I wasn’t born into peace. I was born into chaos. And I’ve been fighting for clarity ever since.
I came into the world broken. As an infant, I suffered brain trauma from abuse — the kind of beginning no child should have. I died. Was brought back. And from that moment on, I was forced to carry weight most people don’t even believe exists. I was adopted at one year old by my auntie and uncle. They gave me a new home — but the pain didn’t vanish. Around the age of five or six, I experienced something that stripped away innocence far too early — something no boy should have to process, especially in silence.
By the time I was 10, the family unit I knew was falling apart. The relationship between my adoptive parents had become toxic and unstable, and eventually, it collapsed. I was asked the impossible: “Who do you want to live with?” I chose my dad. Three years later, my mum was gone — her life ended by a long battle with mental illness. She’d been in darkness for years, often unable to move or speak for days at a time. Her pain swallowed her whole. And I’ve carried the guilt of that choice ever since.
From that point on, I never felt like I truly belonged anywhere. I wasn’t connected to my blood family, and I felt like a stranger even in the house I lived in. Always the outsider. The black sheep. The kid who never quite fit. I wore that feeling like a second skin — not enough, never good enough, just floating through the cracks of a world that didn’t care to understand.
My manhood wasn’t shaped by mentors or tradition. It was shaped by absence, silence, and trying to figure out what the hell a “man” even is in a world that keeps moving the goalposts. I had no map, no role model, no guide — only chaos. I spent years in that confusion, self-destructing quietly, burning bridges, losing pieces of myself trying to survive.
But around 24, I hit a point where I couldn’t pretend anymore. The masks fell off. The distractions wore thin. And in the rubble, I found something deeper than all the noise: God. Not religion — I’d already seen through that. The system felt hollow, built on control, fear, and repetition. But God? God was real. Present. Still. And it was in that silence that something woke up in me.
I started seeing the system for what it is — designed to weaken men, numb them, confuse them, isolate them. And I wasn’t having it anymore. I picked the world apart piece by piece — diet, media, masculinity, trauma, all of it — and started building something real in its place.
M2MTribe is what I wish I had. It’s not a brand. It’s not a self-help circle. It’s a brotherhood born from the fire — for men who carry pain, rage, confusion, guilt, and scars… but still show up. Still rise. Still fight.
I’m not healed. I’m not enlightened. I’m awake.
And if you are too — or want to be —
You’ve found the right place.
