By John Valentik, MS, CSCS, NASM-PES, CES

There were plenty of reasons not to write this book.

At different points, I questioned whether it was too personal. Too vulnerable. Whether people would judge me, judge my dad, or misunderstand it. I thought about the people connected to the story—and what it would feel like to have parts of my life out in the open.

Those thoughts could have kept it on the back burner.

But at the same time, a different question started to surface:

What happens if I don’t share it?

Because the truth is, the experiences that shaped this book—loss, heartbreak, adversity, but also healing, hope, and growth—aren’t unique to me. They show up in different forms for all of us. And while everyone’s story looks different, the emotions underneath are often more similar than we think.

We all go through difficult seasons where life doesn’t go according to plan.
We all face moments where we feel stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure how to move forward.

In those moments, it’s important to remember one of the most powerful truths: we are not alone. That’s what ultimately pushed me to share my story.

Not because I have everything figured out—because I don’t. I don’t have perfect answers. But I do have an imperfect process that I worked through during one of the most difficult seasons of my life. Even though the story may be different, my hope is that others can learn from the do’s and don’ts of my experiences and find a light in their own life.

Regardless of the situation—whether it’s the loss of a loved one or another life change like losing a job, going through a divorce, or simply struggling—there are times where challenges can feel insurmountable. In those moments, my hope is that people recognize that any positive step is still progress.

This is about small shifts—perspective, habits, mindset—that can slowly help you move forward, even when progress feels minimal.

There’s also something else I came to realize.

The moments we’re most hesitant to share are often the ones that have the greatest potential to help someone else.

Not in a dramatic, life-changing way every time—but in a quiet, meaningful way. A sentence that resonates. A chapter that makes someone pause. A reminder that what they’re feeling is valid.

If this book does that for even a handful of people, then sharing it was worth it.

At the same time, writing this wasn’t just about helping others. It was also part of my own process.

Putting thoughts into words forces a different level of reflection. It brings clarity to things that feel scattered. It creates space to process. There were many moments where revisiting parts of my life gave me a clearer understanding of how I became who I am—and challenged assumptions I didn’t even realize I had.

So why share my story?

Because keeping it to myself didn’t feel right.
Because someone else might need to hear it.
Because growth and healing can still come, even in the darkest times.

We’re still here. Still breathing. Still moving forward—whether it feels like it or not.

If you’re going through a challenging season right now, I hope you take something from this—not just from the book, but from the reminder that you don’t have to have everything figured out to keep going.

And if you’re interested in reading more, Broken, but Breathing is now available.