The last night I would spend in my first home felt bittersweet. Sleep barely came. I was preparing to drive to Colorado in the morning, but my mind wouldn’t settle. Memories filled every corner of my thoughts.
I had dreamed about this day for almost 30 years.
I remember sitting on my parents’ porch with my sister, both of us with tears in our eyes, talking about leaving someday. We couldn’t wait to be free—free from the abuse, the yelling, the feeling of being invisible in our own home.
And now, that day was here.
I bought this home as a 24-year-old kid and was leaving it as a 36-year-old adult. Within these brick walls, I built my career. I built my family. I built something steady—something that lasted.
I was married in that home during a beautiful snowstorm of 2016—snow falling quietly outside while something permanent was being formed inside. It became more than a house, it became a safe harbor for life. Our lives took shape within the sturdiness of our brick home.
I built a foundation of wealth that will one help others along my journey.
I was leaving stability behind for something untamed, not yet perceived. An uncertain road stretched out in front of me. The freedom I had once dreamed of didn’t feel simple—it felt heavy. Like everything I was, everything I had built, and everything I was becoming was hanging in the balance.
There are only a handful of moments in life that truly define us—moments that divide everything into before and after.
This was one of them.
04/10/2025 –