You Don’t Have to Hit Rock Bottom to Want Something Better
After 26 years of drinking, surviving, and pretending I was fine…
I found myself alone in a frozen field, with nothing left but a question:
Is this all I am?
That night didn’t fix me. But it woke me.
And from that moment forward, I began walking toward a life I didn’t yet believe I deserved.
Today, I help others do the same.
My Journey: From Addiction to Purpose
This isn’t a biography. It’s the story of how I almost didn’t make it, and why I’m still here.
A Life That Looked Fine on the Outside
For over 26 years, I lived in the grip of addiction.
From the outside, it didn’t always look that way. I was the guy with big stories and wild freedom. I danced flamenco in the alleyways of Seville. I worked on yachts in the Red Sea. I hitchhiked through deserts and partied on rooftops from Toronto to Amsterdam. I was loud. I was charming. I was always in motion.
But inside, I was already crumbling. Numb. Hollow.
I drank to escape the things I didn’t know how to face. Not because I didn’t care. Because I cared too much and didn’t know what to do with the pain.
I knew I had a problem early on. My first attempt to quit came at nineteen. And for the next two decades, I would spend years stuck in the cycle; quit, collapse, repeat. I tried everything. I told myself I could handle it. I couldn’t. I was spiraling, and nobody could see it. I kept up appearances, but the weight I was carrying was unbearable.
And eventually, the weight won.
The Night That Everything Changed
It was the kind of cold you feel in your bones. The kind that makes everything go still.
I was alone in a frozen field, parked in my truck, engine off, wrapped in silence. The sky was black. Snow drifted down in slow motion, like it had nowhere to be. The inside of the cab was filled with smoke. It smelled like stale booze and desperation. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours. I couldn’t even speak to myself.
I sat there staring out through the windshield, tears streaking down my face, eyes locked on the way the snow twinkled in the headlights.
I remember asking questions I didn’t know how to answer.
Is this all I am?
How did I get here?
What happened to the man I used to be?
And then something happened.
Something so quiet, I almost missed it.
In the lightness of the falling snow, I felt a flicker — not of joy, not of certainty, but of something that felt like hope.
It didn’t tell me everything would be okay. It didn’t promise an end to the pain. It just whispered that maybe, just maybe, I could try.
That I was still worth trying for.
I turned the key. The engine kicked on. I drove out of that field and back into the world. I didn’t know what I was going to do. But I knew I wasn’t done yet.
That night, I went home. My face still soaked with tears, I knelt on the floor and read bedtime stories to my three little boys. My voice cracked. My hands trembled. But I showed up.
That was the night I turned.
I wasn’t healed. I wasn’t even sober yet. But something shifted. That was the moment I moved from being hopeless in addiction… to being addicted and full of hope.
And that was enough to start.
What Recovery Actually Looked Like
People think recovery starts with a clinic. For me, it started with a story. I heard someone speak who had walked the same fire. They weren’t perfect. They didn’t sell me anything. They were just honest. And that honesty changed everything.
I didn’t need someone to fix me. I needed someone who understood me.
I entered treatment. I dug deep in therapy. I learned about trauma, attachment, and why my nervous system kept pulling me back to what hurt. I studied the brain. I learned how addiction really works — not as a moral failing, but as a survival mechanism.
I stopped running from pain and started learning how to sit with it.
It wasn’t linear. I fell. I cried. I nearly slipped multiple times. I grieved.
But I got back up. Again and again. And every time I got back up, I brought more of myself with me.
Eventually, I didn’t just stay sober — I learned how to stay present.
Why I Became a Recovery Coach
I didn’t become a coach because I wanted a career. I became a coach because I couldn’t not do this work.
I had spent most of my life learning what not to do. But through recovery, I learned how to live — how to love, how to feel, how to come home to myself. And I knew I had to give that back.
But I didn’t want to just tell my story. I wanted to offer something that worked.
So I went deeper:
I studied neuroscience long before I entered recovery, and years later, while rebuilding my life, I studied project management — giving me both the insight and structure I now bring into this work.
I worked over a decade as a Neuro-Diagnostic Technologist in Canada’s healthcare system, walking with patients through trauma, mental health crises, and end-of-life care.
I collaborated with Indigenous governments to address addiction and mental health gaps in remote communities.
I committed thousands of hours to research in trauma, emotional regulation, addiction psychology, and recovery planning.
And I kept healing — not just for myself, but for my family, my clients, and for the people still stuck in that same cycle I barely escaped.
What I Do Now
Today, I coach people through the same storm I survived.
I work with professionals, parents, caregivers, and high-functioning individuals who are done pretending they’re okay. People who are strong in every other part of life, but feel like they’re barely holding it together behind the scenes.
I help them find relief. Structure. Self-trust. Not just sobriety, but a life worth staying sober for.
This isn’t a one-size-fits-all program. Every plan is custom-built, trauma-informed, and grounded in real neuroscience.
If you’re reading this, and you’re stuck in the cycle — if you’ve tried everything and nothing has worked — I want you to know something:
You’re not failing. You’re just exhausted.
You don’t need more shame. You need support.
You don’t need to be told what to do. You need someone who knows how to walk beside you without flinching.
What You Can Expect from Coaching
Tools that work in the middle of real life, not just on paper
Real conversation with someone who’s been there
A plan that’s rooted in science, not guesswork
Total privacy, total compassion, no pressure
A space where you can tell the truth and not be judged
This is not about fixing you. It’s about walking you back to yourself.
My Promise to You
I won’t tell you it’s easy. But I will tell you it’s possible.
I won’t tell you I have all the answers. But I will help you find the ones that are yours.
I won’t ever see you as broken. Only as someone who has survived more than most.
You are not too far gone.
You are one honest conversation away from the life that’s still waiting for you.
