When I first committed to writing, I was overwhelmed. I was struggling with my mental health and terrified of failing—because if I failed myself again, I might never have tried again. At least, that’s how it felt at the time. It was a sad place to be, but it was also a turning point. The dreamer in me needed to step up with some real commitment, and so I did.
When I sat down to write, I had no direction beyond putting words to the page. Almost immediately, the pain churned out. I felt heavy, burdened by memories I had buried but never truly let go of. Still, I kept writing. I told myself to push through, even if I didn’t know where the words would take me. I wasn’t trying to write a book. The idea of Nobody’s Words didn’t exist yet. But somewhere along the way, pain gave way to something else. Clarity, perhaps.
In those moments, I began to see the true shape of my pain. I realized I’d carried it through countless close calls and breaking points. It was etched into me, and yet I had a choice: stay with it or keep moving forward. Writing became my way of breaking through.
The words I wrote often unsettled me. I found myself exploring the motivations behind my abusers, the origins of situations that had caused me grief. I put those thoughts on the page too. Over time, the words began to shift. I saw myself differently—as someone who no longer needed to carry all that pain.
The transformation wasn’t just in my writing. I began meditating, reading philosophy, and practicing stillness in my daily life. I spoke less and listened more, stripping away the parts of myself I didn’t want to carry forward. What began as a directionless experiment became a path I hadn’t known existed—the path to letting go.
Acceptance became the key. I learned to see life’s events not as personal attacks, but as facts. I stopped wishing things had been different and started understanding them for what they were. Life shifted in that process.
During those 90 days of writing, life continued to test me. My wife and I experienced a miscarriage. Her grandmother passed away. For the first time in decades, my mother reached out to me. It felt surreal. I shook my head and thought, What are the odds? But instead of resisting those moments, I wrote through them.
Through it all, I found a new version of myself—a man with more energy, more clarity, and less fear. I haven’t stopped since.
Today, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I look back on my past and, strange as it sounds, I’m thankful for it. I wouldn’t wish those experiences on anyone, nor would I wish to relive them. But I’ve made peace with them. They shaped me, and through writing, I learned to move beyond them.
This February, I invite you to join me in exploring Nobody’s Words. In these posts, I’ll share the thoughts, ideas, and experiences behind each section of the book. It’s a short month, and time seems to fly by faster with every passing year. But I hope that somewhere in these words, you’ll find something that resonates with you.
These words were written for you, from a place within me that I still can’t fully explain. I’m just grateful for each day I have and each word I’m granted to put to the page.
Here’s to the journey ahead.