CONNECTION
For me, training has always been about more than physical results — it’s about connection — the connection between breath and body, movement and mindset.
I’ve always been a self-taught learner when it comes to fitness. There’s something about showing up alone — no noise, no comparison — that lets me listen to and learn from my body. In those moments, the gym becomes less of a place and more of a practice: a moving meditation where I can reflect, recalibrate, and reset.
That self-led approach shaped The Twelve Week Program — designed for those who want structure but also value freedom. It’s about learning your body from the inside out. Building strength and balance. Moving with intention.
Still, I love group fitness — the energy, the accountability, the collective push. But I’ve learned to use those spaces differently — as a playground to apply what I’ve built in my own training. The foundation comes from solitude; the expression, through community.
Each of my programs — whether strength-based, mobility-focused, or yoga-inspired — exists to help you find that balance. To build your own discipline, your own rhythm, and to carry that strength with you wherever you move.
You can explore my programs and find one that meets you where you are — whether you’re building, refining, or reconnecting.
FORGIVENESS
Forgiveness has never been simple for me. It’s a lifetime conversation — between what I’ve survived and what I can’t forget.
Some things come naturally to certain people — whether through circumstance or simply their nature. I’ve noticed that, in many areas of my life, I’ve found myself moving toward the front of the pack. What I’ve done once I got there has always depended on my will — and on how I’ve seen myself.
I think often of my high school years, when I ran cross country. I wanted to be one of the top runners in the state. At the time, I was leading my team — and looking back, that was more than enough. After I left, more runners began to rise, putting in work, finding their own drive. I don’t take full credit for that, but I do believe it speaks to the quiet power of influence — and to one of my favorite movies, The Butterfly Effect.
Running meant everything to me as a young Black boy who came from very little. It was where I first began to love myself — where I learned to show up for me. Cross country became an act of faith, self-discovery, and conversation with my own spirit. Even though I didn’t accomplish every goal, that essence — that drive, that connection — still lives through me today.
Growing Up Too Early
I was born to very young parents. Looking back, I can see how I tried to fill the gaps I saw in them — believing it was my responsibility to hold things together because no one else would.
I was the class clown, always trying to make people laugh. But behind every clown, there’s often deep sorrow — a truth that reminds me of Robin Williams. I grew up surrounded by conflict and immaturity. Even as a child, I could sense that my mother wanted to be loved and my father wanted to be adored.
I spent a lot of my childhood trying to bring families together, trying to fix what I saw was broken. I carried shame about my home life and envied the stability I saw in others. I longed for my father’s presence and grew up ignoring that he didn’t want me. That shame turned into lies — small ones, just to impress people who wouldn’t stay.
But what I was really chasing wasn’t approval — it was belonging. I wanted to be loved for who I am, not who I could be for someone else — loved through my highs and my lows.
People say a woman can’t raise a man. That may be true for some — but I’ve never believed that all stories are the same. My mother raised two men who are relentless, respectful, caring, and beautiful — inside and out. We know what it looks like when the feminine isn’t valued, because we saw the consequences of that in real time.
On an energetic level, the masculine is here to protect the feminine. I don’t believe there’s much more discussion to be had based on that statement alone.
Most men, in my observation, are too bullheaded to admit they don’t have the answers — especially about women. You’ll find men desperate for recognition before you’ll see it in women. I say that not from bitterness, but experience — and maybe a little joy, because I know I’m not wrong.
Healing, Judgment, and the Journey Inward
Through my healing journey — especially within yoga, meditation, and holistic wellness — I’ve learned how often I judge myself. I compare my stillness to others, my teaching style to other instructors. Losing sight that the goal isn’t perfection — it’s connection.
I’m working on my meditation certification, drawn to the self-taught, introspective path. But even now, I sometimes feel echoes of my childhood — the need to minimize myself to fit in, or to become a punching bag just to belong.
I recently listened to a man share how he used to run a drug business before becoming a meditation teacher. And while it’s beautiful that he’s transformed, my first thought was the damage left behind to others through his business. Healing isn’t always tidy — and it isn’t always fair. But what about accountability?
When I speak about the things that come naturally, I think about those of us who have been healers our entire lives — those who were living this path before it became something that could be marketed or admired.
I struggle with that. I probably always will. But when I meet other instructors who understand without me having to overexplain, it grounds me that I’m often speaking with the wrong people.
I know that my work is just beginning. I don’t want my fitness and wellness practice to be filled with slogans. I want it to be lived truth — for those of us who’ve been ostracized, silenced, or overlooked.
The Weight of the Body and the Truth of Color
Lately, I’ve been in a lot of physical pain. My spine feels more misaligned than usual, my neck stiff, my left side aching — pain that traces back to 2010. There isn’t a day that passes where I move without feeling a pull. And while it’s physical, it’s deeply emotional too.
This is what happens when people “don’t see color.” My body still carries the trauma of being unseen, unprotected, and unheard. Of being run over — literally — and then having my truth denied in court. I didn’t lie on the stand. I didn’t run myself over. But society’s refusal to face its own bias has left me with pain that wakes me up from sleep — crying to God for a moment of peace.
Too many times, people have stood by silently while I was disrespected, even abused — and then told me to “take it on the chin.” And while I’ve seen others fight back, I often fear my own anger. It runs deep — rage, grief, and disgust — and I don’t want to be consumed by it.
Forgiveness, Rage, and the Myth of “Letting Go”
I’ve tried to make peace with those who’ve hurt me — to have honest conversations, to make things right. I expect them to meet me halfway, even when I know that’s unrealistic. Sometimes, I feel that living with it means I should be the one extending the olive branch.
In wellness spaces, people love to say, “Just forgive. Let go.” But I often wonder — what have you really experienced? Because forgiveness sounds different when you’ve been crushed, dismissed, or silenced. I’ll never minimize someone else’s pain, but I notice how quickly energy shifts when I share mine.
Healing hasn’t made me perfect. There are days I hate who I’ve become in the name of my healing. But I’m grateful for the people who stayed — the ones who didn’t fix me but showed up anyway. I tell them I’ll make it right someday. And I mean that. But it feels unfair that I’ve kept them waiting for the day I finally redeem myself.
So when do I rise? When do I really let go?
The Divine and the Demand for Justice
During a recent yoga practice, a thought came to me: A god wouldn’t let me experience this much heartbreak for no reason. There has to be purpose in it.
Why do I walk with a limp? Why do I wake up in pain? Why can’t I breathe sometimes? These aren’t random. They’re reminders of what I’ve survived — of what others refused to face.
The energies that guide me — the divine, Kali included — didn’t call me just to heal myself. I was called to speak. To illuminate. To ensure the message lands.
I can’t minimize my pain to make others comfortable. My story isn’t meant to be neatly packaged for consumption — it’s meant to wake people up. Until I receive justice, until my voice is truly heard, peace will never mean silence.
LAS LECCIONES
Learning to Trust Myself Again
“Leave before the devil arrives.” — Denzel Washington
I’m learning to do things in the moment — to follow my first mind and trust my intuition from the start. So many of the unnecessary lessons I’ve had to walk through came from ignoring that quiet voice within.
I’m also learning not to punish myself for the times I didn’t listen, because I’m human — and being human means I’m allowed to make mistakes, learn, and grow.
The Waves of Healing
Healing, I’ve come to realize, is a rollercoaster. It comes in waves — sometimes soft and soothing, sometimes crashing hard. Much of my healing has been about acknowledging the moments when I didn’t follow my intuition, when I stayed too long, gave too much, or ignored what I knew deep down to be true.
I used to linger in situations that I should’ve left. I would sit with the devil, talk to him, try to understand and even love him — believing that compassion could transform darkness into light. But the truth is, the devil will always operate as the devil. No amount of love, affirmation, or understanding can change someone who’s committed to misunderstanding you.
Following the Nudge
Recently, I had a moment that reminded me of what happens when I do follow my intuition.
I felt a nudge to introduce myself to a group of people — but I hesitated, circling back three or four times before finally doing it.
When I did, the conversation was amazing — full of insight and connection.
While talking, I noticed something about myself: I tend to dominate in the beginning. I lead strongly because I want people to know who I am upfront. I never hold back, because I know I can always replenish what I give.
But just because I can replenish doesn’t mean I should give so freely. Sometimes, it’s not generosity — it’s overextension.
Taking Up and Sharing Space
I realized that, in my effort to be fully seen and understood, I sometimes take up more space than I intend to — leaving less room for others to express themselves.
Taking up space is powerful. But sharing space is sacred, too.
Part of my tendency to overgive or overinvest comes from wanting to avoid confusion. I invest deeply and quickly because I don’t want to waste time. I’ve been so focused on building my business and purpose that I treat relationships with the same intensity.
But how can genuine partnership grow if I’m rushing the process?
Am I giving both of us the space to learn and evolve — or am I pouring so much that I lose sight of my own humanity in the process?
Many Truths Can Coexist
This is the beauty of yoga: the reminder that many truths can exist at once.
My former manager once told me:
“You can never say the wrong thing to the right person.”
That quote has always stayed with me. The people meant to hear you will — even if they don’t fully understand, they’ll still walk beside you.
We’re not meant to be equal in everything. Our strengths and weaknesses are part of what make relationships balanced and beautiful. What feels natural for me may not for someone else — and that’s okay. True love honors difference.
Grace in Growth
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the balance between independence and support. I often feel weak for needing more help than I want to admit.
Even in yoga, I’ve called myself a failure for not holding certain poses long enough — pushing past my limits just to prove that I can, forgetting that the purpose of the practice is to feel, not to force.
What I find ironic is that I genuinely love using accessories in my practice because they enhance it so much. I have physical limitations that can be extremely uncomfortable, and incorporating those accessories makes each pose more accessible and supportive for my body.
Earlier today, I pulled the Five of Wands, a reminder that obstacles and conflict are part of growth.
I knew challenges would come, and as usual, I started being overly critical of how I might handle them. But I’m realizing that I’m doing my human best.
Maybe I could’ve done things differently. Maybe not. But spending energy wishing I could go back doesn’t serve me.
The real power lies in taking what I’ve learned and moving forward — with more grace, awareness, and compassion — for myself, first and foremost.
THE LESSONS
The lessons don’t stop showing up until you get them — and lucky for me, I’m someone who wants to understand “the thing” front, back, and center.
Last week, I carved out space for myself to finally make it to a yoga class. I was set up to be on time, but somehow, I hopped on a train going in the opposite direction. I’ve gotten used to these “little mistakes,” so I didn’t freak out. I switched trains and headed the right way.
When I arrived at the next station, I had two options: walk to the studio or catch a bus headed that direction. Ironically, the bus took me a bit out of my way, and I started to feel that familiar sense of frustration creeping in. I decided to call an Uber to save time, but as we all know, Uber ETAs are just that — estimates. What started as a two-minute wait turned into seven, and the driver circled around, struggling to find my pickup spot.
That’s when I lost it.
I couldn’t stomach looking at the driver — even though I knew she was doing her best. In that moment, I caught myself pointing fingers and blaming her for making me late. By the time it was all said and done, I’d paid for the Uber, missed the class, and was charged a no-show fee.
As I looked for another class, I decided to walk. Step by step, I began to realize that I was using every possible excuse to shift blame for my own poor planning. I wanted to make that 7:30 PM class so badly, but apparently, the universe had other plans. It seemed 8:30 PM at another studio across town was what I needed.
And maybe that’s the lesson: I can’t outsource accountability. I’m the one guiding my ship. Blame might feel easier, but it never gets me closer to what I want. I still have to move through the discomfort of missed moments and trust that what I receive instead is what I actually need.
That 8:30 class turned out to be exactly what I needed. I practiced under a Black male teacher — something rare in most yoga spaces. The playlist was perfection. The flow felt intuitive and intentional, opening up spaces in my body that had been craving release. There’s something deeply comforting about being surrounded by familiarity — by people I can genuinely relate to, where I don’t have to minimize who I am or shrink myself so others can feel comfortable.
The “race conversation” is exhausting, but I still believe it’s essential, as it’s something that has become a responsibility to me as it is and has been my lived experience. Until we all understand the reality and the impact it’s had — and continues to have — we can’t pretend we’re beyond it. Yes, we all have autonomy. Yes, we all have choices. But I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of “making it” to these tables just to look down on those still trying to find a seat.
To me, community and relationships are only as strong as their weakest link. It’s hard to move forward in life knowing there are still people who need us — who need to know that someone sees them.
I don’t believe I’ll change the world entirely. But I do believe I’m being prepared to inspire those who will.
I’ve been incredibly fortunate in this lifetime to be seen — to have a variety of people notice me and support my desires. Still, I have to remind myself often that while this journey is deeply personal, my mission has always been bigger than me. The real work is finding balance — between walking my own path and leading by example, showing others that there is space for them too. It’s a reminder of how important it is to stay rooted in authenticity, even as we grow, evolve, and learn to integrate with one another.
*Originally written on August 7th, 2025 — shared now as a reminder that divine timing is always on time. What’s meant for you will wait until you’re ready to receive it.
THIS IS MY YOGA
There’s something peculiar about the energy of today.
So many beautiful elements surround me, yet there’s this lingering feeling of anger, frustration, and disappointment that feels out of my control.
I think about being hit and run over back in 2010 more often than I want to.
There isn’t much I can do—sleep, sit, walk, run—without being reminded of what happened.
When I sit back and observe the way Black people and bodies are treated, I get sick to my stomach and then I remember that I am a part one of those bodies.
There’s rarely genuine care or concern—just a sense that we’re often used as ego boosts for others.
2010: THE DAY EVERYTHING SHIFTED
I remember being encouraged to sue the man who ran me over. I didn’t want to—I just wanted to get back to running.
Eventually, I found an attorney, confused by how drawn-out the process became, only to discover that the man who hit me was claiming I tripped and fell.
That lie broke me. I remember being heartbroken and enraged all at once.
When I was offered $12K in litigation, I was insulted. Before the accident, I was positioning myself for a full or partial scholarship to Georgia State for distance running.
My attorney told me to take the offer, reminding me that another “Black boy” in a similar case had been screwed over.
I refused. I asked for $500K—partly to cover medical care I knew I’d need and partly to cover college and repay those who helped me when I couldn’t work.
That’s when I began recognizing how money drives the world—and how even in healthcare, genuine concern often takes a backseat to profit.
To this day, I still don’t know exactly what’s wrong with my body. I was told I had a grade three ankle sprain, torn tendons and ligaments in my knee, and that by 30, I’d likely need hip, knee, and ankle replacements.
WHEN YOGA FOUND ME
My first introduction to yoga was through P90X—and I avoided it.
Ninety minutes felt brutal.
Later, when I started working at Lifetime Fitness after my first relationship ended, yoga found me again. I’ll never forget that class that made me cry—Melissa closing with a message about self-acceptance.
The next day, she handed me a handwritten copy of that message. I still have it.
When I moved back to South Florida and started personal training, yoga found me again.
At first, I wanted physical relief. What I found was emotional release.
I started seeing how my accident—and even being in an abusive relationship—were shaping the patterns I needed to unlearn.
Yoga became my mirror.
HEALING, ANGER, AND GOD
I’ve always wanted to see the best in people and in every situation, even when wronged.
But through yoga, healing, and connecting deeper to what I call Source—yes, I do see myself as a god—I’ve also grown angry.
Not in ways that seek harm, but in ways that seek freedom—for myself and others—from the unnecessary bullshit life throws at all of us.
No one gets a fair deck of cards, but I’ve been fortunate to have space and support to sift through what I’ve experienced.
A lot of Black men don’t.
Too many of us trade authenticity for acceptance, or their souls for access—things freely given to others who brag about mediocrity.
HATHA, VINYASA, AND THE LESSONS IN BETWEEN
Today, I joined a Hatha class—the foundation for almost every asana practice.
It’s slow, deliberate, alignment-based. Beautiful in its simplicity.
My roots, though, are in vinyasa—derived from Ashtanga—structured, rhythmic, flowing.
It gives me the space to explore what works for my body.
Before class began, someone staying at the same property introduced themselves.
Maybe he meant well, but I wasn’t in the mood to connect.
I was in pain and needed grounding.
I could sense his girlfriend’s hesitation—and immediately thought, this is exactly why I don’t.
Much of my life has been spent overextending myself, trying to make others comfortable—as if I’d done something wrong.
Healing has shown me that was never my job.
It’s not that all non-Black people are harmful—but I do need to see a certain level of consciousness before I feel safe engaging.
That same grace, though, I extend to my own community—because who else will?
CHOOSING WISELY
I’ve learned I don’t have to explain my trauma before every yoga class.
I used to—hoping for understanding—only to still feel empty after.
Words hold weight.
I see yoga teachers online mocking students for finding joy in their practice, and I can’t help but think—this is why we must be careful who we learn from.
Many hide insecurity behind humor or critique, and it bleeds into their teaching.
In Western yoga—especially vinyasa—pretentiousness is rampant.
If you want traditional structure, there are paths for that: Hatha, Ashtanga, Bikram, Kemetic.
But for many of us raised in Western culture, vinyasa becomes our gateway.
For me, it was the music.
The playlists connected me back to my body, gave me space to explore my pain, and opened my mind to philosophy and dharma.
When you’re truly good at what you do or grounded in your intention, you can honor tradition while embracing what’s modern.
SAVASANA, MY FORT LAUDERDALE, AND MY TRUTH
We’re all working toward death—or in yoga, toward Savasana.
No one has all the answers.
The best we can do is show up, do our best, and give others the space to figure it out—because like tight muscles, forcing only causes more harm.
I’ve always had a sharp tongue, born from protection.
But even that, I’m learning to redirect. There’s power in using words to heal instead of defend.
Still—let’s be clear—I’m from Fort Lauderdale, and I’m proud of it.
The saying “fuck around and find out” still applies, at least until it doesn’t.
Just like vinyasa—it’ll serve me until it no longer does.
And that, to me, is yoga.
MY REFLECTION
Healing doesn’t always look graceful.
It often looks like anger, honesty, and the courage to say, “this still hurts, but I’m still here.”
Every day I step on my mat, I’m reminded that my body—no matter how it feels—is still capable of finding presence.
And that, to me, is the true practice.
BREATHE
One of my favorite reminders during any asana practice is the simple but powerful cue: breathe. This past Sunday, I had the opportunity to attend a TRAP Yoga class—an experience that always feels deeply rejuvenating. There's something incredibly affirming about moving to music I connect with, surrounded by a community that shares similar lived experiences.
I was elated when I stumbled across the study but stretching or moving to music that’s familiar can significantly enhance both the physical and emotional benefits of the practice. Familiar rhythms activate the brain’s reward system, triggering sensations of pleasure and emotional safety. This, in turn, stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system—our rest-and-digest mode—where the body can soften, restore, and expand its flexibility.
Familiar music also offers a sense of predictability that helps the mind settle into the flow state being curated through the yoga practice. Without needing to process something new or unfamiliar, we can turn inward, breathe more consciously, and move with greater intention. In this grounded state, the body is more willing to release tension, allowing for deeper connection to mind, body, and spirit.
Music has always been a fundamental thread in my life. Since childhood, there’s been a beat I’ve danced to—sometimes loud, sometimes soft—but always present. Yoga has become a bridge between that rhythm and the path I’m walking now. It helps me find meaning in my past, anchor into the present, and hold my vision for the future. It’s a gift to witness how all of it—every step, every song—has shaped who I am and who I’m becoming.
Taking genuine moments with your breath can come with it’s challenges. There is so much life that has happened and continues to happen. We all have to do lists and expectations that we feel we have to meet and take priority. I often find myself trying to create the perfect time to meditate or get into a breathing practice or doing every single thing that I have on my to do list to never complete it and in-short avoid honoring the time I need, even if it’s only five minutes to be with myself and with my breath.
YOGA TOOLS
When I practice yoga, I like to keep things simple. My setup usually includes a yoga mat, two yoga blocks, and a yoga strap—just a few general tools that help me get the most out of my practice.
Yoga Blocks: Stability, Support & Space
I love using yoga blocks to assist with alignment and balance in standing and balancing poses. They also help bring the ground closer in forward folds, lunges, or any pose where mobility is limited. Whether you’re working on flexibility or just need extra support, blocks are an incredible tool for making poses more accessible and comfortable.
Yoga Strap: Flexibility & Reach
A yoga strap is one of my favorite tools for deepening stretches and improving flexibility, especially if you have tight shoulders, hamstrings, or hips. I find it most useful in poses where I can’t quite connect my feet or hands. If you have limited mobility, a strap can make all the difference in creating more space and ease in your practice.
The Beauty of Yoga: Making It Your Own
What I love most about yoga is how simple and personal it is. Your practice can be whatever you want it to be—you have the freedom to add, subtract, or create what works best for you.
I know some people think that using yoga props is a handicap or a sign of weakness, but I see it differently. For me, props enhance my practice by helping me focus on the details. They create more space in my body, allow me to gain a deeper understanding of what feels good, and help me refine my movements. Using props provides an opportunity to shift the focus away from my limitations and concentrate on creating opportunities for myself.
I have included direct links to the items I use; however, feel free to shop wherever works best for you.
Explore how to use these tools in your practice by joining me for a virtual class from wherever you are.
Mashallah.