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The Sober Sessions - Joel Anthony, Boston, MA (2025)

09/02/2025

If you’re gonna let somebody use you, let it be God.

Because the truth is, people will use you. They’ll drain your time, your energy, your love, your resources—and leave you empty. Most of the time, when people “use” you, it’s for their own gain. It’s selfish. It’s short-term. And when you’ve got nothing left to give, they’re gone.

But here’s the raw reality— when God uses you, it’s never to deplete you, it’s to expand you. He doesn’t use you to strip you down, He uses you to build you up. He puts you in positions where your scars become someone else’s survival guide, where your story becomes someone else’s strength. When God uses you, He multiplies your life—your pain, your past, your lessons—they all get recycled into purpose.

And don’t get it twisted—being used by God doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes it feels heavy. Sometimes it feels lonely. Sometimes it feels like you’re carrying a load you didn’t ask for. But that weight? That’s purpose. That’s impact. That’s God shaping you into something bigger than yourself.

So yeah, if you’re gonna let somebody use you, let it be Him. Because everyone else will take from you, but God will take what you’ve got and turn it into something eternal.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

I’m a very observant person. So if you think I didn’t notice, trust me—I did. I just chose silence over drama.

The brutal truth is— people mistake quiet for clueless. They think if you don’t call it out, you didn’t catch it. But what they don’t understand is that observation is power. I clock the energy shifts. I catch the subliminal disses. I notice the way your tone changes, the side comments, the shade disguised as “jokes.” I see it all—I just don’t always react.

Why? Because not everything deserves a response. Sometimes the most dangerous person in the room is the one who notices everything and says nothing. Silence keeps me in control. It keeps me from playing into someone else’s chaos. And it exposes people faster than confrontation ever could—because when you don’t react, they keep showing their hand.

So don’t get it twisted. My silence isn’t ignorance—it’s discipline. It’s me protecting my peace, choosing growth over petty drama, and letting people write their own exit script.

I’m observant enough to see it, and wise enough to keep quiet. And that combination is lethal.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

Spoiler: God wins.

That’s the part people forget when they’re in the middle of the chaos. When life feels like it’s beating the hell out of you. When the bills are stacked, the relationships are broken, the depression is heavy, and the addictions are clawing at your back. In those moments, it feels like darkness is running the show. It feels like the devil’s got the upper hand.

But here’s the brutal reality— God doesn’t lose. Ever. The scoreboard might look lopsided in the middle of the game, but the outcome has already been decided. The enemy can attack, distract, and delay—but he can’t win. Because God’s not just playing for the moment—He’s already written the ending.

Your storm? God’s bigger.
Your failure? God’s stronger.
Your doubt? God’s already factored it into the plan.

Every loss, every setback, every time you thought it was over—God was still in control. And when the dust settles, when the smoke clears, when the story’s told—the victory belongs to Him. Always.

So yeah, spoiler alert: God wins. And if you’re rolling with Him, that means you win too. It might not look like it right now. It might not feel like it right now. But the fight is fixed. And the ending’s already written in your favor.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

The way I detach myself from people is probably the scariest part about me. Because I can love you to death and still never speak to you again.

The raw truth is— my love runs deep, but so do my boundaries. I’ll give you everything—my loyalty, my trust, my energy, my time. But the second I see betrayal, disrespect, or fake energy? That switch flips. And once it flips, there’s no going back.

Most people think detachment is cold. It’s not—it’s survival. Detachment is what protects me from living in cycles of disappointment. It’s what saves me from drowning in someone else’s chaos. It’s what allows me to move forward even when my heart wants to stay. And the scary part? I don’t do second chances once I’m gone.

See, I can love you with everything in me, but I refuse to keep loving you at the cost of myself. If being tied to you means losing my peace, sacrificing my growth, or dimming my worth, then I’ll let the love die before I let myself die in it.

So yeah, the scariest part about me isn’t my anger, my grind, or my silence—it’s my ability to disappear. To detach completely. To walk away without looking back. And when I do, it won’t be with hate—it’ll be with nothing.

And nothing is scarier than love that goes quiet forever.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

Before I die,
I wanna change someones life..

09/02/2025

I wasn’t afraid to get sober. I was afraid to fail—because I had failed so many times before.

See, most people think the hardest part is putting down the bottle, the pill, the needle. But for me, the real battle was the shame that came with all the times I swore “this is it” and still fell back. Every relapse felt like proof that I’d never get it right. Every broken promise to myself and to the people I loved carved another scar into my belief that maybe I just wasn’t built for sobriety.

The raw reality is— failure wears on you. It doesn’t just break your body, it breaks your spirit. And when you’ve failed enough times, you start to wonder if trying again is even worth it. That’s the fear most people don’t talk about—not the fear of getting sober, but the fear of trying again and watching yourself crash and burn.

But here’s what I learned: every failure was a lesson in disguise. Every time I fell flat, I was gathering the tools I’d eventually use to climb out for good. Sobriety isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence. It’s about being willing to try again even when the shame is screaming that you’re not worth it.

I wasn’t afraid to get sober—I was afraid to believe in myself one more time. But I did. And that’s the difference.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

🛑 Your child doesn’t need to know. 🛑

They don’t need to know you’re behind on rent. They don’t need to know how heavy the weight of your financial struggles is. They don’t need to know about the fights, the betrayals, or broken relationships with family. They don’t need to carry the hurt of your past, or the burdens of your present.

Their world should be simple. Safe. Protected. Childhood isn’t supposed to be a boot camp for life’s problems. Their job is to laugh, to explore, to dream, to make mistakes and learn—not to pick up pieces of a world they weren’t ready to hold.

Every time you let them see your chaos, even just a little, you risk teaching them fear, doubt, and worry too early. You risk robbing them of wonder, curiosity, and joy. Protect their peace like your life depends on it—because in a way, it does. You’re shaping not just their present, but the blueprint for how they’ll handle everything later in life.

Be strong enough to hide your struggle, at least from them. Be disciplined enough to carry the weight quietly. Be brave enough to put their innocence above your ego, your pride, your stress. Because they deserve it. Because love isn’t just about giving them things—it’s about giving them freedom from your storms.

Let them be kids. Let them dream. Let them grow without carrying your world on their small shoulders.

Protect their peace. 💜

—j. anthony |

09/02/2025

I’m at the point in my life where I don’t want to hear unsolicited advice—especially from people who aren’t living a life I’d ever want to live.

The cold truth is— too many people are quick to hand out blueprints they’ve never built with. They’ll tell you how to run your relationship when theirs is in shambles. They’ll tell you how to get rich when they’re broke. They’ll tell you how to stay disciplined while they can’t even keep promises to themselves. That’s not wisdom—that’s noise.

I don’t want advice from people who’ve never walked through fire. I don’t want guidance from someone who’s never built, never failed, never stood back up when life knocked them on their ass. Because theory and experience aren’t the same thing. And I’ve had enough of voices that sound good but hold no weight.

At this stage in my life, I only take input from people who live what they speak. People whose results I respect. People who’ve earned scars and turned them into lessons. If I wouldn’t trade lives with you, why the hell would I take advice from you?

So yeah—keep your unsolicited advice. Unless your actions back up your words, I’m not listening. My energy is too valuable to waste on noise.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

Learn to say: that’s on you.

Your behavior? That’s on you. The way you move? That’s on you. The choices you make, the way you live, the consequences you face—it’s all on you. Too many of us carry weight that doesn’t belong to us. We absorb other people’s pain, their drama, their reckless decisions, like it’s our job to fix them.

The brutal reality is— you can’t save people from themselves. You can guide, you can support, you can warn—but at the end of the day, their actions are theirs. And if you keep carrying that weight, you’ll drown in problems that were never yours to begin with.

This is where boundaries come in. Boundaries aren’t cruelty—they’re clarity. They separate what’s yours from what isn’t. They remind you: my peace, my time, my energy are not dumping grounds for other people’s chaos. You don’t have to internalize their mistakes, you don’t have to own their excuses, and you damn sure don’t have to suffer for choices you didn’t make.

So yeah—learn to say that’s on you. Say it without guilt. Say it without hesitation. Because once you stop absorbing pain that isn’t yours, you finally have the strength to deal with what is yours. And that’s the only load you were ever meant to carry.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

Never respond to insults.

Because the main purpose of an insulter is simple—they want to bait you. They want to pull you out of character, make you act without thinking, and drag you down into their level. They don’t want dialogue, they want chaos. And if you take the bait, they win.

The raw reality is— silence is the biggest power move you’ve got. You frustrate them when you don’t bite. You confuse them when you don’t clap back. You disarm them when you refuse to let their words dictate your actions. Insults only land if you catch them. If you leave them hanging, they lose all their weight.

People forget this: attention is oxygen. Insults are just sparks waiting for fuel. The second you respond, you’re giving them fire. But when you stay quiet? That flame dies out in their own hands. And nothing is more humiliating to someone looking for war than realizing they can’t even get you to swing.

So yeah—never respond to insults. Protect your energy, guard your peace, and frustrate them with your silence. That’s not weakness—that’s strategy. Because sometimes the loudest flex is saying nothing at all.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

Not all hustle is loud.

Some of us aren’t doing this for claps, likes, or pats on the back. We’re not chasing internet fame or trying to prove a point to strangers. Some of us are grinding for something much heavier—for our families, for our kids, for our future.

The raw reality is— the loudest hustlers usually burn out first. They want recognition more than results. They want applause more than progress. But the ones who move in silence? They’re dangerous. Because their focus isn’t split between work and validation. Their grind is pure. Their why is real.

When your motivation is survival, when it’s breaking generational curses, when it’s making sure your kids never see the same darkness you came from—you don’t need noise. You don’t need approval. You just need progress.

And that’s why some hustles stay quiet. Because it’s not about being seen—it’s about building something that lasts long after the lights go out.

So don’t confuse silence with weakness. The ones you don’t hear about are usually the ones you’ll never catch. Because while the crowd is watching who’s “popping” right now, the quiet ones are stacking wins for the long game.

Not all hustle is loud. Some of us are too locked in building the future to care about applause in the present.

— j. anthony |

09/02/2025

Most of the enemies you have are people you once helped in life.

Think about that for a second. You gave them your time, your energy, your advice, maybe even your money. You lifted them when they couldn’t stand on their own. And now? They’re the same ones throwing shade, spreading lies, or hoping for your downfall.

The brutal truth is— entitlement breeds enemies. The more you give, the more some people expect. And when you finally stop pouring into them, they don’t remember the hundreds of times you came through—they remember the one time you didn’t. They twist your “no” into betrayal, your boundary into disrespect, your growth into arrogance.

It hurts, but it’s real. Most of the hate you’ll ever face won’t come from strangers—it’ll come from the ones who once sat at your table. The ones who knew your heart but still chose to flip on you. That’s why betrayal cuts deeper than opposition. Strangers can’t break you like that. Only people you once helped can.

So yeah, most of your enemies are people you once helped. Don’t regret helping them—it showed your character. But don’t regret cutting them off either—it revealed theirs.

— j. anthony |

The Sober Sessions - Joel Anthony

09/02/2025

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