I grew up in a pretty average household. We weren’t poor, but we weren’t the kids showing up with the newest Jordans or the next-gen Xbox either. My parents did what they could, and for a while life felt normal.
Things changed fast around age ten. My mom and her husband divorced, and my little brother moved back to Macon with his dad. My mom didn’t take it well. Drugs, alcohol, and chaos filled the space where stability used to be.
A few months later, I came home from a day of swimming and fishing in the Chattahoochee to find my grandmother dead on the floor. A heart attack. That moment shattered whatever was left of our home. My mom spiraled, and without anyone needing to say it out loud, it was understood that I’d be living with my dad from then on.
My dad did his best, but he had already married into a family with three kids. The house was crowded. Money got tight. Even with a solid supervisor job, the bills were heavier than the paycheck. And like a lot of people in small towns trying to survive, he started selling drugs on the side. One bad decision turned into a worse one, and eventually he went to prison on RICO charges.
And like the cliché you hope never becomes your life, I followed the same path—for a bit. Jail a couple times. Bad habits. Bad environments. Bad thinking. It felt like the family curse was waiting with open arms.
Everything changed in December 2024.
I was sitting in Cell 208 in Habersham County Jail—my lowest point, mentally and spiritually. Around 3 AM, I prayed a prayer I’d never prayed before. I asked God to do for me what I clearly couldn’t do myself. I didn’t ask for freedom. I asked for a way out of the cycle. A new life. A new direction.
The next morning, guards told me to pack up. I was free to go.
I was shocked. I was supposed to be facing real time. But people on the outside—people I didn’t even know well—had stepped up and sponsored me into a Christian rehab program. I didn’t question it. I walked out and never looked back.
That rehab became my restart. It taught me recovery, discipline, structure, and faith. I worked, saved money, rebuilt myself, strengthened my relationship with God, and slowly started to regain a sense of direction. After eight months, I moved into a more intensive program—the Hickey House—where I’ve spent the last months growing even more deeply.
As of writing this, I’m 350 days clean.
I’ve got a job I love.
I’m working toward my GED, planning to study business, and building this brand every night.
I’m rebuilding my relationship with my grandfather, doing yard work and odd jobs with him on my days off.
We’re planning to launch a landscaping business together—something stable for when my dad gets out, so he has a real chance at rebuilding too.
Relentless wasn’t created because I wanted merch and money.
Relentless was created because I wanted proof.
Proof that change is real.
Proof that curses can be broken.
Proof that God still moves in places most people overlook.
Proof that even someone like me—someone who walked through addiction, grief, poverty, jail, and generational cycles—could build something meaningful.
Relentless is my reminder that the story isn’t over.
And it’s meant to become a reminder for anyone who’s climbing out of their own pit—with faith, discipline, and a hunger for a better life.
This brand is my foundation.
My foot in the door of entrepreneurship.
My testimony.
My purpose.
And my way of giving others a symbol of the fight they’re already in—the fight to rebuild, rise, and live relentless.
