For years, I’ve walked the path of transformation, often without realizing it. Every mistake, every challenge, and every breakthrough has shaped me into who I am today. But the journey hasn’t been easy. I’ve experienced the depths of struggle and moments of profound clarity, and through it all, I’ve learned that the most powerful changes come when we’re willing to face the uncomfortable truths about ourselves.
This is my story—one of growth, authenticity, and learning to embrace who I truly am.
As a child, I was bullied relentlessly. I felt the hatred others had for me, and in turn, I hated myself. I didn’t understand why I was so unlikable, but I took every rejection as proof that something was wrong with me. All I wanted was to fit in, to feel safe. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the fear that seemed to follow me everywhere.
I’ve always been a sensitive person. I felt everything deeply—my own pain, the pain of others, even the suffering of animals. I was highly empathetic and emotionally reactive, attuned to the feelings around me in a way that often felt overwhelming. At the time, I saw my sensitivity as a weakness, something to be fixed or purged.
By my teenage years, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. It felt like being trapped inside my own head with no way out. The weight of it was constant, like carrying a heavy boulder that I couldn’t put down.
I felt hopeless—why try when nothing would ever get better? Isolation became my comfort zone, and I numbed my pain through smoking, drinking, and drugs.
Antidepressants helped dull the sharpness of my mental pain, but looking back, I realize they also numbed my ability to grow. Pain, as I’ve come to see it, is a signal—a road sign pointing us toward change. When we numb it, we delay the lessons it’s trying to teach us.
In my early twenties, I turned to meditation, hoping to “fix” myself. At first, it felt promising. But as I delved deeper, meditation unlocked truths I had spent my whole life suppressing. I began to see that my depression and anxiety were both real and not real at the same time. This paradox was too much for me to handle.
I experienced a brief period of psychosis, where nothing felt real. My mind couldn’t hold the ambiguity of multiple perspectives—it overloaded, unable to consolidate the idea that there was no singular “right” view of the world. Looking back, I see that this experience was a step toward growth, but at the time, it left me broken and scared.
Fast forward a decade, and I had hit rock bottom. I was obese, financially trapped in debt, and emotionally disconnected from everything around me. I drowned my pain in material goods, video games, high-calorie foods, and endless hours of TV. I avoided exercise, sunlight, and even the simple responsibilities of taking care of my pets and spouse. I wasn’t present—I did anything I could to escape the moment.
Even my dream job in tech, the thing I thought would give me self-esteem and purpose, became a prison. I thought money and success would fix everything, but instead, I felt stressed, purposeless, and stuck.
Desperate for change, I turned to alternative medicine and had my first experience with psilocybin. I took a heroic dose of magic mushrooms, and for six hours, I cried as I met myself for the first time.
I saw the truth: I wasn’t the loser I had always believed I was. But I also realized I wasn’t living as the best version of myself. I was an immature version of myself, unaware of the consequences of my actions. And yet, it wasn’t my fault—I simply didn’t know any better.
This experience opened my eyes to the impact I was leaving on the world. Every action, no matter how small, leaves a footprint. I realized my purpose was to encourage and expand light—in myself and in others.
Months after this awakening, I still struggled to make the changes I wanted. I felt stuck, until a friend mentioned their ADHD diagnosis. Their experiences mirrored my own, and I finally sought an evaluation.
Being diagnosed with ADHD was like putting together the final pieces of a lifelong puzzle. My sensitivity to rejection, lack of motivation, addictive behaviors, and struggles with relationships—all of it suddenly made sense.
At first, I tried to control my ADHD with medication, it definitely helped, but also changed me in ways that didn’t feel authentic to who I am. It felt like the medication was suppressing a part of who I was. Over time, I realized ADHD is not something that needed to be controlled—it’s a part of me that deserves a voice. I learned to work with it, not against it, and that shift changed everything.
Authenticity, for me, means allowing myself to be me. It’s giving myself permission to feel, to express, and to exist without masking or pretending to be someone else.
I’ve stopped suppressing my emotions. If I’m sad, I allow myself to be sad. If I’m mad, I allow myself to be mad. If I have something to say, I say it despite what others think. Every day, I practice meeting myself again, reconnecting with the person I’ve always been underneath the layers of fear and expectation.
After years of integration and learning the lessons life has thrown my way, I feel more whole than ever. My mental health has improved, I’m at a healthy weight, I’m no longer on medication, and my relationships are stronger than ever. I accept life as it is, even the messy parts.
This journey has led me to my purpose: helping others find their own light, their authenticity, and their truth. I’m here to remind you that change is possible.
If you’re reading this and feeling stuck, know that you’re not alone. Life doesn’t have to stay the way it is. Change is just around the corner—it starts with one step, no matter how small.
What would that first step look like for you?