Read Time: 6 minutes

Happy Sunday 👋🏾,

A year ago, I was lying on the sofa, exhausted and in agony. I was on strong pain meds, barely able to think straight, and all I could feel was guilt. I felt like I was failing as a husband, as a dad, and in my business.

Sheri was running around, juggling Zeek, her own work, and holding down everything at home. My team was keeping the business afloat without me. And I was just... there. Stuck. Helpless.

I’ve lived with chronic pain for years, but this flare-up hit different. It was one of the worst I’d had in a while, housebound, barely able to move, let alone sleep. The kind of pain that makes you think,

“Do I need to be hospitalised?” because even the morphine at home wasn’t getting the pain under control.

What made it harder was that this time, I was a dad, and it was the first time I’d had this kind of pain flare-up in this new part of life.

When you’ve got a little one relying on you, the weight of not being able to show up feels even heavier.

Not being able to pick up your son because you don’t trust your body… that hurts, man. You already start to feel like you’re failing as a father. I’m meant to be a tower of strength.

One morning, while doing a project handover with a friend who had kindly offered to step in while I recovered, he asked,
​
​"How are you really doing?"

Normally, I’d throw out my standard line:
​
​“Yeah, man, all good. Just need to rest up.”

But this time?

It just came out:
​
​"I’m not OK. I’m struggling. Not just physically but mentally too."

I admitted that I felt like I was letting everyone down Sheri, Zeek, my team, because I wasn’t at my best. Even though the pain was out of my control, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was failing them.

That’s how powerful the mind can be.

My friend said two things that stuck with me:

"Do you just want me to listen, or would you like some advice?"

And the second:

"Have you ever thought about speaking to someone?"

At first, I laughed it off in my head. “I’m speaking to you right now, aren’t I?”

But I knew what he meant. Therapy.

I brushed it aside and told him I’d think about it, but honestly? I didn’t want to. Therapy wasn’t something I was raised to see as an option.
​
Growing up, in my world, you just dealt with it. I’m a man, and an African man. You’re expected to be strong, hold it together, and keep moving. Asking for help? That's not enough playbook that was passed down to us.

But after that call, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Therapy.

I kept telling myself, “I’ve always pushed through. I can push through this, too.” ​
​
But I wasn’t pushing through, I was shutting down even more. And the more I tried to ignore it, the worse I got.

Sheri was at her limit. I was Zeek’s dad. I realised I couldn’t sit there waiting for things to change magically. I had to act.

So, I started Googling therapists.

Honestly? I had no clue what I was doing. Every phone call felt heavy, with this pit in my stomach like, “Am I really doing this?”
​
I spoke to a few people but didn’t feel any connection. Then I talked to one woman, and it immediately felt different. She made it feel easy, like I was just having a normal conversation, not being analysed.

I booked my first session for the next day.

I was still in so much pain I couldn’t drive, so I took an Uber. The whole ride there, my mind was racing. When I got out, my palms were sweaty,I won’t lie, it was pure Eminem *8 mile (“palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy…”).

I was nervous. Really nervous. But when I stepped into the room, she made me feel at ease straight away.

"This is your space," she told me.

I won’t go into details about what we talked about, but let me tell you: I realised I had been carrying way more than I thought.
​
Not just the pain.
​
Not just the pressure of business and family.
​
But deep stuff I’d buried for years, things I never really processed after my severe epileptic attack, and other things from way back.

Looking back now?

It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Therapy gave me a space to work through what I was feeling, to process everything, and to actually heal in ways I didn’t realise I needed.
​
It allowed me to show up better for Sheri, for Zeek, and for myself.

I still go to therapy now and agian. Sometimes it’s to unpack something deep; other times, it’s just to talk through a stressful week.
​
But every session reminds me that I don’t have to carry everything alone.
​
That I’m not a superhero and that one of the biggest shows of strength is knowing when to ask for help, no matter how hard it is.

The funny thing is, even though it was helping me, I still felt embarrassed at first. I kept it really quiet. Obviously, Sheri knew, and the friend who encouraged me to go, but beyond that, I didn’t know how to share it. Did I need to tell people I was going to therapy? Did I need to mention that I was working on myself? Why did I feel embarrassed?

But as I kept going, it just became a normal part of my life, another thing scheduled in my calendar.

I’ll never forget the first time I mentioned it casually. A friend asked if I could meet up one evening, and without thinking, I said,
​​
​"I’ve got therapy that evening, but let’s plan another time."

Silence.

He didn’t know what to say. We moved on quickly, but later that night, he messaged me:
​
​"Everything good, bro?"

I replied,
​
​Yeah, all good. Just working on being the best version of me."

That moment made me realise how rare it still is to talk about this stuff openly, especially as a Black man. And I want to be clear: this is my experience. I’m not speaking for everyone. But in my world, therapy wasn’t something you talked about. It wasn’t seen as a strength.

But now? I see it for what it is.

Strength is knowing when to ask for help.
Strength is taking care of your mind as well as your body.
Strength is doing the work, even when it’s hard.​
​
​Full transparency.

This newsletter has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I kept wondering if I should share it.

Was I ready?

There was a bit of me thinking, “My gosh, I’m going to be judged.”

But let me tell you something, sometimes that little voice in your head just needs to be told, “Shut up and keep it moving.”

With Mental Health Awareness Week starting tomorrow, it feels like the right time to share this.

I hope this shows that therapy isn’t a bad thing—and it shouldn’t be a taboo to talk about.

I go to the gym to stay in shape and look after my physical health. I showcase that with no shame.

So why not apply the same boldness to my mental health?

Truth is, if therapy gives me that one per cent edge in life, why wouldn’t I take it?

That’s what I’m doing.

Continuously working on becoming the best version of myself.

I’m not saying everything is great now. But I’m in a better place and still working on myself
​
​I guess you never stop.

Quote of the Week

Have a great week!

If someone forwarded this to you, Subscribe here.