I was born in 1975 in Cleveland, Ohio, raised by a family full of faith, flavor, and strong women—especially my grandmothers, who were my earliest mentors.
One of them could swallow 25 pills at once. I was 13, struggling with acne and self-esteem, and she opened her drawer to reveal her prized Shaklee vitamin stash. She even typed out what each one did—for skin, for energy, for healing.
She didn’t just give me supplements. She gave me curiosity. And that’s when my lifelong interest in health began.
Growing up, I was always “the big guy.”
The funny guy. The lovable one.
The one who made jokes so people wouldn’t see how much I hated myself.
I believed in God. I was raised Catholic. I even tried to follow the law of love:
“Love God… and love others as you love yourself.”
But I remember thinking:
“God, you don’t want me to love others like I love myself.”
Because I didn’t love myself at all.
And in my late 20s, I reached a breaking point.
Depressed. Anxious. Suicidal thoughts creeping in.
I didn’t see any worth in who I was—just a guy pretending to be okay.
But something changed.
I cried out to God… and somehow, something in me opened up.
I didn’t hear a voice.
But I felt a shift.
“You’re not broken. You’re mine. You’ve always been whole—you just couldn’t see it.”
That moment rewired everything.
I stopped obsessing over diets.
Stopped punishing myself with restriction.
Stopped treating my body like an enemy to be defeated.
I made one simple decision:
Only eat what’s real.
And the weight started to fall off. My energy came back. My anxiety began to fade.
And I could finally feel alive in my own skin.
But that wasn’t the end of the lesson.
All my life, I hated being the “big guy.” I wanted to be the fit, confident man—Then I lost the weight… and people started calling me “the little guy.”
Again, not what a man wants to be called.
And I realized something deep:
The grass isn’t always greener.
Being overweight or underweight didn’t define me.
Only my own eyes made me feel “less than.”
God used both experiences to teach me empathy—and to remind me that I was never the problem. I was always whole. I just needed to see it.
This isn’t just a brand.
It’s a movement born from pain—not perfection.
I don’t teach diets.
I teach people how to come home to themselves—through real food, real love, and real freedom.
Whether it’s helping someone eat without shame, speak without fear, or build a business that multiplies their impact…
I’m here to remind people of one thing:
You’re not broken. You’re just waiting to feel whole again.
Let’s rebuild from the inside out.