Breaking Down, Waking Up
On the surface, my life looked fine. I worked hard, built a career, and did everything I was “supposed” to do. I started as a laborer in my high school years, became a self-made carpenter, and eventually a successful entrepreneur. Later, I transitioned into project management, where my natural leadership and problem-solving skills shone.
But no matter how much I built—houses, businesses, projects—I felt disconnected. The work paid the bills but didn’t fulfill me. I kept questioning why things were done a certain way, only to be met with, “That’s just how it’s always been done.”
That answer was never good enough for me. I wasn’t just trying to understand how systems worked, I needed to know why they didn’t.
Yet, the biggest system that wasn’t working was me.
Behind the scenes, I carried the weight of unresolved wounds—buried so deep I wasn’t even sure what they were. I numbed the pain the only way I knew how: alcohol, weed, and working myself into exhaustion. I became whoever I thought I was supposed to be—adapting to expectations instead of being my real self.
Maybe you know what that feels like.
Maybe you’ve been chasing external success, hoping it would finally make you feel whole—but it hasn’t.
Then one day, I hit a breaking point.
No matter how much I drank, smoked, or worked, I couldn’t numb it anymore. The weight of my past wasn’t getting lighter. It was crushing me.
I had two choices: keep running or finally face the truth.
I wanted to ignore it. To keep pretending. Because facing the truth meant unraveling everything I had built. Who would I be if I wasn’t the man others expected? If I wasn’t useful?
But the more I resisted, the worse it got. I wasn’t living—I was just existing. And that wasn’t enough anymore.