Our story

From Surviving to Becoming

Becoming Soul was born in the quiet spaces between breakdowns and breakthroughs. In prison cells, recovery rooms, therapy chairs, and silent mornings of self-reflection—we started asking deeper questions. Not just “How do I fix myself?” but “Who was I before the world taught me to hide?”

This project started with a single truth: we’re not broken, we’re buried. Buried under trauma, shame, survival mode, and generational pain. And no one was teaching us how to unbury the soul—to reclaim the sacred parts of ourselves we lost along the way.

Becoming Soul is that reclamation.

Built by people who’ve lived through cycles of addiction, abandonment, incarceration, and invisible trauma—we don’t speak from theory. We speak from the inside out. From the body. From the work. From the soul.

This isn’t a highlight reel. It’s healing in real-time. Raw. Reflective. And rooted in love that doesn’t flinch at the truth.

Because when we own our BS, we make space for our becoming.

 

Our history

Founder of Becoming Soul
I didn’t start Becoming Soul because I had all the answers.
I started it because one night—alone, broke, couch surfing, with a newborn daughter—I looked at my life and said, “This sucks.”
And something deep within me answered back:
“What are you doing to make it better?”
That was the turning point.
Not the first time I felt broken—but the first time I took full responsibility for my becoming.
Before that moment, I had already survived a lot.
At five years old, I watched my mother scream as she discovered my baby brother lifeless in his crib.
I was sent away to my grandparents’ house—separated from my brothers, left in a cold guest room with no toys, no comfort, no language for grief.
That’s where I first met death—and the belief that in my darkest moments, I would be alone.
From that point on, I carried myself like a soldier:
Don’t cry. Don’t ask for help. Don’t break.
Just survive.
And in my teens and early adult years, survival became self-destruction.
I was in and out of trouble—fighting, drinking, using drugs, getting kicked out of school more than I can count.
By the second round of my senior year, I dropped out—still holding freshman credits.
My mother was battling addiction. My father wasn’t fully present.
And I was sinking—quietly, but quickly.
Survival kept me alive.
But it cost me my connection. It cost me softness. It almost cost me my life.
Becoming Soul is my reclamation.
It’s the result of slowly unlearning the conditioning I inherited from my home, my past, and a culture that teaches boys to harden instead of feel.
I had to kill off the version of myself that hid behind rage, self-pity, and numbness.
I had to sit in the dark with that little boy inside of me and say:
“I’m sorry for killing your dreams and spirit because I thought it would keep us safe. I did the best I could. But I promise—I’ll never hide you again. I’ll live our truth, out loud.”
Today, I work as a program coordinator for incarcerated men and women—blending somatic healing, spiritual practice, trauma education, and radical self-honesty.
I don’t teach from theory. I teach from my own wounds. And the sacred work of healing them—slowly, daily, honestly.
Becoming Soul is more than a movement.
It’s a mirror—for the ones who were never taught how to feel.
For the ones carrying shame that was never theirs.
For those who thought their life was too broken to rebuild.
This is where we own our BS—not to shame ourselves, but to liberate ourselves.
This is where we remember:
Becoming Soul isn’t about becoming someone else.
It’s about returning to who you’ve always been beneath the fear… the trauma… the pressure.
You don’t need to get it all right.
You just need to keep showing up.
So breathe.
Keep building.
Keep going.
You’re not lost.
You’re not late.
You’re just in process.
And the process is sacred.
Because the roots grow before the fruit shows.
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming.