When you're in hell, you forget how great you really are because

The warrior-philosopher David Goggins, forged in pain and discipline, once declared: “When you're in hell, you forget how great you really are because you're suffering and you forget the great things you've done.” These words, fierce and compassionate at once, speak not only of endurance, but of memory — the memory of one’s own strength. For when a soul walks through the valley of torment, when every breath is heavy and every step feels futile, the first thing that dies is not the body, but faith in oneself. Goggins reminds us that in suffering, we do not merely battle the hardship before us — we battle amnesia of the spirit.

To understand his meaning, one must see beyond the literal “hell.” For Goggins, hell is not a place beneath the earth, but a state of mind — a moment when exhaustion, pain, and doubt drown the voice of greatness within. The warrior’s path, whether on the battlefield, in the arena, or within the self, always leads through such fires. Many falter there, not because they lack strength, but because they forget that they have already proven themselves in past storms. The human mind, when consumed by agony, erases its victories. It whispers, “You are weak,” though the truth is the opposite. Goggins’ teaching is thus an awakening — a call to remember who you are, even when the darkness tries to make you forget.

In his own life, Goggins lived the very words he spoke. Born into abuse, failure, and despair, he transformed himself through unimaginable discipline, becoming a Navy SEAL, an ultramarathon runner, and a symbol of mental resilience. Yet even he, who had conquered mountains of pain, confessed that in moments of deep suffering — in the cold, the exhaustion, the loneliness of the long race — he too would forget his greatness. It was in those moments, when the mind screamed to quit, that he learned the secret: to reach back into memory, to remember every hardship already survived, and to use that remembrance as fire. Thus he teaches that resilience is built upon remembrance, that the soul must call forth its own history as a weapon against despair.

We find echoes of Goggins’ wisdom in the stories of the ancients. Consider Odysseus, the wandering hero who, after years at war and adrift at sea, nearly forgot his own name. When trapped on Calypso’s island, weary and lost, he was offered comfort and immortality. But he remembered who he was — a king, a father, a fighter — and so he chose struggle over surrender. His memory of greatness pulled him through his personal hell. Or consider Nelson Mandela, who endured twenty-seven years in prison. In that darkness, stripped of freedom and hope, he too might have forgotten the light. Yet he kept alive the knowledge of his purpose, and when he emerged, he rose not in bitterness, but in strength born of remembrance.

The deeper meaning of Goggins’ words is this: suffering distorts vision. It shrinks the horizon until all one can see is pain. But greatness lies not in avoiding that pain — it lies in remembering that beyond the suffering stands the larger self, the one who has already endured, already risen, already proved worthy. To be “in hell” is not to be defeated, unless you let the fire consume your identity. The wise learn to use the fire as a forge. For hell is not meant to destroy the great — it is meant to reveal them.

There is a sacred paradox in Goggins’ teaching: he reminds us that even the strongest forget their strength, and that humility is not weakness but recognition of how fragile human faith can be. Yet within that humility lies the key — for when we learn to remind ourselves of our victories, we rebuild the bridge between who we once were and who we must become. To remember your greatness in suffering is to resurrect yourself in the midst of death.

So, when you find yourself in your own hell — when the path is long, when your body aches, when doubt whispers that you are finished — pause, and remember. Remember every battle you have fought, every hardship you have survived, every time you rose when you could have stayed fallen. Write them on your heart as Goggins did, and call them forth when the night seems endless. For the one who remembers his greatness cannot be destroyed by suffering. He may burn, but from the ashes he will rise stronger, carrying the eternal truth that pain does not erase greatness — it reveals it.