For the past few years, I’ve been fighting for something bigger than myself—a house that could be a home base for mentorship programs, men’s circles, boys groups, and a safe space where young men could grow from boys into the best versions of themselves. A place where brotherhood was normal, support was expected, and consistency was guaranteed.
I envisioned a space where any young man in Baltimore could walk in and feel seen. A space where elders could pour wisdom into the next generation, where difficult conversations could happen without judgment, and where healing could sit right beside hope. A space where we could change trajectories—not with magic, but with presence, accountability, and love.
And I fought for it. Hard.
A Mission That Deserved a Home
Every young person I spoke to—every brother, every mentee, every kid on the corner—told me they believe in what I’m building. They told me they need it. They told me they’d show up. And their words kept me pushing, even when the system, the resources, and the opportunities didn’t.
But belief and support are not the same.
And belief doesn’t pay rent.
Securing consistent funding has been the biggest battle. I’ve been working for three years to keep this dream afloat, all while juggling my own survival—countless interviews, countless promises that never turned into opportunities, countless moments where it felt like I was doing the work of a full organization by myself.
I don’t say that for pity. I say it because it’s the truth.
Standing at a Crossroads
Now I’m facing a hard possibility:
If I can’t raise the funds to secure the space, I will lose it.
Not the mission—never the mission.
But the house. The physical space. The home base I imagined for all of us.
If that happens, my work won’t end. The door will always remain open to support Baltimore’s young men. But it may not be down the street anymore. It may have to grow somewhere else—somewhere that supports the builder as much as the builder supports the people.
Because the truth is, I deserve stability too. I deserve meaningful employment. I deserve to live in a way that doesn’t require breaking myself just to build something for everyone else.
What People Don’t See
I came a long way—farther than most people know. When I look back at everything I was up against, everything that tried to stop me, everything I had to fight through just to get this far, I’m proud. I really built something out of nothing. I created momentum without money. I created impact without a blueprint. I created community without a headquarters.
I did it because I believe in us.
Because I believe in what we can become when we have the right support.
What Comes Next
Whether the house survives or not, the mission lives.
Whether I stay in Baltimore or expand elsewhere, the mission lives.
Whether I walk this road with a crowd or walk it alone, the mission lives.
This is not the end of the story—it’s just the truth of the chapter I’m in.
And maybe, just maybe, someone reading this will realize what’s at stake and choose to stand with me, so this home for mentorship and growth doesn’t slip through our fingers.
Until then, I keep moving.
I keep building.
I keep believing.
Because the boys need it.
The men need it.
And honestly—I need it too.
