After wrestling with myself for six months, I began medical

In the words of Jack Irons, we hear the testimony of struggle, vulnerability, and the fragile search for renewal: “After wrestling with myself for six months, I began medical treatment. During that time I started a band with some friends of mine called Jack’s Car, but that didn’t last.” Though simple in phrasing, this confession carries the weight of the human condition—the battle between the self and its own suffering, the search for healing, and the longing for creation even in the shadow of pain.

The phrase wrestling with myself is a cry as old as humanity. It recalls Jacob wrestling with the angel in the night, refusing to let go until he received a blessing. To wrestle with oneself is to face the hidden adversary within—the doubts, fears, illnesses, and shadows that gnaw at the spirit. For Irons, this struggle endured half a year before he sought medical treatment, showing how difficult it can be for one to admit vulnerability, to acknowledge the need for help. The courage here is not in triumph, but in the humility to finally seek healing.

The turn to medical treatment is itself an act of bravery. For many, to reach out for help feels like surrender, yet in truth it is the first step toward victory. Just as a soldier wounded on the battlefield must accept the aid of the medic, so too must the wounded soul accept care. Irons’s words remind us that healing is not a solitary endeavor but a shared one, that medicine and compassion exist to lift the fallen when they cannot rise alone.

Yet even in the midst of this struggle, Irons sought the spark of creation. He began a band, called Jack’s Car, with his friends. Though it did not endure, the act itself was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. In the valley of hardship, he reached for music, for fellowship, for the beauty of shared rhythm and sound. The band may not have lasted, but the attempt itself was healing, for creation is medicine of another kind—balm for the soul when the body falters.

History offers us countless parallels. Consider Vincent van Gogh, who battled inner turmoil throughout his life. Though his pain was deep and relentless, he still reached for canvas and brush, producing works that illuminated the world with color and fire. Like Irons forming his band, Van Gogh’s art was not about permanence or fame in his lifetime, but about survival—an act of creation in defiance of despair. In both men we see the truth: that even fragile acts of artistry are victories when born in the face of darkness.

The deeper meaning of Irons’s words is that not every struggle ends in triumph, and not every creation endures—but both still matter. The band may not have lasted, but the courage to try, to reach outward, was itself a step toward life. The medical treatment may have been delayed, but the eventual choice to embrace it was an act of strength. These are the quiet heroics of ordinary lives—the unseen victories that carry us forward.

The lesson for us is plain: when you find yourself wrestling with yourself, do not delay in seeking help. Do not mistake reaching for aid as weakness, for it is the first step toward healing. And in the midst of struggle, do not abandon creation, however small, however temporary. Make art, form friendships, sing songs, or build something—even if it does not last forever, it may sustain you in the present. For the value is not always in permanence, but in the act of choosing life over despair.

Thus Jack Irons’s words stand as a beacon for those who wrestle in silence. They remind us that healing may be slow, that not all endeavors endure, yet every step toward light matters. To seek treatment is to reclaim one’s life. To create, even briefly, is to declare that life is worth living. And to share these truths, as Irons has done, is to pass on a legacy of courage to all who face their own midnight struggles.