugly inside and out. For years I lived that way — dark, closed off, and at my lowest moments, contemplating the easy way out.

I'm not going to dress that up. It was that bad.

At 44, I finally said enough.

I reached out for help. I went to therapy. I started attending seminars. I invested in coaching. And something remarkable happened — everyone who had been waiting for me to ask for help showed up. They hooked on and pulled me out. They put me on a new path. A path of purpose.

Coaching, faith, and my North Star saved my life. I am not exaggerating when I say that.

Now I'm 46. And I have just started to live my life.