Welcome to this month’s Musical Monday Musings, where I take a song from the soundtrack of my life and explore the truths it reveals about the journey of becoming a man, husband, father, and human being.
Some songs don’t just play in the background of our lives—they haunt us. They sit in the deep places of the soul, waiting for the right moment to emerge and force us to reckon with the things we’ve tried to ignore.
Today’s song is one of those.
Johnny Cash’s cover of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” is, in my opinion, one of the most hauntingly honest songs ever recorded. Originally written by Trent Reznor, the song was already raw—an aching cry of pain, addiction, and self-destruction. But when Cash recorded it at the end of his life, he transformed it into something deeper.
His voice, worn and weathered from time, turned it into a reckoning—a final confession from a man looking back on the weight of his choices. When I first heard Cash’s version, it didn’t just hit me—it stopped me in my tracks.
Because, at the time, I was living inside that song.
The Voice of Regret
“I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel…”
That first line is a gut punch.
There was a season of my life when I felt trapped—dissatisfied, disconnected, and restless. I had a good life, but I wasn’t happy. And instead of looking inward for the source of that pain, I started looking outward. I told myself all kinds of stories—about my marriage, about my wife, about why I wasn’t getting what I needed.
A part of me wanted to escape.
And if I’m being honest, there was another part that wanted to burn it all down. To hurt everything around me just to feel something again. That’s the dark temptation of regret—it tricks you into thinking that destruction is a form of freedom.
When Johnny Cash sang “Hurt,” it wasn’t just a song. It was a man looking back at his life and telling the truth about it. A truth I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
The Temptation to Run
Around this time, I picked up Johnny Cash’s autobiography. I wanted to understand more about the man behind the voice—the man who could sing about regret with such unbearable weight.
Reading about his life was almost too close for comfort. He wrote about his struggles, his addiction, his regrets. He left his first wife, Vivian, for June Carter, believing she was the answer to his restlessness. But even after finding love with June, he carried the same wounds, the same ghosts.
Because no matter where you go, you take yourself with you.
That realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been telling myself that maybe I needed a way out. That maybe I deserved to be happy somewhere else, with someone else, in a new story where I wasn’t the frustrated, disconnected version of myself.
“I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar’s chair…”
That line unraveled me.
Because I was sitting in my liar’s chair, blaming everything outside of me for the way I felt inside. The dissatisfaction, the emptiness, the resentment—none of it was coming from my marriage.
It was coming from me.
The Reckoning
“What have I become, my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know goes away in the end…”
Regret is a slow poison. It doesn’t just haunt you—it consumes you. And if you’re not careful, it can convince you to destroy the very things you’ll miss the most.
That’s what Johnny Cash was singing about. And when I really listened, I realized something:
If I ran, I wouldn’t just be running from my marriage.
I’d be running from myself.
I had a choice.
I could keep blaming my wife and my circumstances, keep fantasizing about an escape, keep pretending that the problem was out there instead of in here.
Or I could stop running.
I could turn and face myself.
A Song About Redemption
That’s what I love most about Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt.” It’s not just a song about regret—it’s a song about redemption.
It’s a man standing at the end of his life, owning his choices, but still here.
That was the turning point for me. I realized that if I kept running, I would end up just like the man in that song—full of regret, looking back on a life of choices I couldn’t undo.
But if I stopped running, if I took responsibility for my own happiness, if I looked my own shame, resentment, and fear in the face…
I might actually be free.
So that’s what I did.
I chose to stay. Not just in my marriage, but in my life.
I stopped blaming my wife for my unhappiness. I stopped telling myself the story that a new life would solve my problems. Instead, I confronted the things I’d been avoiding, the truths I didn’t want to admit. And in doing so, I started to rebuild—not just my marriage, but myself.
What Are You Waiting For?
Even now, years later, Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” still gives me chills. But it no longer feels like my anthem.
Now, it feels like a reminder.
A reminder of what regret costs.
A reminder of what happens when we believe the lie that happiness is somewhere else.
A reminder that redemption is always possible.
Trent Reznor, who originally wrote the song, once said that when he saw Johnny Cash’s version and the music video that accompanied it, the song no longer felt like his.
“It belongs to him now.”
And in many ways, that’s true. Cash took Reznor’s words and infused them with decades of life, loss, and wisdom. He turned it into a universal story—a story of brokenness, regret, and ultimately, the hope of redemption.
So let me ask you:
What are you running from?
What are you waiting for?
Because life doesn’t happen when you wait.
It happens when you decide to stop running and face yourself.
And when you do, you might just find that redemption was waiting for you all along.
Your Next Step: You Don’t Have to Stay Stuck
If you’re feeling what I described in this article—restless, disconnected, tempted to run—I see you.
I know what it’s like to stare down a life that doesn’t feel like your own anymore. To wrestle with regret, to feel trapped between the man you thought you’d be and the one looking back at you in the mirror. To wonder if the answer is somewhere out there—a new life, a new partner, a new escape.
But I also know this: running won’t save you.
What will? Facing it. Facing yourself.
That’s not some vague platitude. It’s the hard-earned truth of a man who nearly burned his own life down before realizing that everything I was looking for—peace, confidence, freedom—was never outside of me. It was inside, buried under the weight of blame, resentment, and shame.
The good news? You don’t have to dig through it alone.
If this hit you in the chest, if you’re nodding along but wondering what the heck do I do now?—let’s talk.
I work with men who feel exactly like this. Men who are tired of circling the same frustrations, who are ready to stop running and start leading—their lives, their relationships, and themselves.
I offer a complimentary 1-on-1 session where we’ll talk about where you’re stuck, why you feel this way, and most importantly—what to do about it.
No fluff. No pressure. Just real conversation about what’s next.
If you’re ready to stop running and start reclaiming your life, request your session here:
Or, if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay. But ask yourself: How much longer are you willing to stay stuck?
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