The Resilient Mind

My Journey to Redemption

There was a time in my life when I didn’t know who I was. I was 19 years old when I got married, and by 23, I was divorced. I had no real family around—just friends and coworkers who became my support system. I clung to them, and before I knew it, I was mirroring their lives: late nights, partying, weed smoking, and chasing a lifestyle that was never meant for me.

One of my friends worked at the same Walmart as me. He used to talk about being a ‘dope boy,’ and I started believing that was the path I needed to take. I was so caught up in the illusion that I even went to a woman who liked me and asked if I could stash drugs at her place. She said yes, no hesitation. I went and bought a gun, fully prepared to step into a life I thought would give me everything I lost. I was angry. My wife had left me for a cop she worked with at the Waco Police Department. Betrayal burned deep, and I wanted to get back at the world.

But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t considering the future, only the pain of the present. Maybe my biggest fear was going to prison, being killed, or even worse—killing someone over something petty. My life revolved around strip clubs on Mondays, the weed man’s house on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and the club every weekend. I was lost in the idea of becoming a kingpin in Waco, TX, when in reality, I was on a crash course to nowhere.

The Breaking Point

I had plenty of low moments, but the one that changed me forever was when I truly faced the weight of my choices. A friend and I had made an investment in the drug game. We fronted someone work to sell, and when he disappeared, we did what street logic taught us—we went looking for him.

Strapped with guns, three of us pulled up to the Stella Maxey projects, knocking on the door of his baby mama’s house. She answered, scared but resigned. “I haven’t seen him in days,” she said. We pushed our way inside. In the back, two little kids were playing, oblivious to the danger that had just walked through their door.

Seeing those kids snapped me back to reality. What was I doing? Was this really who I wanted to be? A man terrorizing a mother and her children over something so meaningless? Nothing went wrong that day—we found out the guy was in jail—but the damage to my spirit had already been done. I left that house knowing I could never live that life. I sold my gun to a pawn shop and never picked up another. I walked away from that path for good.

The Move That Saved My Life

I was still struggling. I had no real direction, just an overwhelming sense that I needed to get out of Waco. I was sleeping on couches, sometimes outside under balconies so I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. My brother was in Denver, and he kept calling, telling me, “Man, you got family here. We got you.”

My dad, before he passed, always told me: “Kenny, get out of Waco. There’s nothing there for you but trouble.” Those words echoed in my mind. And so, one day, I left. No goodbyes, no explanations. I didn’t even say bye to my kids. I regret that more than anything. But at the time, I thought I’d be back in five years. I had no idea I’d be gone for over twenty.

A Fresh Start, But the Same Struggles

Arriving in Denver was a challenge. I had to readjust to being around family—most of whom had been through prison, had cases, or were gang-affiliated. I was trying to fit in when I had never really fit in anywhere. My identity had always been shaped by my environment. Back in Waco, I was trying to be a dope boy. Now, I was trying to be something different but didn’t know what.

I bounced around—couch to couch, job to job. I had moments where I tried to settle down, get serious, but I kept falling into old habits. Bad relationships. Bad financial decisions. I kept finding myself starting over again and again. It wasn’t until I got evicted three times that I realized I needed to do something different.

The Moment I Took Control

It took years of struggle before I finally understood: I had to stop depending on others to rescue me. I was tired of sleeping on people’s couches. Tired of people turning their backs on me. Tired of feeling disposable. So, I made a decision—whatever happened next in my life would be because of me. No one else. If I failed, it would be my failure. If I succeeded, it would be my victory.

That was the beginning of my journey into entrepreneurship. I had always been a hustler—selling newspapers, shoveling snow, cleaning dog kennels as a kid. That spirit was in me, but I had strayed from it. When I finally started my moving company, I realized I had the power to create my own opportunities. The first job I booked felt like proof that I could take control of my own life.

Lessons Learned

Looking back, I realize the biggest lessons weren’t just about business but about life:

• Money management is key. It doesn’t matter how much you make if you don’t know how to manage it.
• You can’t build alone. The right team, the right support, is everything.
• Pain can shape you, but it doesn’t have to define you.
• Leaving your comfort zone is necessary. Comfort is the killer of dreams.

Most importantly, I’ve learned that God’s favor is real. No matter how low I’ve been, no matter how many times I’ve started over, I know I’m here for a reason. I know my story isn’t just for me—it’s for the people who need to hear it.

To anyone reading this who feels stuck, who feels like they’ve made too many mistakes to turn things around: You can start over. You can change your life. The only thing standing in your way is the decision to do so.

I’m proof of that.