Everything difficult that enters your life is a roommate with a double-edged sword. Disability can break you or forge resilience. Rage can poison you or fuel justice. Addiction can destroy you or teach you about surrender. Trauma can paralyze you or clarify what matters. You can’t evict them. Meditation won’t make them leave. Therapy won’t cure them. Positive thinking won’t banish them. They’re permanent residents now. The only question that matters: Are you the landlord, or are they running the household? This is the framework a disabled Navy veteran discovered after a drunk driver left him in a coma, the police said there was nothing they could do, and he started popping Oxys like Pez. It’s what he learned through Vipassana silence and ayahuasca visions. It’s how he’s building two organizations from the back of a truck while negotiating daily with pain, rage, and the whisper of pills. Not overcoming. Not healing. Not becoming whole again. Managing. Because the roommates are still here. The trach tube is permanent. The chronic pain doesn’t leave. The rage at injustice is justified. The addiction whispers every single day. But he decides who runs the household. And that choice—made new every morning—is the only freedom that matters when nothing else will leave. This is how MF are forged & why thats exactly what this mission required.