Regardless of where I was headed in life after the realization that things would never be the same again, one thing was clear—I loved being with my mom, my sister, and my brothers. Leaving them wasn’t my choice. But in one way, and I’ve even told my mother this—I think it helped both of us. Whether it helped my siblings is debatable, but something had to change. I also knew I had to adapt to change.
The life I had known up until this point would be forever different.
Different—not better or worse. Just… different.
I felt the loss. Not just of family, but of purpose. I wasn’t able to protect my mom, my siblings, or even myself. But deep down, even then, I understood—something had to change.
A New Life, A New Loneliness
Life reset. I felt like an only child.
My grandmother and my dad did what they could to fill the void. But all I wanted was my mom. No one could ever take that place.
And to this day, no one ever has. No one ever will. This was one of the ways I decided to adapt to how life changed.
I started at a new school—St. Michael’s (now closed). I got into sports, met new people, tried to build a new normal. But I kept everyone at arm’s length.
Still, in that distance, I found family in friends—Cell, Will, J Smit, and Eric. These guys became my lifeline. They pulled me out of the abyss. They saved me.
Defiance Became My Armor
What started as me pushing people away turned into the foundation of my strength. I was trying to protect myself—but I was also learning how to build resilience. My mindset hardened. My edges sharpened.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was necessary. Similar to those who chose to keep partners at a distance due to partners in the past hurting them. I always felt I would lose them, so why get close.
Women in my life always gave me the most support. They taught me how to love myself, how to be strong, and how to grow. Rarely did I get that from men—but I learned not to seek approval. I learned to move regardless.
The Hardest Question I’ve Ever Been Asked
I don’t remember when the court battle started. But I remember the question:
“Who do you want to stay with?”
That shit crushed me.
I knew what was best for me. But I also thought about my mom—how hard everything already was. I didn’t want to be another burden.
What I wanted to say was, “I just want my mom.”
I just said, “I don’t know.” But I knew.
I didn’t say it. I was 8. It ate the shit out of me internally.
Even when I was gone, I was never mad at her. I never blamed her. I just missed her. Missed all of them.
Eventually, my mom gave me one of the greatest gifts of my life—she moved closer, just so I could be near them again.
Adaptation, Then Growth
Slowly, life started to improve, I became adept at adapting to change.
I found a new rhythm—sports, routines, stability. And then, across the fence, came a dirt bomb.
Literally.
It hit me in the backyard. I thought it was random. Then another came. So I threw one back.
And that’s how Cell and I met. From dirt bombs to brotherhood.
He saw something in me. Treated me like a project. Did for me what he wished his father had done for him. Cell became my mirror, my challenger, my accelerator, my teacher, my best friend and my big brother.
He held me accountable—even when I didn’t want to be, helped me learn how to reciprocate love.
He supercharged the mindset I was trying to build.
Change Is Inevitable. Growth Is Optional.
I had a choice. I could resist. Push back. Stay stuck.
But instead, I chose to grow. To be better. To lead.
It wasn’t easy. And it still isn’t. There were more pitfalls to come.
More crossroads that could’ve wrecked everything, but without Cell, I may have viewed those very different and continued on a path to destruction.
But I kept choosing growth. Even when it hurt.
Because pain is a sign you’re still alive.
And growth? That’s the real flex.
| My personal story: Post #1, #2, #4 | John C. Maxwell Quote |
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