My Journey
When we begin working together, I’ll take time to truly get to know you—because the more I understand your world, the better I can support you. Vulnerability will be an important part of our work, and I believe in leading by example. That’s why I want to open up and share my own story with you—what I’ve experienced so far, and the lessons that shaped me.
Pain is not here to break you—it’s here to wake you. Every challenge, every discomfort, is a signal that something needs to change. Illness demands transformation, and resisting it will only drag you deeper into struggle. I have compassion for what you’ve faced—we’ve all done the best we could with the awareness we had. But in this space, we step out of excuses and into ownership. We face the truth, we do the work, and we leave victimhood behind. This is where true freedom exists. We get the sky the we deserve.
In the wild, no animal questions what to eat—it just knows. Yet humans, with all our intellect, have become the only species unsure of something so basic. Our break from nature has severed us from ourselves, dulling the innate intelligence and intuition we were born with. That disconnect distorts what we create and warps what we accept as truth. But your body and nature are still speaking. The question is—are you willing to hear them.
“No animal needs a diet plan—except the one that left the wild.”
My health journey began when I was just six months old. I was introduced to oatmeal and rice cereal—and every time, I projectile vomited. This reaction extended to all grains, marking the beginning of digestive issues that would follow me into my adulthood. At just two years old, I underwent an intense allergy test at Children’s Hospital—40 needles poked into my back. This was a super traumatic event at that age that made me cry so hard I burst blood vessels in my eyes. The results came back negative, and the attending doctor prescribed medication for an “immature esophageal sphincter.” The prescription was never filled, as it was only the doctor’s best guess; no swallowing test was ever done.
Over time, I discovered that I had multiple food intolerances, each triggering a range of symptoms. I suffered from stomach pains, irregular bowel movements, and eczema covering my body. These physical challenges were accompanied by emotional and mental effects that I couldn’t control. I would often say, “I don’t know why I’m so mad,” or “I don’t know why I’m crying.” Sensory experiences overwhelmed me—my hair had to be perfectly slicked down, socks seams couldn’t touch my toes, and certain noises would trigger intense reactions. I was constantly on edge, uncomfortable in my own body, and it began to form a deep-seated belief: that I was broken.
Despite numerous tests—including X-rays and CT scans—no cause was ever identified. I was told by an emergency room doctor, “It’s all in your head.” That phrase, often meant to dismiss, ironically became partly true. Over time, the beliefs formed by these experiences began to shape my reality, influencing my body, my emotions, and the life I would come to lead.
When I was in grade 4, I visited a Naturopathic Doctor who ran tests and discovered that I had multiple food intolerances and high levels of heavy metals. I was advised to avoid grains, corn, and dairy. Changing my diet brought significant relief, but I would often rebound, especially as a kid trying to navigate social situations. Avoiding the junk food and processed snacks that other children ate was isolating and difficult. Eventually, I became strict with my diet, eliminating problem foods permanently—but my health challenges persisted. I developed intolerances to the foods I relied on most, forcing constant cycles of elimination and symptom management. It felt like an endless game of “Whack-a-Mole” with diet changes, supplements, and detox routines.
This ongoing struggle cemented a belief that I was broken—that I had to be perfect to avoid consequences. Living with this discomfort affected every part of my life, including my relationships. I often struggled to keep friends, and my body image and self-confidence suffered due to skin outbreaks and my small, frail frame.
At 16, I caught a severe flu—what doctors suspected was the Norwalk virus—which left me vomiting so much that I struggled to breathe. My digestion, already fragile, took a dramatic turn for the worse. I became too sick to hang out with friends or continue playing sports I loved. On top of that, I had a falling out with friends, leaving me utterly alone during one of the most painful periods of my life. Over the next year, my digestive system deteriorated to the point that I could hardly digest anything. I lost 45 pounds, leaving me at just 95 pounds at 5’10”. My body became almost skeletal; my shoulder and hip bones were sharply visible.
After a year of tests, I was diagnosed with a parasite and prescribed two rounds of strong antibiotics. During this time, my family physician was away, so I saw another doctor who suspected Crohn’s disease and requested a colonoscopy. Eventually, he became my General Practitioner.
It took six months for a gastroenterologist to confirm the diagnosis. He said, “You have the worst case of Crohn’s disease I have seen at your age.” I had ulcers throughout my mouth, throat, stomach, small intestine, large intestine, and colon. Every day was a struggle, and I felt completely isolated. I had no friends to lean on, and even my family could not reach me emotionally. I withdrew entirely, avoiding communication, holidays, and any form of joy. I had lost all motivation, interest in dating, and energy to engage in life.
I carried a heavy belief that I could not date or form intimate relationships while I was sick—that I would only burden someone else. This belief became both a motivator and a source of pain, causing years of self-imposed isolation from intimacy. Every day felt like survival, and I often battled thoughts of giving up. What kept me going was the thought of how my actions would affect my family.
During this time, I was prescribed Prednisone. While it helped me gain weight, it was mostly water retention, and the side effects were severe—my face burned and swelled so much that it was painful to eat or have facial expressions. Instead of feeling healthier, I felt trapped in a body that was hurting in new ways.
At this point, the specialist recommended a new medication. I had to make a choice: take it or not. As he went through the side effects—one of which was pancreatic cancer—my life flashed before my eyes. At 17, I realized something crucial: doctors manage your symptoms, but they couldn’t make me healthy. Following their path would only suppress the pain, not resolve the root cause. Continuing down that road could lead me to give in to the dark thoughts that haunted me, or eventually, my body might simply give out.
I knew then that if I wanted to truly heal, I had to take charge of my life. I believed that if I was responsible for my body’s condition, then I could also fix it. This was the first time I fully took ownership of my story—a powerful but double-edged realization. It gave me agency, but it left little room for self-compassion, layering on more “not enoughness” that I had been carrying since childhood. The not enoughness feeling would push me more into the perfectionist mindset I was developing. I left the office without the prescription, telling the specialist that a risk like pancreatic cancer was unacceptable. It was terrifying. I didn’t know if true healing was possible, but I knew I couldn’t continue on the same path. The people I had hoped would save me didn’t have the answers—I had to lead my own journey. I didn’t yet know exactly what to do, but I was determined to find someone or something that did. My first step: dietary changes, keeping medication as a last resort.
The following year was a struggle to regain control of my health. I came across a story of someone reversing their Crohn’s symptoms on a vegan diet. At the time, eating meat seemed to exacerbate my symptoms, so I decided to go cold turkey—eliminating all animal products. At the time, this was before all the popular documentaries around the plant based movement were out. It was really a radical diet to take on. The sudden change was brutal. For two weeks, I vomited every evening from eating fruits and vegetables. I hoped this break would give my digestion a chance to reset. Some reason I kept at it because my stomach at least didn’t hurt eating this way. Gradually, the vomiting stopped, and I noticed myself feeling a bit better. While this diet didn’t solve everything, it helped stabilize my body. Skin issues continued, my weight went up a bit but never fully recovered due to low protein intake, but I eventually stabilized at 120 pounds.
I bounced from one Naturopath to another, searching for someone who could truly understand me. I remained underweight, battled persistent eczema, and experienced severe joint inflammation whenever I tried legumes, grains, nuts, or seeds—even with digestive enzymes. Despite these challenges, my energy returned as long as I ate frequently and I at least wasn’t experiencing the crippling digestive pain I once was. I tried to live as fully as possible, pushing myself physically through hiking, mountain biking, and snowboarding.
But pushing myself came at a cost. My body, already fragile, could not always handle the strain. I broke several bones, including my neck in three places on a solo mountain bike ride. I had to hike out and drive myself home, uncertain of the severity of my injury. A halo might have been necessary, but after consulting specialists, a neck brace was deemed sufficient. I was lucky—I never lost feeling in any limbs, despite intense pain.
Other injuries I experienced at that time included braking both wrist and three ribs. Even after these injuries, my drive didn’t waver. I pushed harder, climbing higher peaks and attempting bigger jumps. Before my neck had fully healed, I scrambled up Needle Peak in the Coquihalla with friends, wearing my brace and relying on them to guide me. A fall was not an option. I made it to the summit and back with only minor slips, enduring significant pain along the way. Through persistence, I achieved a full recovery from my neck injury, with no lasting pain.
At this point in my life, I still hadn’t found anyone who could truly help me navigate the complexity of my health issues. Driven by desperation and the need to help myself, I threw myself even more deeply into studying health and nutrition. Years of being vegan had left my body depleted—thinning hair, constant cavities, brittle nails, low weight, chronic pain that required frequent chiropractic and massage care, zero sex drive, and constant hunger. Surprisingly, the naturopaths I consulted didn’t seem particularly concerned about the vegan diet, despite these obvious signs of deficiency.
Eventually, one naturopath challenged my beliefs and convinced me to reintroduce animal products. After years of believing that a plant-based diet was best, this required confronting deeply held assumptions. Through my vegan journey, I had consumed countless documentaries and resources that only reinforced my bias. I reintroduced meat slowly, mindful that my digestive system needed time to adjust. I also removed certain plant foods, moving toward a paleo-style approach. Within a year, I achieved a much healthier weight, though my digestion remained fragile and my skin issues persisted. Despite eating high-quality, organic foods and taking a mountain of supplements, nothing fully restored my health.
Lab tests confirmed high levels of heavy metals in my body, validating the findings of a previous practitioner. Meanwhile, the financial burden of supplements, lab tests, and repeated medical appointments weighed heavily on me. I was also living in my parents’ basement well into adulthood because of my health struggles, which compounded feelings of inadequacy and made me feel “not enough” as a man.
Then life hit me with another blow. I discovered mold exposure in our home from a past basement flood. Around the same time, I suffered a major injury—shattering my heel and breaking my wrist—which left me unable to work for eight months. I sank into a deep depression, returning to dark thoughts and struggling simply to survive. My eczema became overwhelming, covering a large portion of my body. It split, bled, flaked, and itched constantly. I desperately tried to hide it from the world. Confined to a moldy home and uncertain if I would ever walk normally again, I felt trapped.
Many nights, I would cry out, “I can’t do this anymore! I’m done!” I told my mom repeatedly that I didn’t want to live. I had tried everything—countless practitioners, strict diets, expensive supplements—and my body still refused to cooperate. My health struggles manifested as heart palpitations, insomnia, vivid nightmares, brain fog, poor short-term memory, zero energy, severe skin inflammation, depression, anxiety attacks, nosebleeds, poor digestion, and relentless hopelessness. Even after my home was remediated, nothing improved. I was exhausted, beaten down, and desperate for a solution that seemed impossible to find.
I kept going— In my pain. I did something few people ever do: I just sat in it. No drugs. No alcohol. No distractions. I would sit in silence in the backyard under the trees, meditating regularly. My thinking began to shift. I wanted to dive deep into the darkness to truly know myself. Every horrible thought I had, I faced head-on, tracing it back to its source. I deliberately put myself in uncomfortable situations and met them with a defying smile, as if saying, “Is that all you’ve got?” to the world.
When I could start rehabbing my injuries, I treated recovery like a full-time job. Once I could limp around, I challenged my body with cold therapy—but I didn’t start with showers. I went all in, plunging into freezing mountain creeks in the winter. I quickly learned that no matter how bad I felt or what dark thoughts I carried, in that moment, nothing mattered. The only thing that mattered was to breathe—or die.
Because my foot injury had damaged my connection to the earth, I took away the luxury of cushioned shoes and walked in minimalist sandals. I would traverse rocky trails until I limped badly, then jump into freezing water, forcing myself to warm up and focus my mind to get back to the truck. The cold gave me relief and took my mind off the pain. This became a mental exercise proving that I could endure anything I believed I could. Each small victory—coming out alive—made the day-to-day easier. I even gave up warm showers. No matter how long or cold my days were in the mountains, I embraced icy showers as proof that I could face discomfort and survive. This became my turning point: I hit rock bottom and refused to quit.
I gave up on the naturopathic approach, tired of jumping from practitioner to practitioner, trying every supplement, IV therapy, and chelation method. I turned to functional medicine, seeking one of the best practitioners I could find. Lab tests revealed mold exposure, which was no surprise. The goal of functional medicine was testing, not guessing. My practitioner taught me to interpret results cautiously—labs aren’t absolute; they indicate potential issues rather than confirm them.
I followed a protocol to reset my digestion, including three types of probiotics. At first, I saw improvements, but progress plateaued, and my health never fully stabilized. Eventually, I stopped seeing this practitioner. Environmental factors—like mold in our home—remained unsure if it was remediated enough. After investing heavily in lab tests, supplements, and appointments, I really didn’t feel that much better in the end. Maybe just a little less scared of a little bit of potential mold.
Two separate signs from different individuals led me to the CHEK Institute, and I dove in immediately, guided by a strong feeling. Soon after beginning the training, I started connecting the dots in my own health journey. For the first time, my body felt like it was truly getting what it needed to thrive. I developed a deep connection with myself and my inner intelligence, learning foundational principles that can apply to anyone. This class marked the beginning of an ongoing relationship with my soul—a journey of exploration that will continue for the rest of my life.
The nutritional portion of the program drew heavily from Weston A. Price’s principles, emphasizing the most nutrient-dense foods for humans. My diet became highly personalized, using metabolic typing, soul connection, and conscious observation of how my body responded to food. I ate a small amount of plant foods my body could handle at the time, animal foods, prioritized organ meats, and included plenty of healthy animal fats. The knowledge I gained through the CHEK Institute became the foundation for everything I continue to learn and apply today.
During one road trip, I exploded my other heel badly—another test of resilience. Despite the setback, I returned to work in just five months instead of eight previously. Even through this injury, I noticed my symptoms disappearing, and for the first time, my health truly felt alive. It was proof that the work I had been doing was paying off.
As I rebuilt my body, I also stepped into my personal life and started dating. This was a monumental moment for me. Years of avoiding intimacy had created a mountain of hurt, and I wanted connection deeply. I finally felt ready to show up for someone else, and to my surprise, I found a partner quickly. For the first time, I got to see myself reflected back in a relationship—the mirror of human connection.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you—your attention means a lot. At this point, you might expect a fairy-tale ending: health restored, and no more symptoms. But life doesn’t work that way. The journey never ends because the mirror is eternal. Challenges always appear, showing where you’re not free.
That first relationship didn’t last long, but it taught me a lot about love and vulnerability. Really started to reveal limiting beliefs I had about myself and how anxious I can get in relationships. Heartbreak hit hard on this one ending, and shortly after, my eczema and psoriasis returned. I kept going, knowing I would figure it out. I also put myself back out there when I felt ready, dating with my skin issues fully visible—a huge test of self-image and confidence.
The next relationship became an even deeper mirror. It forced me to confront parts of myself I thought I had already faced. I realized how much more work remained, both in health and in life, but I continued moving forward, committed to growth and understanding.
This chapter of my life pulled me deep inside, forcing me to see all the ways I was creating dis-ease within myself. During this time, I was drawn to mushrooms, Hapé, and Peyote—each becoming a mirror, showing me the parts of myself that needed integration. I trusted that God, or the universe, would bring me what I needed to heal—and it did. It came in the form of Peter Crone’s words. Maybe it’s because he’s a Virgo too, but the way his mind worked clicked with me. His insights gave me the tools to dissolve the mental programs that had been running my life. Whether it was a life trigger or a plant medicine ceremony bringing something to the surface, I now had a framework to understand it and change my perspective. I will say these big ceremonies call less as I learn more of my sub conscious beliefs and change my perspectives around them that limit me
That’s been my healing journey so far. It’s not over—and I don’t expect it to be. Symptoms may show up again, and that’s okay. I now see them not as something “wrong,” but as the body’s healing response, revealing something I’m ready to grow through. After my first heartbreak, my skin didn’t clear up simply because I healed emotionally—it only healed when I shifted my beliefs about myself. That experience taught me that the real medicine is the transformation called forth by the body. You can’t control circumstances but you can control your perspective of it. You don’t need to seek it out with plant medicines, life will bring it to you. Your life is your medicine. And my next relationship brought out the healing needed because I committed to someone to work through it with, since we heal together. Which wouldn’t happen in casual relationships.
Looking back, I can see how I was a child who felt extremely uncomfortable in his body and environment. I suspect that being birthed in the medical system, being a c-section baby, and the harmful substances injected into my body as a baby may have sparked some of the healing responses, and the environment I lived in only added to the discomfort. I have full compassion for my parents and the journey they were on, but our home was often filled with arguments and tension. Their own triggers and unhealed wounds were out in the open for me and my sister to experience. This is something I’ve noticed is so common in many families — we end up carrying parts of our parents’ unfinished business, and in a way, we’re all healing together.
On top of that, our family also had to learn how to relate to my sister, who was born with a mental disability. That experience, while challenging, was also a blessing for our soul development. I love my family deeply and I’m grateful to have them as part of this journey. What I’ve noticed is that as I work through things within myself, I see my family working through things within themselves too. Every relationship plays their part in your life and I am so appreciative for some of the mirrors I got to walk this life with.
If my journey resonates with you, and you feel I could support you on your own path of discovery, I would be honoured to help. My greatest gift would be to help liberate as many people as possible into a place of love and freedom.