My Story

Before you become part of this community, I’d like to share the journey that created it.

Before We Begin...

Most “About” pages tell you what someone does.

This one tells you how it came to be.

Rather than listing qualifications or achievements, I wanted to take you on the journey that shaped everything I do today. Every business, every service and every community I’ve created has grown naturally from the chapter before it.

As you’ll discover, none of this was carefully planned from the beginning. It grew through curiosity, mistakes, setbacks, therapy, taking risks and gradually learning to trust myself a little more each time life asked something bigger of me. Over the years, I’ve come to see life as a book. Every year became a new chapter. Every challenge became part of the story, and every chapter introduced me to a version of myself I hadn’t met yet.

I don’t believe my story is unique. I think we all have one. Some chapters are exciting, some are painful and some don’t make sense until years later. Looking back, it’s often the chapters we’d rather skip that quietly shape the person we eventually become.

So, rather than simply showing you where I am today, I’d like to take you back to where it all began.

Whether our paths cross through Personal Training, Sports Massage, the Lifting Club, Roots or simply a conversation, I hope we get the chance to meet one day. And if you ever walk through these doors, please come over and say hello. I’d genuinely love to hear your story too.

Welcome to my story.

LEANING INTO THE FEAR

By Mytchel Ram

Chapters...

This is a long read, so you can

pick up from where you left off.

simply press the button to take

you back to the chapter you

were on.

Enjoy.

2015-2017

CHAPTER 1:

Rebuilding From Rock Bottom

When everything fell apart…

After leaving university, I found myself in a place I never expected to be. What many people didn’t know was that, during my time there, I had developed Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD). At the time, I didn’t know what it was. I genuinely believed this was just who I was now and that I’d have to live with it forever.

The anxiety wasn’t something you could easily see from the outside. I wasn’t collapsing on the floor or crying in public. I became very good at hiding it. Inside, however, it felt like I was constantly living in fight or flight. My heart would race as if it was going to explode, my palms would sweat, my thoughts became foggy and disconnected, and I often felt detached from reality. It was as though my body was screaming that I was in danger, even when I was completely safe.

I was too embarrassed to tell anyone what was happening, so I masked it.

That became the problem.

On the surface, people probably thought I was coping. In reality, I was slowly disappearing. I stopped attending seminars because I couldn’t face walking into a room full of people while my mind was racing. My attendance dropped, my grades suffered and eventually university became impossible. It felt like university had chewed me up and spat me back out.

I still remember walking through Chester to the train station, buying a one-way ticket back to Telford and wondering what had just happened to my life. It felt like everything I had been working towards had fallen apart.

Asking for Help

When I got home, I did something that I’d never really done before.

I told my mum, “I’m not okay.”

Those three words were incredibly difficult to say. I’d always tried to deal with everything on my own, believing vulnerability was a weakness. Looking back, that conversation was one of the bravest moments of my life because it was the first time I allowed someone to see that I was struggling.

For the first time in years, life forced me to pause.

At first, I hated it. I wanted to fix everything immediately. I wanted my old life back. But with nowhere to run, I found myself asking a different question:

What is actually happening to me?

After speaking with my doctor, I was diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder. Oddly enough, receiving a name for what I was experiencing gave me hope. It wasn’t that I was broken. There was something I could begin to understand.

Becoming a Student Again

I became a student again, just in a different classroom.

I spent hours watching videos about anxiety, the brain and psychology. I read books that helped me understand how our thoughts influence our emotions and behaviours, and I became fascinated by the relationship between the mind and the body. The more I learnt, the more curious I became. Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” I started asking, “How does this all work?”

Around the same time, I found my way back into the gym.

At first, training was simply an escape. It gave my mind something else to focus on for an hour or two. But over time, I realised it was becoming much more than that. Every session left me feeling calmer. My thoughts became quieter, my breathing slowed and, for the first time in a long while, I felt present.

Without realising it, I was beginning to build a relationship with both my body and my mind.

The gym wasn’t just changing me physically. It was teaching me to listen to myself. To understand when I needed to push, when I needed to rest and how my mental state and physical health were deeply connected. Looking back now, that relationship became one of the greatest gifts anxiety ever gave me. It was the beginning of a lifelong curiosity about movement, recovery, biomechanics and the psychology behind human behaviour.

The rebuilding wasn’t glamorous. There wasn’t a dramatic turning point where everything suddenly became better. I still had anxiety, but little by little I stopped seeing it as an enemy. Instead, it became a teacher. Every day I learnt a little more about myself, and every day I became a little stronger than the day before.

Rebuilding the Foundations

At the same time, reality caught up with me financially.

The lifestyle I’d lived while trying to escape myself—partying, drinking and buying things I couldn’t really afford—had left me with debt. My overdrafts were maxed out, my credit score was poor and the banks began recovering what I owed. I remember receiving my first month’s wages and using almost all of it to clear one overdraft. It wasn’t exciting, but every payment felt like I was taking responsibility for my life again.

Fortunately, I was able to live at home while rebuilding. That stability gave me the opportunity to focus on the basics: food, shelter, health and paying off my debt. Looking back, it reminds me of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Before chasing big dreams, I first had to rebuild the foundations beneath me.

The Printing Room

To make ends meet, I worked two jobs and eventually moved into the printing department of a factory. I spent hours each day working alone in a small room, printing envelopes. At first, the silence felt unbearable. Without distractions, I was left alone with my own thoughts, and that was terrifying.

Over time, though, something unexpected happened.

I became comfortable in my own company.

Instead of fighting my thoughts, I started listening to them. I began asking myself what I actually wanted from life. I was grateful for the stability my job gave me, but I knew it wasn’t where I wanted to stay.

One day, standing in that printing room, I made a decision that would quietly change the course of my life.

“I’m going to become a Personal Trainer.”

A New Direction

At the time, the fitness industry was booming. I watched people sharing their passion for training online and realised that what inspired me wasn’t the lifestyle they portrayed, it was the idea of waking up every morning to do something I genuinely cared about. I had fallen in love with strength training, biomechanics and learning how the body worked, and for the first time, I could see a career that felt aligned with who I was becoming.

While studying to qualify as a Personal Trainer, I also applied for an office role at the factory, and around the same time I moved into a house share. It was the first time I’d truly experienced independent living. My bills doubled overnight, my savings quickly disappeared and there was rarely any money left at the end of the month.

But I loved it because I knew I was moving forwards.

For the first time since leaving university, I had something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Hope.

2018

CHAPTER 2: Taking the Leap

A Chance

By January 2018, I had finally qualified as a Personal Trainer. After everything I’d been through over the previous few years, it felt like the first real step towards building a life I actually wanted. Now came the difficult part: finding someone willing to give me a chance.

At the time, there weren’t many commercial gyms in Telford. There was Nuffield Health and a handful of independent gyms, so I began applying wherever I could. One opportunity came up at PureGym in Wolverhampton, and I remember preparing for the interview with the mindset that I’d do whatever it took.

Around this time, I had discovered people like David Goggins and Elliott Hulse. Their message was simple: stop waiting for the perfect opportunity and earn your future through hard work. I absorbed everything I could. Looking back, I think I needed those voices because my own self-belief was still fragile. They became the confidence I hadn’t yet found in myself.

This was the very first Personal Training session I ever had to film as part of my PT qualification. It had to be submitted as part of my practical assessment, and looking back… I was painfully shy. Watching it now makes me laugh.

A huge thank you to Jake for volunteering to be my very awkward client, and to Henry for somehow managing to film the whole thing without laughing too much. I’m not sure who had the harder job!

Thankfully, they both stuck with me because safe to say… I’ve improved a little since then.

Playing It Safe

The interview at PureGym went well, but I remember feeling like a small fish in a huge lake. There were big personalities everywhere. Loud, confident people who seemed completely at home in that environment. I was the complete opposite. I was still incredibly introverted, and although my anxiety had improved, I still carried the fear of having another anxiety attack. That fear followed me almost everywhere I went.

When they offered me the role, I accepted.

My plan was simple. I’d work weekends at PureGym while keeping my office job during the week. I’d finish work in Telford at 4:30 pm, drive to Wolverhampton, coach clients from 5:30 until 10:00 at night, then do it all again the next day. It wasn’t ideal, but I was prepared to make it work. I believed if I worked hard enough, eventually I’d build something.

Then life threw another opportunity in front of me.

A full-time Personal Trainer position became available at Nuffield Health in Telford.

Ironically, it wasn’t the opportunity I thought I wanted.

My original plan had always been to play it safe. Keep the security of my office job and slowly build my Personal Training career alongside it. Going full-time felt far too risky. It meant letting go of the stability I’d worked so hard to rebuild.

The Phone Call

I went through two stages of interviews at Nuffield and left both of them convinced I hadn’t got the job. I remember feeling small, insecure and completely out of my depth. My self-worth was still something I was working on, and I couldn’t imagine they would choose someone who had only just qualified.

After the interview, I drove to the gym to train, already accepting that PureGym was going to be my future.

I’ll never forget what happened next.

I finished my session, climbed into my little Peugeot 206 and noticed I’d missed a call.

It was Nuffield.

I rang them back immediately.

The receptionist explained that the Fitness Manager had tried to call but had already gone home and would update me the following day about my interview.

Tomorrow.

Twenty-four hours suddenly felt like a lifetime.

I thanked her, put the phone down and accepted that I’d probably been unsuccessful.

Less than a minute later, my phone rang again.

It was the Fitness Manager.

He apologised for missing me and then said the words that completely changed the direction of my life.

“We’d like to offer you the job.”

I can still remember exactly where I was sitting when I heard those words.

Leaving the Old Life Behind

The following days were a blur.

I handed in my notice at the office and, just before leaving, I found myself crying in the toilets.

They weren’t tears of sadness.

They were tears of gratitude.

Just a few years earlier I’d left university believing my future had fallen apart. Now I was walking away from a stable office job to begin a career doing something I genuinely loved.

One person I often think about from that time is my manager, Darren. I sat beside him every day in the office, and although he probably didn’t realise it, he taught me a great deal. He approached problems calmly, never seemed to panic and carried himself with a quiet sense of resilience. Looking back, I’d describe him as my first mentor. He showed me that strength isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s simply showing up every day and doing your job well.

Learning to Swim

Starting at Nuffield was exciting.

It was also terrifying.

I thought university had challenged me.

I was wrong.

Walking onto that gym floor felt like being thrown into the deep end. There were experienced coaches, huge personalities and expectations that pushed me far beyond my comfort zone. I had no choice but to learn how to swim.

I taught classes, coached clients, spoke in front of groups, introduced myself to complete strangers and experienced rejection more times than I could count. There were moments I felt embarrassed. Moments I questioned whether I belonged there at all. Every day seemed to ask me to become someone I wasn’t yet.

But something incredible was happening beneath the surface.

Every uncomfortable conversation made the next one slightly easier.

Every class built a little more confidence.

Every challenge stretched me a little further than before.

Without realising it, I wasn’t just becoming a better Personal Trainer.

I was becoming a different person.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all was that my anxiety slowly became quieter. Not because it had magically disappeared, but because I had stopped organising my life around avoiding fear. Instead, I was walking towards it every single day. The more I leaned into discomfort, the smaller fear became.

Looking back, accepting that role wasn’t just the start of my career.

It was the first time I truly backed myself.

Investing in the Future

Although I’d finally become a Personal Trainer, I quickly realised another challenge was waiting for me. Money was still tight. I’d moved into a house share, my bills were higher than they’d ever been and, after paying for rent and everything else, there wasn’t much left at the end of the month. I loved my new career, but I knew I needed another way of earning an income if I wanted to build the life I was aiming for.

That’s when I decided to study Sports Massage.

It felt like a natural extension of everything I was already enjoying. I loved learning about movement, biomechanics and how the body worked, so adding another skill that could genuinely help people made perfect sense.

There was just one problem.

I couldn’t afford the course.

Paying for it upfront simply wasn’t an option. Fortunately, the owner of the training provider believed in me enough to let me pay for it monthly. Looking back, that small act of trust made a huge difference to my journey. If they hadn’t given me that opportunity, I’m not sure when I would’ve been able to start.

So I enrolled.

During the day I was learning how to become a better Personal Trainer at Nuffield, and in my spare time I was studying Sports Massage. At the time, I simply saw it as another way of helping people while earning enough to pay my bills.

Looking back, I had no idea that one decision would eventually shape the direction of my entire career.

2019

Chapter 3: Becoming

Comfortable Being

Uncomfortable

Finding My Feet

By 2019, I had started building a small client base and was beginning to find my feet as a Personal Trainer. Walking into the gym no longer felt quite as intimidating as it had during my first few months, but I quickly realised that becoming a great coach required far more than simply understanding sets, reps and biomechanics.

The real challenge was people.

Every day pushed me outside my comfort zone. I approached complete strangers on the gym floor, introduced myself, built relationships and learnt how to communicate with people from all walks of life. As someone who had spent years battling anxiety and lacking confidence, it didn’t come naturally.

There were plenty of awkward conversations. Some people were happy to talk, others weren’t interested, and rejection became part of everyday life. At first, I took it personally. Slowly, though, I realised rejection wasn’t a reflection of my worth. It was simply part of the process. Every conversation made the next one easier and, without realising it, confidence was quietly replacing fear.

Teaching classes became another huge part of my development. Standing in front of groups of people would have terrified the version of me who had left university just a few years earlier. Now I was expected to lead, motivate and speak with confidence.

Then one day I was asked to cover what I thought would be another normal class.

Instead, I found myself standing in front of hundreds of people.

For a split second, everything inside me froze.

The younger version of me would have found an excuse not to do it. Instead, I took a breath, trusted myself and began. Within minutes, the fear disappeared. Looking back, it wasn’t the size of the crowd that mattered. It was realising that I was no longer organising my life around avoiding fear.

The Cost of a Dream

As I was beginning to find my feet as a Personal Trainer, I also qualified as a Level 3 Sports Massage Therapist. At the time, I didn’t know just how important that qualification would become. I simply saw it as another way to help people while creating a little extra income to support myself.

I started by offering taster Sports Massage sessions at Nuffield, slowly building my confidence and learning with every treatment. Looking back, I knew the techniques, but I was still learning how to work with people. Every client taught me something different.

Outside of Nuffield, my mum’s workplace kindly allowed me to use a room every Wednesday afternoon at 2 pm. I began offering twenty-minute Sports Massage sessions for £10.

I still remember how nervous I was.

It felt exactly like my very first Personal Training consultation all over again. I questioned myself before every appointment. What if I’m not good enough? What if they don’t enjoy the treatment? What if I can’t help them? But, just like Personal Training, the only way to become better was to keep showing up.

The money wasn’t life-changing.

It simply took a little pressure off.

I still couldn’t afford to buy new clothes or treat myself to anything. But it meant I could add a few more things to my weekly food shop without worrying quite as much. Looking back, those extra pounds meant far more than the amount itself. They gave me a little more breathing room and reminded me that I was slowly building something of my own.

There were times when I felt a little sad watching my colleagues finish work and head out together. They’d go for food, drinks or nights out, and most of the time I simply couldn’t afford to join them. I never really said anything because I was used to living with very little. I hadn’t grown up with much money, so going without wasn’t unfamiliar to me. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me. There were moments when I wished I hadn’t moved out of home so early, moments when life would’ve felt a little easier if I’d waited another year or two.

Then I’d remind myself why I was in this position.

At university I’d spent two years trying to run away from myself through partying, alcohol and spending money that wasn’t really mine. Now I was simply paying the price for those decisions. As difficult as it was, I never felt sorry for myself because I knew those choices belonged to me. This was my responsibility, and now it was my turn to put things right.

More importantly, I had a dream.

Every pound I didn’t spend was another pound invested in that dream. While other people were enjoying weekends away or buying new clothes, I was slowly building a future that, at the time, only existed in my own mind. Surviving wasn’t glamorous. It was hard. There were days I questioned whether all the sacrifice would be worth it.

Looking back now, I can honestly say those years made me resilient.

They taught me discipline, patience and gratitude. More than anything, they taught me that chasing a meaningful life often requires sacrificing a comfortable one, at least for a little while.

At the time, I thought I was simply earning a bit of extra money.

Looking back, I was quietly laying the foundations for what would eventually become my career.

Life Doesn’t Wait

Outside of work, however, life had other plans.

Earlier that year I had moved from a house share into a shared home with my partner at the time. It felt like another step forwards, another piece of stability I’d been searching for.

It didn’t last.

The relationship came to an end, and suddenly I found myself needing to find somewhere else to live within two weeks whilst still juggling Personal Training clients, long shifts and trying to establish myself in a new career.

To make matters even more stressful, my cat disappeared.

For a while, everything felt like it was unravelling at once.

Yet something inside me had changed.

Instead of panicking, I became completely focused. There wasn’t time to feel sorry for myself. I just needed to keep moving forwards, one problem at a time.

One of my very first clients, Gary, heard what had happened and incredibly offered me a room in his home while I got back on my feet.

It’s one of those acts of kindness I’ll never forget.

Looking back, Gary probably doesn’t realise how much that meant to me. Sometimes people help you through a difficult chapter without ever knowing they’ve become part of your story.

A Place to Call Home

Just as I felt I’d rebuilt some stability, life reminded me that nothing is permanent.

Three months later, Gary explained that his family would be moving in and I’d need to find somewhere else to live. I completely understood, but once again I found myself searching for another place whilst continuing to build my business.

Then, in June 2019, everything changed.

I found a small flat in Dawley.

It wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t my forever home.

But for the first time in my life, I had somewhere that was truly mine.

I remember standing inside that flat thinking,

“I’ll stay here for as long as it takes to build this dream.”

For the first time in a long while, life felt stable again.

Or so I thought.

Behind Closed Doors

Not long afterwards, another relationship came to an end.

This one hit me much harder than I expected.

From the outside, life probably looked like it was going well. I was building a client base, coaching every day and creating the career I’d dreamed of.

Inside, I was struggling.

I would sit alone in my flat in complete silence, left with thoughts that weren’t kind to me. I masked everything from the outside world because that’s what I’d always done. Every morning I’d walk into work expected to be energetic, positive and motivating.

The truth was…

I wasn’t.

I lost weight.

I lost clients because I simply didn’t care anymore.

I lost hope.

The passion that had carried me through the previous few years felt like it was slowly disappearing.

From the outside I was becoming a better coach.

Inside, I was falling apart.

One Email

That’s when I made another decision that would quietly change the course of my life.

I looked for a therapist.

I’d had therapy before, but it had been a while. I searched through countless profiles until one stood out to me for the simplest of reasons.

She had the biggest smile in her photograph.

Something about it made me feel safe.

So I sent the email.

Looking back, that email became one of the most important decisions I’ve ever made.

Therapy gave me something I’d never truly had before.

A space to understand myself.

A space to question the stories I believed.

A space to stop simply surviving and begin consciously growing.

Week by week I began learning about myself in a way I’d never experienced before. I wasn’t trying to fix myself anymore. I was trying to understand myself. There was a huge difference.

Looking back now, everything that would eventually become Roots, the philosophy, the meditation, the conversations about self-worth, healing and self-mastery, can all be traced back to that single decision.

It started with one email.

Looking Back

Looking back, 2019 wasn’t just the year I became comfortable being uncomfortable.

It was the year I realised that rebuilding your life isn’t something you do once.

It’s something you’re willing to do, over and over again.

2020

Chapter 4: COVID-19

When the World Stood Still

Learning to Breathe

By the beginning of 2020, life finally felt as though it was beginning to settle.

My client base had started to stabilise, I was enjoying my career as a Personal Trainer and, perhaps most importantly, therapy had become a regular part of my life. Looking back, it felt like I’d finally found somewhere I could take the mask off.

For one hour each week, I didn’t have to be positive.

I didn’t have to motivate anyone.

I didn’t have to pretend everything was okay.

It was simply a space where I could breathe.

Looking back at everything that had happened over the previous few years, I realised something important. Whenever life became difficult, I didn’t stop to feel it. I just kept moving. When relationships ended, I found somewhere else to live. When life became unstable, I focused on solving the next problem. I told myself I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself because there was always something that needed doing.

Therapy showed me there was a difference between moving forwards and avoiding what was underneath.

I wasn’t processing my emotions.

I was suppressing them.

Eventually they would always find another way out, through anxiety, through relationships, through fear or through the stories I told myself about who I was.

Week by week, I began studying myself.

Not to fix myself.

To understand myself.

I’ll be honest, some of what I found was difficult to face.

I realised that, for most of my life, I’d never truly felt loved. Without knowing it, I’d spent years searching for that feeling in other people. I’d become attached to any small amount of love or reassurance because deep down I believed that’s what would finally make me feel whole. Looking back, it explained why every breakup hit me so hard. I wasn’t just grieving the relationship. I was grieving the feeling I’d been chasing for years.

My therapist taught me so much during that time. She helped me understand grief, letting go and how to navigate emotions in a way I’d never experienced before. She never tried to rescue me. Instead, she quietly taught me how to rescue myself.

Looking back now, I had a long way to go.

But I had finally started walking in the right direction.

When I think about the person I’ve become today, so much of it started in that therapy room. She gave me a space to be completely honest, to question the stories I’d believed for years and to begin rebuilding my relationship with myself. I’m incredibly grateful for everything she taught me because, in many ways, she’s part of the foundations of the person I am today.

Around this time, I also realised why I’d deleted social media after moving into my flat. I’d convinced myself I needed a break, but if I’m honest, I think I was escaping. Escaping comparison. Escaping people. Escaping myself. As 2020 began and I slowly became more stable, I decided to return, but this time with a different intention. Instead of using it to compare my life with everyone else’s, I wanted to use it to document my own journey and hopefully help others who might be experiencing similar struggles.

I also realised something else during this period.

I’d spent much of my life looking for someone to rescue me.

Looking back, it made perfect sense.

I grew up in a broken family. We had very little, but my mum did everything she possibly could to raise six children on her own. I’ll always be grateful for everything she sacrificed for us. She gave us everything she could with what she had.

During my darkest years, my sister Emma became the person I leaned on the most. When I couldn’t see a way forwards, she gave me hope. She listened, encouraged me and reminded me that life could get better. I’ll always be grateful for that because, at the time, I genuinely needed someone to hold onto.

Therapy slowly taught me something different.

It taught me that whilst it’s okay to ask for help, there comes a point where you have to become the person you’ve been waiting for.

The person who rescues you.

That was one of the biggest lessons of my life.

Eventually I realised something even more powerful.

I never actually needed rescuing.

I simply needed to believe that I was capable of finding my own way.

Looking back now, I think 2020 was the year I truly started studying myself.

Not my career.

Not my business.

Myself.

For the first time, I felt ready to step back out into the world.

Little did I know…

The world was about to stop.

When the World Stopped

Then everything changed.

The world went into lockdown.

Just as I felt life was becoming stable, uncertainty arrived again.

I remember thinking,

“Not again.”

Now I was living alone in my little flat during a global pandemic. The world outside had stopped and, once again, I had no idea what the future looked like.

This time, however, something was different.

I wasn’t alone.

Around this period, Mowgli came into my life.

He was the first animal I’d ever truly cared for myself and, without realising it, he taught me something I’d never experienced before: unconditional love. No matter what kind of day I’d had, he was simply happy that I was home. Looking back, he gave me companionship during a time when so many people felt isolated.

Purpose Doesn’t Lock Down

Although gyms had closed, my purpose hadn’t.

I continued coaching clients outdoors in a local car park. Through cold mornings, rain and uncertainty, people still turned up because they needed movement, routine and human connection just as much as I did. Those sessions reminded me that coaching was never about the building.

It was always about the people.

Looking back, those outdoor sessions taught me something I’ll never forget. It didn’t matter whether we were training inside a fully equipped gym or standing in the middle of a car park. What mattered was showing up. The environment changed, but the purpose never did.

Discovering Myself

Away from work, something much deeper was happening.

For the first time in my life, I genuinely enjoyed spending time with myself.

Instead of trying to fill every spare moment with distractions, I became curious. Therapy continued to help me understand myself, meditation became part of my daily routine and I found myself reading more than ever before. I explored psychology, philosophy and human behaviour with a curiosity that had grown far beyond simply wanting to overcome anxiety.

I started running.

I started cycling.

I spent more time in nature.

I made videos talking openly about anxiety and mental health because I realised there were so many people who felt the same way I once had.

Slowly, my interests began expanding beyond fitness.

I wasn’t just learning how to build a stronger body anymore.

I was learning how to build a better life.

Something else quietly changed during this time.

I stopped seeing exercise as a way to change how I looked and started seeing it as a way to look after who I was. Training, therapy, meditation, reading, walking, journalling and spending time in nature all became part of the same practice. They weren’t separate habits anymore. Together, they became the way I learnt to take care of myself.

Looking back, I think this was the first time I truly started living rather than simply surviving.

The Beginning of Roots

Looking back now, I don’t think 2020 was a year of standing still.

It was a year of returning to myself.

For years, I’d spent my life chasing the next destination. I was always looking ahead, believing happiness would arrive when I achieved the next goal, earned more money or reached the next milestone. Lockdown taught me something I never expected.

Sometimes the greatest progress happens when you’re forced to stand still.

As the outside world slowed down, I finally began slowing down too. I learnt to enjoy my own company, to listen instead of constantly reacting and to appreciate that growth isn’t always measured by how much you achieve. Sometimes it’s measured by how deeply you understand yourself.

Many of the values that now sit at the heart of everything I do were quietly taking shape during those months. Therapy taught me to understand myself. Meditation taught me to observe my thoughts instead of becoming them. Reading expanded the way I viewed the world, and spending time in nature reminded me that life doesn’t have to move at a hundred miles an hour to be meaningful.

Without realising it, I wasn’t just rebuilding my mental health anymore.

I was rebuilding my philosophy on life.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the foundations of what would eventually become Roots were already being laid. Not as a business or a community, but as a way of living. Everything that would come later, the meditation classes, the talks, the healing, the conversations about self-worth and self-mastery, all grew from the lessons I learnt during this quiet season.

Looking back, 2020 wasn’t the year everything stopped.

It was the year I finally stopped running from myself.

2021

Chapter 5:

The Fruits of Consistency

Discovering Myself

As lockdown restrictions eased and life slowly began returning to normal, I walked back into work with a renewed sense of purpose. I had no expectations. I was simply excited to coach people again.

What happened next completely took me by surprise.

My Personal Training diary filled up faster than I could have imagined. Clients returned, new enquiries kept arriving and, before long, I was busier than I’d ever been. It felt surreal. Only a few years earlier I’d been walking the gym floor, nervously introducing myself to strangers and wondering whether I’d ever make this career work.

Now I had become one of the busiest Personal Trainers in the region, finishing in the top three for the highest number of Personal Training sessions delivered in a month. I remember looking at those numbers and just sitting there in disbelief. It wasn’t about being better than anyone else. It was proof that all the uncomfortable conversations, the rejections, the classes and the years of showing up had been worth it.

For the first time, I allowed myself to stop for a moment and think,

“Wow… this is actually working.”

More Than a Job

It wasn’t just Personal Training that was growing. Sports Massage was beginning to flourish alongside it and, for the first time, both sides of my career were moving forwards together.

I finally felt stable.

My work was thriving.

I had a home that truly felt like mine.

Life felt calm.

Looking back, everything seemed to be gathering momentum. Opportunities kept appearing and, although I had no idea where the journey was leading, I trusted it. I wasn’t constantly trying to control every outcome anymore. I was simply showing up each day, doing my best and allowing life to unfold.

As I reflected on why everything had grown so quickly, I began to realise something important.

During lockdown, I hadn’t disappeared.

I’d continued sharing my journey honestly through social media. My training. Therapy. Meditation. Mental health. The books I was reading. Everything I was learning about becoming a better version of myself.

Without even realising it, I hadn’t simply been building an audience.

I’d been building trust.

People weren’t just investing in Personal Training or Sports Massage.

They were investing in me.

That taught me one of the biggest lessons I’ve ever learnt in business.

People don’t simply buy a service.

They buy into your values, your character, your consistency and the way you make them feel.

Looking back, I wasn’t just building a client list anymore.

I was building a community.

Losing Mowgli

Then, as autumn turned into winter, life reminded me once again that joy and heartbreak can exist side by side.

My cat, Mowgli, became seriously ill. He was only two years old when he was diagnosed with a rare heart condition. Despite everything that could be done, I had to make the heartbreaking decision to let him go.

Losing him broke me.

He wasn’t just a pet. During lockdown he’d been my companion, my routine and a source of unconditional love at a time when the world felt uncertain. Coming home to an empty flat without him was incredibly painful and, for a while, it genuinely felt like I’d lost part of my family.

There are moments in life that stay with you forever.

Walking out of the vets that day was one of them.

A Different Kind of Strength

As I moved through the grief, I noticed something that surprised me.

For the first time in my life, I was experiencing deep sadness without completely losing myself in it.

I cried.

I grieved.

I missed him every single day.

Yet underneath all of that pain, there was still a quiet sense of stability.

The years of therapy, meditation and inner work had given me something I didn’t know I’d been building.

A foundation.

I realised resilience wasn’t about avoiding difficult emotions or pretending everything was okay.

It was about allowing yourself to fully experience pain without letting it define who you are.

That was a huge moment for me.

A few years earlier, I would’ve collapsed under something like this. I would’ve looked for distractions, tried to run from the pain or searched for someone to rescue me.

This time was different.

I stayed with it.

I let myself grieve.

And somehow, I remained standing.

Looking back, I realised that emotional stability isn’t the absence of pain.

It’s knowing you can walk through it and still trust yourself on the other side.

Looking Back

Looking back, 2021 was a year of both push and pull.

My career reached heights I’d only dreamed of, while my personal life experienced one of its deepest losses.

Somehow, both existed at the same time.

It taught me that stability isn’t created when life is easy.

It’s created by becoming the kind of person who can remain grounded even when life asks the most difficult questions.

Looking back, 2021 wasn’t simply the year my career flourished.

It was the year I discovered what true emotional stability felt like.

2022

Chapter 6:

The Year everything

changed

Reaching the Ceiling

By 2022, life looked successful from the outside. My Personal Training business was thriving, Sports Massage was steadily growing in the background and I’d built a career doing something I genuinely loved. Every morning I woke up excited to go to work and, after everything I’d overcome during the previous few years, I finally felt proud of what I’d created.

Yet despite all of that, something didn’t feel complete.

I’d reached the ceiling.

There was nowhere left for me to grow at Nuffield. My Personal Training diary was completely full, Sports Massage was becoming increasingly popular and I was treating clients either at Nuffield or travelling to them. Every hour of my week had been accounted for and I simply couldn’t fit another client into my diary, even if I wanted to.

Financially, I’d reached my limit.

I remember thinking to myself,

“Surely this can’t be it?”

Not because I wasn’t grateful, but because deep down I knew there was another level waiting for me. I knew I was capable of building something bigger. I just couldn’t see the path to get there.

Dream Builder

During one of my therapy sessions, my therapist introduced me to a programme called Dream Builder. She believed I was ready for it and encouraged me to invest in myself.

At first, I resisted.

The course meant spending a large portion of the savings I’d worked so hard to build and, immediately, my mind slipped back into its familiar pattern.

What if it doesn’t work?

What if I waste the money?

What if I need those savings later?

Looking back, those thoughts weren’t really about money at all.

They were about safety.

My brain had spent years trying to protect me by avoiding uncertainty, but that same way of thinking was now becoming the very thing holding me back.

Looking back now, I don’t think Dream Builder changed my life on its own.

It was the combination of the course and therapy that transformed me.

Dream Builder gave me a vision, while therapy helped me understand why I kept getting in my own way.

One of the biggest things my therapist pointed out was something I’d never noticed before.

The way I spoke.

Almost every sentence I used contained limitation.

My language was full of can’t, but, maybe, what if and risk.

Without realising it, I wasn’t speaking from possibility.

I was speaking from protection.

She would often stop me halfway through a sentence and simply ask me to say it differently.

Instead of calling something a risk, could I call it an opportunity?

Instead of asking,

“What if it fails?”

What if I asked,

“What if it works?”

At first it felt unnatural, almost forced, but week after week something inside me began to change.

It wasn’t just the words I used.

My entire perception of life started changing with them.

I slowly moved from seeing a glass half empty to seeing a glass half full. Instead of instinctively looking for obstacles, I started looking for possibilities.

Looking back, I genuinely believe those conversations were slowly reprogramming years of fear-based thinking.

Writing the Vision

One of the biggest exercises in Dream Builder was to write down exactly what I wanted if fear, money and other people’s opinions no longer existed.

It sounds like a simple exercise, but I’d never truly allowed myself to think like that before.

Every decision I’d ever made had been filtered through what felt realistic, sensible or safe.

This time I removed every limit.

I wrote about the business I wanted to build, the environment I wanted to create, the impact I wanted to have on people’s lives and, perhaps most importantly, the person I wanted to become.

One vision kept appearing throughout everything I wrote.

A gym.

Not just somewhere with equipment, but somewhere people could genuinely transform themselves, both physically and mentally.

Somewhere that represented everything I’d learnt through my own journey.

I still have that document saved on my laptop today.

Once I’d written it down, it felt as though I’d finally entered a destination into my internal sat-nav.

Before then I was simply driving through life, hoping I’d eventually arrive somewhere meaningful.

Now I knew exactly where I wanted to go.

Every morning I meditated on that vision.

I’d picture myself walking through my own building, imagine the atmosphere inside it, visualise the conversations, the coaching, the community and the feeling of creating something that genuinely mattered.

Day after day I returned to that vision until it no longer felt like a dream.

It felt inevitable.

The First Leap

Then something unexpected happened.

During one of those visualisations another thought entered my mind.

What about opening your own Sports Massage clinic first?

It wasn’t the dream I’d written down, but it immediately felt like the next stepping stone towards it.

I remember going back to my therapist and telling her about the idea.

She smiled and said something I’ve never forgotten.

“This is the universe working its magic. Where energy goes, it grows.”

Whether you see that as mindset, coincidence or something more spiritual, it made complete sense to me.

My energy had finally stopped focusing on everything that could go wrong and had started focusing on where I wanted to go.

Not long afterwards, someone contacted me and offered me a Sports Massage room to rent.

The old version of me would’ve immediately found reasons to say no.

I already had my flat to pay for, all my household bills and a massage business that certainly wasn’t generating enough income to comfortably take on another £400 a month.

Every logical part of my brain wanted to stay where it felt safe.

But this time I noticed the difference.

Instead of asking,

“Why can’t I?”

I asked myself,

“How do I make this work?”

I remember clapping my hands together and saying out loud,

“Let’s do it.”

I was terrified.

I honestly had no idea where the money was going to come from, but for the first time in my life I trusted myself more than I trusted my fear.

Within the first week, the clinic had generated enough income to pay the entire month’s rent.

I remember sitting there almost laughing to myself because I couldn’t quite believe it.

It wasn’t the amount of money that mattered.

It was what it represented.

For the first time, I’d backed myself despite every fearful thought telling me not to, and it had worked.

That single decision gave me confidence that I was capable of creating opportunities rather than waiting for them.

A Viral Opportunity

Around the same time, another opportunity appeared that felt just as surreal.

I met Lex from Gymshark.

Years earlier I’d watched him online while Gymshark was growing. I bought into the lifestyle they represented and, in many ways, people like Lex had inspired me to pursue a career in fitness.

Now we were standing together in the gym, talking about creating content.

We decided there and then to film some Sports Massage videos together.

I’ll never forget filming the first one.

I was so nervous that I even booked myself a haircut beforehand and bought a brand-new T-shirt because I wanted everything to be perfect.

Looking back now it makes me smile.

The young man who once struggled to speak to strangers because of anxiety was now confidently standing in front of a camera explaining Sports Massage techniques.

Those videos eventually became what many people now know as The Worst Pain Series.

They went on to reach millions of people around the world and suddenly people were travelling from all over the country to my little clinic in Madeley because they’d seen those videos online.

It honestly felt surreal.

Raising the Standard

Around the time I opened my clinic in Madeley, I decided to study my Level 4 Sports Massage qualification. I’d always believed that once you complete a course, the real learning actually begins. Courses give you the foundations, but it’s only when you start treating real people, reading books, asking questions and practising every day that everything starts to make sense. I spent just as much time self-studying as I did attending courses. I was constantly reading, experimenting and learning from every client who walked through the door.

If I’m honest, I thought the Level 4 course would be fairly straightforward. I imagined it would be another multiple-choice exam with a practical assessment at the end.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

At the time, I was already incredibly busy. I was building my Sports Massage clinic, coaching Personal Training clients and still working shifts at Nuffield. Looking back, I was completely naïve about what I’d signed up for.

The course was intense.

There were written examinations, case studies and a five-hour practical assessment, all completed in a single day. This wasn’t about remembering the correct answer from four options anymore. It demanded a completely different level of understanding.

I remember finishing work at ten o’clock at night, getting home and walking around my flat rehearsing practical assessments over and over again. I’d answer questions out loud before checking the textbook, highlighting everything I’d missed and then rehearsing the answers again. I’d ask friends and family to throw random questions at me so I could answer them without thinking. For six months, that became my routine.

It was exhausting.

Eventually, exam day arrived.

The practical assessment was intense, but I actually enjoyed it. By that point I’d spent so many hours treating clients and rehearsing injury assessments that everything felt natural. I wasn’t trying to remember a script anymore. I genuinely understood what I was doing.

The written exam was another story.

I suddenly realised I hadn’t sat down and handwritten an exam since my GCSE English exams years earlier. My hand was cramping, my handwriting became worse with every page and I remember thinking that if someone had simply given me a laptop, I’d probably have written twice as much. The knowledge was there. My hand just couldn’t keep up with my brain.

When the results came through, I’d scored 100%.

The relief was enormous.

I remember getting home afterwards and telling everyone to leave me alone for a few days. My brain felt completely fried. For almost a week I did very little other than play Call of Duty and recover. It was the first time in months that I’d properly switched off.

Looking back, I’m so grateful I pushed myself through it.

Level 4 set me apart from many Sports Massage therapists. More importantly, it deepened my understanding of injury, rehabilitation and the human body in a way that completely changed the way I worked.

Around that same time, I was filming The Worst Pain series with Lex. The timing couldn’t have been better. My anatomy knowledge was as fresh as it’d ever been, and I found myself explaining injuries with a level of confidence and detail that simply hadn’t been there before. Looking back, I honestly think that extra depth helped those videos connect with so many people.

Ironbridge

Looking back now, I don’t believe those opportunities appeared because I suddenly became lucky.

I think they appeared because, for the first time in my life, I knew exactly where I was going.

My thoughts, my actions and my decisions were finally aligned.

It felt as though I’d tuned my internal sat-nav and life was simply presenting the next turning on the journey.

The massage clinic had never been the destination.

It was simply another stepping stone towards the dream I’d written down.

Then one afternoon another opportunity arrived that would change my life forever.

I’d been invited into a WhatsApp group for businesses around Madeley High Street.

One day, an estate agent posted a message saying there was a building available in Ironbridge before it officially went onto the market and asked whether anyone wanted to view it.

I went to have a look.

The moment I walked through the door, I felt something I still struggle to explain.

It was exactly the same feeling I’d had when the massage clinic opportunity appeared.

I didn’t want to look anywhere else.

I didn’t compare it to other buildings.

I simply knew.

This was it.

Looking back, I was incredibly naïve.

Thankfully.

Because if I’d known what was waiting for me—the commercial lease, the legal documents, the negotiations, the financial pressure, the responsibility and everything that comes with running your own premises—I honestly think fear would’ve convinced me to walk away.

Instead, I followed the feeling.

The lease negotiations were completely new territory. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was incredibly fortunate to have members from Nuffield with years of business experience who gave me advice, helped me understand what I was signing and guided me through a world I’d never experienced before.

I’ll always be grateful for their support because, without them, I don’t think I’d have had the confidence to move forwards.

Eventually, the paperwork was complete, the lease was signed and, in October 2022, I collected the keys.

Standing inside that empty building was one of the proudest moments of my life.

I had three months rent-free to transform it into the place I’d been visualising every single morning.

I could finally move my Personal Training and Sports Massage business out of Nuffield and begin building something that was truly my own.

At the same time, I’d just come out of a relationship and, in many ways, the building became my focus while I worked through that chapter of my life.

Instead of sitting with the heartbreak, I poured every ounce of my energy into creating this new beginning.

I had no idea what I was doing.

Suddenly I was learning about commercial leases, business rates, insurance, legal documents, project management and budgeting, all while trying to keep my existing business running.

My monthly outgoings increased dramatically and the responsibility felt enormous.

But I’d signed the lease now.

There was no turning back.

Over the next three months, life became complete chaos.

My days started around seven in the morning and often didn’t finish until one or two the following morning.

I’d coach Personal Training clients, treat Sports Massage appointments in Madeley, drive over to Ironbridge, paint walls, build treatment rooms, lay gym flooring, buy equipment, organise trades, spend every penny I’d saved and somehow try to manage the biggest project I’d ever taken on.

Every time I solved one problem, two more seemed to appear.

It was exhausting.

Overwhelming.

Completely consuming.

Looking back, I often think of that period as burning the boats.

There was no safety net anymore.

There was no option to quietly go back to how things were before.

The only direction was forwards.

It’s amazing what you’re capable of when retreat is no longer an option.

I had absolutely no idea then that this was only the beginning.

The real challenge was still to come.

2023

Chapter 7:

Burning the Boats

Chaos Continues

If 2022 was about opening the door, 2023 was about discovering what was waiting on the other side.

The year began exactly where the previous one had ended. Complete chaos.

The building still wasn’t ready. The massage rooms had been finished, but the gym itself was still a construction site. There was no gym floor, tools were scattered everywhere and clients had to walk through the building to reach the treatment rooms. I even remember placing my business sign across the hallway to stop people accidentally wandering into the construction area. Looking back now, it makes me laugh, but at the time it was simply survival. Every single day felt like another problem waiting to be solved.

To make matters worse, the builders I’d hired were slowing the entire project down. Deadlines came and went, work I’d expected to be completed wasn’t finished and then they started asking me to pay for work they hadn’t even done. I had no experience managing building projects and no idea what was normal or what wasn’t. All I knew was that every delay was costing me money I simply didn’t have.

By this point, my savings had almost completely disappeared. I had around £1,000 left to my name. Everything else had gone into the building. My wage from Nuffield had become the only thing keeping me afloat while I tried to bring this dream to life. It wasn’t paying for holidays or luxuries. It was paying my bills while every spare penny was being poured into Ironbridge.

Every morning I’d coach clients at Nuffield, trying to be fully present while my mind constantly drifted back to the building. Then I’d drive to Ironbridge, spend hours painting walls, fitting rooms, organising deliveries, solving problems and trying to project manage something I’d never done before. My hands were permanently covered in paint, dust sat underneath my fingernails and coffee had become a food group. Most evenings I’d work until ten o’clock before carrying on at the building until one or two in the morning. Looking back, I genuinely don’t know how I kept going.

The Meeting

Then everything changed.

One afternoon I opened my shift planner at Nuffield to check my bookings and noticed a meeting had appeared in my diary. It was with the General Manager and the Fitness Manager.

My stomach dropped.

I knew exactly what it was about.

I’d recently had a disagreement with one of my Personal Training clients and, during it, he’d told Nuffield that I was opening my own gym and planning to leave. From their perspective, it was a huge conflict of interest.

As I walked into the office, my mind was racing. I was exhausted, running almost entirely on caffeine and adrenaline, and trying to balance two completely different lives at once. They explained that they’d heard rumours and wanted to know what was happening.

There was no point pretending.

I simply told them the truth.

I explained that I was opening my own facility and that my plan had always been to leave towards the end of February. I reassured them that I wasn’t opening a membership gym to compete with Nuffield. At that stage it was somewhere for my Personal Training clients and Sports Massage business to grow. I reminded them that when I’d interviewed nearly five years earlier, I’d said my dream was always to build something of my own one day. I hadn’t hidden that ambition. It had simply taken me longer to reach it than I’d expected.

To their credit, they handled the conversation with far more understanding than I’d imagined. They explained they could have placed me on garden leave immediately but chose not to. They trusted me. I made it clear that I wasn’t there to poach clients. If anyone chose to follow me, that would always be their decision, but I would never abuse the trust Nuffield had placed in me over the previous five years.

I left that meeting feeling something I hadn’t expected.

Gratitude.

Looking back, I have nothing but respect for Nuffield. They gave a nervous young Personal Trainer an opportunity when he barely believed in himself. They helped shape my career and gave me the platform to become the coach I am today. When it was finally time to leave, they allowed me to leave with dignity, and I’ll always be thankful for that.

Leaving Nuffield

At the end of February, I taught my final spin class.

As I clipped my shoes into the bike one last time, I felt exactly the same way I had when I walked out of the factory years before.

Another chapter of my life was closing.

It was emotional.

But unlike before, I didn’t have the luxury of sitting with those emotions.

There was simply too much to do.

The builders were still causing problems, and I now had to deal with the dispute over what they were trying to charge me.

Standing My Ground

I wasn’t trying to avoid paying them.

I genuinely wanted to pay them fairly.

But I also knew they were trying to bill me for work that either hadn’t been completed or had created more work for me to fix afterwards.

So I spent hours putting together my own case. I went through photographs, invoices, measurements and notes, trying to work out exactly what had been completed and what hadn’t.

Eventually I picked up the phone.

I was terrified.

Inside, I still felt like a little boy pretending to be a businessman.

But I couldn’t let them hear that.

I calmly explained my position and told them I was willing to pay £1,000. No more. I remember saying, “You can accept this, or we can go to Small Claims Court. I’m confident I’ll win.”

The truth was…

I had absolutely no idea if I’d win.

I was bluffing.

There was a long silence.

Those few seconds felt like forever.

Then he replied…

“Okay.”

Just like that, it was over.

I remember putting the phone down and laughing to myself. The younger version of me who’d once been too anxious to leave his bedroom was now negotiating legal disputes, standing his ground and protecting a business he’d built from scratch.

Moments like that quietly change you.

They show you that courage isn’t always loud.

Sometimes it’s simply picking up the phone when every part of you wants to avoid it.

Swimming Alone

One of the biggest lessons I learnt during that period was just how lonely entrepreneurship can be.

When you’re employed, there’s always someone above you to make the difficult decisions. Someone else carries the responsibility.

Once you leave and build something of your own, that’s gone.

When the ship starts taking on water, there’s nobody coming to save it.

You’re the captain.

You either learn to keep it afloat…

Or you sink with it.

Thankfully, I was still swimming.

Every storm I’d faced up until that point had taught me something.

This one was teaching me how to lead.

Freedom

As the months passed, the chaos slowly began settling.

My Personal Training clients gradually moved across from Nuffield to Ironbridge, Sports Massage continued growing and, for the first time, everything was finally under one roof.

I remember unlocking the door each morning and thinking,

“This is mine.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it represented every risk I’d taken, every late night, every difficult conversation and every pound I’d invested in myself.

The business began growing faster than I expected. Clients were enjoying the new space, word was spreading and I finally had an environment that reflected the vision I’d been carrying around in my mind for so long.

There was a freedom I’d never experienced before.

I wasn’t working to someone else’s timetable anymore.

Every decision, every improvement and every success belonged to me.

Learning to Live

Ironically, one of the hardest lessons that year wasn’t learning how to work.

It was learning how to stop.

For years I’d believed that productivity was the same as self-worth. If I wasn’t working, I felt guilty. I’d spent so many years surviving that I didn’t really know how to enjoy what I’d built. I always felt like I should be doing something.

Slowly, I began giving myself permission to take a day off.

I started hiking more.

Spending time in nature.

Reading.

Exploring new places.

Stepping away from the building occasionally.

Those walks became some of my favourite moments of the week. They reminded me why I’d started this journey in the first place.

Success was never about building a gym.

It was about creating a life that felt aligned with who I was becoming.

Looking Back

Looking back, 2023 was a year of complete contrast.

It began with dust, uncertainty, financial pressure and some of the biggest decisions I’d ever had to make.

It ended with freedom, stability and the quiet satisfaction of walking into a building that had once existed only in my imagination.

The irony is that, at the time, I thought the hardest part was over.

In reality…

It was only the beginning.

2024

Chapter 8:

Giving Back

A Different Kind of Growth

After years of constantly chasing the next milestone, 2024 felt different.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t waking up wondering what I needed to build next. Ironbridge was open, the business had settled and life had found a rhythm again. I was coaching Personal Training clients, treating Sports Massage appointments and, perhaps for the first time in years, I actually had moments to stand still and appreciate what had been created.

Sometimes I’d unlock the building early in the morning before anyone had arrived and simply look around. It was quiet. I’d think back to the empty shell I’d first collected the keys to, the nights spent painting walls until one in the morning, the dust beneath my fingernails and the constant worry about whether I’d run out of money before we opened. Now people were walking through the doors every day, laughing, training, recovering and building friendships inside a place that had once existed only in my imagination.

I realised something unexpected.

The business no longer needed to become bigger.

I needed to become better.

Life Beyond Work

For years I’d measured progress by what I was building on the outside. Bigger goals. More clients. More opportunities. More responsibility. But after everything that had happened, I found myself becoming far more interested in what was happening internally. I realised that if I genuinely wanted to help people on a deeper level, then I couldn’t stop doing the inner work that had transformed my own life.

One of the biggest changes that year was learning how to have a life outside of work. For so many years I’d attached my self-worth to productivity. If I wasn’t working, I felt guilty. Slowly, I began giving myself permission to take a day off. At first it felt uncomfortable, almost as though I was doing something wrong, but over time I realised rest wasn’t the opposite of productivity. It was part of it.

I spent more time hiking, walking in nature and simply slowing down. Those moments away from the gym often became the moments where I learnt the most about myself. The business was no longer consuming every waking hour. Instead, it had become something I could enjoy rather than simply survive.

The Ripple Effect

Around this time, a local charity contacted me with an opportunity that would leave a lasting impression on me. They were supporting a group of vulnerable men who were rebuilding their lives after experiences with addiction, prison, alcohol misuse and criminal behaviour. They asked if I’d be willing to run a twelve-week programme for them.

I didn’t hesitate.

Every week, the men would come into the gym. We’d train together, but the sessions quickly became about far more than exercise. We’d finish by sitting together in meditation before opening conversations about life, purpose, fear and the stories we’d all carried with us. There was something incredibly powerful about watching barriers slowly disappear. Labels that society had placed upon these men began to fade, and what remained were simply human beings trying to find their way again.

I found myself sharing parts of my own story. My struggles with anxiety, therapy, feeling lost and rebuilding my confidence. In return, they trusted me with theirs. Those conversations humbled me. They reminded me that pain doesn’t discriminate. It wears different clothes, but underneath we’re often carrying the same fears, the same shame and the same desire to feel accepted.

Watching the transformation over those twelve weeks was one of the greatest privileges of my career. Men who’d arrived quietly with little confidence gradually stood a little taller each week. They smiled more, spoke more openly and slowly began believing in themselves again. Some even went on to create their own men’s mental health groups, supporting others who were walking the same path they’d once travelled.

That was the moment something clicked.

I’d always believed helping people created change, but this was the first time I’d witnessed the ripple effect so clearly. You don’t just change one person’s life. You change the lives of the people they go home to. Their children. Their partners. Their friends. The people they eventually help themselves.

A single act of kindness can quietly travel much further than we’ll ever know.

The Beginning of Roots

That experience planted a seed inside me.

Soon afterwards, I started holding a free meditation class every Saturday morning. There was no business plan behind it and no expectation that it would grow. I simply wanted to create the kind of space that had once helped me. A place where people could step away from the noise of life, sit in silence for a while and reconnect with themselves.

The first sessions were small.

Just a handful of people sitting together inside the studio.

But every week they came back.

Then they brought friends.

Slowly, a community began to form.

People weren’t just coming for meditation. They were coming because they’d found somewhere they could simply be themselves without judgement. We’d sit together afterwards, drink tea, laugh and talk about whatever was happening in our lives.

Looking back, I can see that we weren’t simply creating a meditation class.

We were quietly building a community.

At the time, I called it The Way, inspired by the wisdom of the Tao Te Ching. I loved the idea that life wasn’t something to fight against but something to move with. I didn’t realise it then, but many of the ideas that would eventually become Roots were already taking shape inside those Saturday mornings.

An Unexpected Path

Around the same time, another unexpected path opened.

I began studying energy healing.

I know that for some people those words immediately raise eyebrows, and I completely understand why. If someone had suggested it to me a few years earlier, I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. But by this point I’d learnt not to dismiss something simply because I didn’t yet understand it.

For me, energy healing wasn’t about replacing science or medicine. It was another way of helping people slow down, become present and reconnect with themselves. After years of living through discipline, structure and constant action, it introduced me to qualities I’d neglected for much of my life. Stillness. Intuition. Compassion. Presence.

Those lessons reached far beyond the treatment room. They changed the way I coached, the way I listened and the way I viewed healing itself.

As my confidence grew, I began offering energy healing sessions, sound baths and wellbeing talks from the clinic. I never saw myself as someone with all the answers. If anything, the more I learnt, the more I realised how much I still didn’t know. My role wasn’t to rescue people. It was simply to create an environment where they felt safe enough to begin discovering their own answers.

The Business Behind

the Business

While all of this was happening, another education was taking place behind the scenes.

I loved coaching.

I loved treating injuries.

I loved creating new ideas and imagining what the business could become next.

But I slowly realised I wasn’t paying enough attention to what was quietly keeping the business alive.

I knew how to coach people.

I didn’t yet know how to truly run a business.

I found myself learning about cash flow, profit, marketing, systems and project management. They weren’t exciting subjects, but they were becoming increasingly important. I was very good at doing the work itself.

Now I had to become equally good at everything happening behind the scenes.

One moment from that year has stayed with me ever since.

After paying a large tax bill, I opened my business banking app and stared at the screen.

The balance read…

£12.

I remember sitting there in complete silence.

Clients were still coming through the doors.

The business looked successful from the outside.

Yet at that moment I realised how fragile everything could become if I didn’t understand the financial side of what I was building.

I picked up my phone and recorded a video to my future self.

Never forget this feeling.

Respect cash flow.

Respect profit.

Respect the numbers.

Looking back now, that moment became one of the greatest business lessons I could’ve received.

The business wasn’t failing.

It was educating me.

When My Body Said No

Around the middle of the year, life decided it was time for another lesson.

I’d completely fallen in love with strength training. Watching another five kilograms go onto the bar, seeing my technique improve and becoming stronger than I’d ever been was incredibly rewarding.

Then my body reminded me that progress is rarely linear.

First came the quadriceps tear.

Not long afterwards came something far more significant.

A lumbar disc bulge.

Then, as I slowly began recovering, I developed a severe chest infection that lingered for months. Running became impossible. Even climbing stairs left me breathless at times, and I relied on an inhaler while waiting for my lungs to recover.

For a while, it felt as though everything I’d spent years building physically had been taken away from me.

Looking back now, I realise life wasn’t taking my strength from me.

It was asking me to redefine what strength actually meant.

For months, my own gym became my laboratory.

Every squat became an experiment.

Every deadlift became feedback.

Every rehabilitation exercise taught me something new.

Instead of asking, “How quickly can I get back?” I started asking, “What is my body trying to teach me?”

I became fascinated by biomechanics, rehabilitation and how the body adapts when we actually listen to it instead of fighting against it.

The biggest lesson wasn’t physical.

It was emotional.

I had to put my ego aside.

I had to stop proving how strong I was.

I had to learn that sometimes the strongest decision you can make is choosing not to push.

That experience transformed the way I coached forever. Every injury I’d experienced gave me a deeper understanding of the people walking through my doors carrying pain, frustration and fear.

No qualification, textbook or course could’ve taught me what those months did.

My own body became the textbook.

The gym floor became the classroom.

Patience became the teacher

Looking Back

Looking back now, 2024 wasn’t a year of rapid business growth.

It was a year of growing roots.

Without consciously planning it, I was building something much bigger than a gym. Personal Training, Sports Massage, rehabilitation, mindfulness, meditation, energy healing and community were all beginning to weave together into one philosophy.

They were no longer separate services.

They were different expressions of the same purpose.

Helping people reconnect with themselves.

By the end of the year, I understood something that had taken me almost a decade to learn.

Success isn’t measured by how many people you can help.

It’s measured by how deeply you’re able to help one person change.

2025

Chapter 9:

Following the Feeling

The Search

As 2025 began, another decision quietly appeared on the horizon.

My lease at Ironbridge was approaching its end. Or so I thought.

It had been almost three years since I’d signed the lease, collected the keys and transformed an empty building into a place that had become far more than just a business. Ironbridge wasn’t simply where I worked anymore. It had become a home. Every wall held a memory. Every room reminded me of another challenge I’d overcome. It was the place where I’d truly become a business owner.

But ever since opening it, I’d carried another vision in the back of my mind. I wanted a larger space. Not because I wanted a bigger business for the sake of it, but because I wanted to complete the ecosystem I’d imagined years earlier. Personal Training, Sports Massage, meditation, recovery and an open gym where people could continue their journey independently. A place where clients didn’t need me standing beside them forever. Somewhere they could build confidence, train with a community and eventually realise they were capable of more than they thought.

It felt like the final piece of the puzzle.

So the search began. I viewed building after building. Some looked promising online but felt completely wrong the moment I walked through the door. Others felt perfect until negotiations began and offers were rejected. Sometimes the numbers simply didn’t work. Other times I couldn’t explain it. I just knew it wasn’t the right place. The more I searched, the more frustrated I became. Weeks became months, and every opportunity seemed to disappear just as quickly as it arrived.

Eventually, I found myself becoming impatient. Then disappointed. Slowly, I started questioning whether I should simply renew the lease at Ironbridge instead. December was getting closer and the uncertainty was beginning to weigh on me. In the end, I stopped looking altogether. I decided to pause.

Perhaps I was trying too hard.

An Unexpected Discovery

One afternoon, while I was training in the gym, the estate agent walked through the door. I smiled to myself because I was convinced he’d come to talk about renewing the lease. Instead, he was simply passing by and wanted to catch up. During our conversation I casually mentioned that my lease would be ending at the end of 2025.

He looked at me, slightly confused.

“No it isn’t.”

I laughed.

“Yes it is. It’s nearly been three years.”

He shook his head.

“No… it ends in December 2026.”

Now I was confused.

When he left, I immediately dug out my own lease agreement. Sure enough, the lease had been signed in January 2023, but the expiry date was December 2026.

Four years.

Not three.

I checked it again. Then again. Then I genuinely sat there counting the years on my fingers because I couldn’t believe it. How had everyone missed it? The solicitors. The estate agents. The landlord. Me. Part of me even wondered whether everyone else had noticed and I’d somehow been the only person who hadn’t.

Whatever the reason, one thing was suddenly true.

The pressure disappeared.

I didn’t need to rush anymore.

For the first time in months, I could breathe.

I stopped searching altogether because, looking back, that extra year felt like life quietly saying,

“Not yet.”

Building a Home

Business itself was in a good place. Things felt stable. The frantic survival of the previous few years had settled and, instead of pouring every ounce of energy into growing the business, I found myself investing more deeply in another area of my life.

My relationship.

For the first time, I found myself in a relationship that felt calm, healthy and safe. There was no drama, no uncertainty and no feeling that I needed to become someone different to be loved. It simply felt peaceful, and after everything I’d experienced over the previous decade, peace was something I’d come to value more than excitement.

At the same time, another decision had been quietly waiting for me.

My flat.

I’d lived there through so many chapters of my life. It had been there after heartbreak. It had witnessed the beginning of therapy, the building of my business and all the uncertainty that came with becoming self-employed. It had become my safe place.

But deep down I knew something.

I’d received everything that flat had been given to teach me.

It had served its purpose.

Now it was time for the next chapter.

My partner and I decided to move in together and find somewhere closer to the gym. On paper it sounded exciting. Emotionally, it wasn’t quite that simple. Moving house brought back memories I hadn’t expected. Old fears resurfaced and the little boy inside me who’d always associated change with uncertainty suddenly became very loud again. I noticed myself questioning everything.

“What if this is a mistake?”

“What if I lose what I’ve already built?”

But by this point in my life I’d learnt something important.

I didn’t always trust my thoughts.

I trusted my feelings.

Every major decision I’d ever made had felt frightening beforehand. Leaving the factory. Leaving Nuffield. Signing the Ironbridge lease. Opening the clinic. Every single one had asked me to let go of something safe before I could discover something better.

This felt exactly the same.

In November, we moved into our new home. For the first time, I had a garden. Our two cats settled in almost immediately, exploring every corner as though they’d lived there forever. I remember standing in the kitchen one morning, watching them through the window and feeling an overwhelming sense of peace.

Home finally felt like more than somewhere I slept.

It felt safe.

Letting Go

Moments building up to the house move, I found myself talking about the flat a lot in therapy. On the surface, it was just somewhere I’d lived for a few years, but the more we explored it, the more I realised I wasn’t grieving the flat itself. I was grieving what it represented. After university, I’d spent years moving from place to place while trying to rebuild my life. I’d lived in house shares, spare rooms and temporary homes. The flat had been the first place that truly felt like mine. It had been there through heartbreak, therapy, building my business and becoming self-employed. It had given me something I’d been searching for over a very long time.

Stability.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

Sitting in therapy, I slowly realised something. The flat wasn’t giving me stability anymore. It was giving me the illusion of stability. The truth was, I’d already become stable. The flat had simply helped me get there. Deep down, I realised I was holding onto it because it made me feel safe. Part of me wanted to keep it “just in case.” Just in case the relationship didn’t work out. Just in case life fell apart again. Just in case I needed somewhere to run back to. It wasn’t logic. It was fear. That was difficult to admit.

I’d spent years telling myself I trusted the process, yet here I was trying to keep one foot in the past while stepping into the future. Therapy helped me see that growth nearly always asks us to let go of something before we can hold onto something new. I’d experienced it before. I had to let go of university. I had to let go of the factory. I had to let go of Nuffield. I had to let go of the security of employment to build Ironbridge. Now life was asking me to let go again. This time, it wasn’t a job or a business. It was my home.

More importantly, it was asking me to let go of the belief that my stability lived outside of me.

Looking back, I realised something I’d never seen before. For years I’d been searching for stability in places, relationships and circumstances. I thought a house would make me feel secure. I thought a relationship would make me feel secure. I thought a successful business would make me feel secure. But stability was never something I was supposed to find. It was something I was supposed to become. Over the years, through therapy, meditation, setbacks and rebuilding my life over and over again, I’d quietly built that stability within myself. The flat hadn’t created it. It had simply given me somewhere safe to discover it.

By the time I handed the keys back, my inner child was still frightened. He didn’t like change. He wanted certainty. He wanted something familiar to hold onto. The difference now was that he wasn’t facing it alone. I’d become strong enough to look after him. I no longer needed to keep one foot in the past to protect myself from the future. I trusted myself enough to know that whatever happened next, I’d find a way through it.

Perhaps that’s what growing up really is.

Not becoming fearless.

But learning to trust yourself enough to let go, even when you can’t yet see what’s waiting on the other side.

Looking back, I realised something.

The factory had once felt safe.

Nuffield had once felt safe.

My flat had once felt safe.

Ironbridge now felt safe.

Every stage of my life had eventually become comfortable, yet every stage had eventually needed to be left behind. Growth had always asked me to let go of something I loved before showing me what was waiting next.

I knew that, one day, the same would also be true of Ironbridge.

The Next Chapter

Interestingly, while I was focusing on building my personal life rather than searching for buildings, life quietly got back to work.

One afternoon I was chatting with one of my Personal Training clients and explaining the vision I still carried for the future. A larger space. An open gym. A stronger community. Somewhere everything could finally exist together.

He listened carefully before saying,

“I’ve actually got a building becoming available in April 2026.”

I smiled.

It sounded exciting.

But it also felt too early. We still had months left before I needed to make another move.

He simply smiled and said,

“Come and have a look. When you walk in… you’ll know.”

Christmas arrived, the gym became quieter for a few days and I finally decided to go and see it.

The moment I walked through the door, I smiled.

It was exactly what I’d been looking for.

After everything I’d experienced building Ironbridge, I knew one thing for certain. I didn’t want another huge construction project. I didn’t want months of builders, delays and uncertainty. This place already had the foundations. It simply needed decorating, painting and bringing to life. It felt almost plug and play.

Standing there, I could already picture people training inside. I could see the community, the atmosphere and the future I’d been imagining for years.

Of course, there was still a huge question hanging over everything.

Could I really afford two leases at the same time?

Would the business survive?

Was I about to make the biggest financial commitment of my life?

Those questions were real.

The fear was real.

But so was something else.

Excitement.

It had been a long time since I’d felt that mixture of fear and possibility. It reminded me of walking into Ironbridge for the first time.

I smiled to myself because, deep down, I knew exactly what was happening.

Here we go again.

Another chapter was about to begin.

Looking Back

Looking back now, I don’t think 2025 was really about finding another building.

It was about learning to trust timing.

At the beginning of the year, I was chasing every opportunity I could find. I thought the harder I searched, the quicker I’d find what I was looking for. Instead, every door seemed to close.

Only when I stopped forcing it did everything begin to unfold.

The extra year on my lease.

Moving into our new home.

Finding peace in my personal life.

Then, almost out of nowhere, the building I’d been imagining for years appeared.

Looking back, I realise none of those moments happened when I wanted them to.

They happened when I was ready for them.

2025 reminded me that growth isn’t always about pushing harder.

Sometimes it’s about pausing, trusting yourself and allowing life to meet you halfway.

As I locked the door to Ironbridge that Christmas, I knew another adventure was waiting.

I just didn’t realise how big it was going to be.

2026

Chapter 10:

The Final Piece of the Puzzle

Part 1:

The Biggest Leap Yet

As 2026 began, I found myself standing at the beginning of another chapter. The building in Dawley felt right. I’d walked through it back in December and, just like Ironbridge years before, I’d known almost instantly. The difference this time was that I wasn’t stepping into an empty shell with four bare walls. This building already had studios, open spaces and a layout that matched the vision I’d been carrying around in my mind for years. Instead of spending months building treatment rooms and creating a usable space from scratch, I could focus on bringing my own identity into it.

Even so, this wasn’t just another move. This building was around 6,000 square feet, compared to Ironbridge at around 1,400 square feet. Before that, I’d worked from a single treatment room in Madeley. Every chapter of my journey had become progressively bigger, and now I was about to take on something more than four times the size of my current premises. The overheads would more than double, the responsibility would increase overnight and every decision suddenly carried much bigger consequences.

Oddly, though, I wasn’t as frightened as I had been before. I was definitely nervous, but not in the same way. Ironbridge had taught me too much. I’d already learnt how to negotiate commercial leases, deal with solicitors, estate agents, landlords, utility companies and all the hidden responsibilities that nobody tells you about when you first decide to start a business. The younger version of me would’ve walked into those conversations completely overwhelmed. This version of me felt different, not because I knew everything, but because I’d survived enough to know I’d figure it out.

I often smiled to myself during those negotiations because I realised how much I’d changed. Years earlier I’d been completely out of my depth, learning every lesson the hard way. Now I was spotting things I’d never have noticed before. I knew which questions to ask. I understood the legal process. I knew where delays usually happened and where problems were likely to appear. Even something as mundane as gas and electricity had become an area I understood. At Ironbridge I’d trusted a broker who’d secured me what sounded like a reasonable deal, only to realise later that I was paying around 16 pence per kilowatt hour for gas while the market had fallen to around 5 pence. That expensive lesson stayed with me. This time I skipped the brokers completely and negotiated directly with suppliers. Sometimes experience isn’t glamorous. Sometimes it’s simply remembering where you got burnt last time.

Backing the Vision

The next challenge was money. Although I’d built savings over the years, I knew this move would require a much bigger investment than anything I’d taken on before. The obvious solution would’ve been to take out a large commercial loan and finance everything that way, but I’ve never really liked doing things the obvious way. I’ve always believed there’s usually another option if you’re prepared to look hard enough. I didn’t want to borrow hundreds of thousands of pounds simply because that’s what everyone else did. I wanted to borrow as little as possible, keep my repayments manageable and allow the business to grow sustainably rather than placing enormous pressure on it from day one.

That meant creating a proper business plan, something I’d been putting off for years. If I’m honest, I found it painfully boring. Cash-flow forecasts, profit projections, personal survival budgets, business plans and spreadsheets were a world away from coaching people in the gym, but I also knew this was part of becoming the business owner I’d always wanted to be. What I thought would take a few evenings ended up taking months. Every time I thought I’d finished, another section needed changing or another forecast needed refining.

Around the same time I discovered that Telford & Wrekin Council were offering a Pride in Your High Street Grant. The grant could make a huge difference, but it also required detailed business plans, cash-flow forecasts and financial projections. Thankfully, I already had most of the work done. I simply adapted the documents I’d created for the loan application, creating one version for the bank and another for the council.

Then the waiting began.

Anyone who’s dealt with banks or councils will know that they rarely move quickly. The bank explained it could take around five weeks before my application was reviewed, while the council estimated around six weeks. Meanwhile, April was getting closer. The lease negotiations were still moving painfully slowly through solicitors and every passing week felt like another reminder that nothing was guaranteed. I found myself checking emails far more often than I should’ve, refreshing my inbox, waiting for phone calls and trying to predict outcomes that I had absolutely no control over.

Eventually I caught myself doing exactly what I’d spent years learning not to do.

I was trying to force certainty.

So I made a decision. I stopped waiting. I accepted that neither application might come through. Strangely, the moment I accepted that possibility, I felt lighter. It reminded me of waiting to hear back from Nuffield years earlier. I’d spent days imagining every possible outcome until eventually I’d accepted I probably hadn’t got the job. Then the phone rang. Life had taught me that worrying never changed the outcome. It only changed my experience while I waited.

So I returned to my routine. Every morning I’d sit in the garden with a coffee before the day began. I’d meditate, journal, sit quietly and sometimes simply listen to the birds. Those moments became my anchor. Whenever my mind wanted to race ahead into problems that didn’t yet exist, meditation gently brought me back to the only place I actually had any influence: today. Looking back now, I realise Roots wasn’t something I was building for other people. I was living it myself.

At the beginning of January I’d also written another letter to my future self, something I’d done several times over the years. I wrote as though everything had already worked out. The lease had been signed. The money had arrived. The building was alive with people. Whenever I read those letters back months later, they almost always came true. Not because I was predicting the future, but because writing them reminded me who I wanted to become while I was walking towards it.

Then, one ordinary day, while I was completely focused on something else, my phone rang.

“Hi Mytchel… it’s Telford & Wrekin Council.”

For a split second I genuinely couldn’t remember why they were calling. Then it came flooding back.

The grant.

The woman on the phone smiled before saying, “We’d like to offer you the full £10,000.”

I was speechless.

I honestly laughed.

After weeks of waiting, everything changed in a single conversation. Suddenly one piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. The loan was still outstanding, but at least now I knew the project was moving forwards.

A little while later the bank came back with another request. They wanted more statements, more paperwork and more evidence. By that point I was exhausted. It felt as though every answer simply created another question. Out of curiosity, I started looking elsewhere. I’d noticed that Monzo had begun advertising business loans, so I decided to see what they were offering. The amount wasn’t quite as much as I’d originally hoped for, but I clicked through the application anyway, expecting another long process.

Instead, the money appeared in my account almost instantly.

£13,000.

I just sat there staring at the screen. I’d spent months preparing detailed applications, forecasts and paperwork, only for another lender to approve the money within minutes. Later, I realised why. When my partner and I moved in together a few months earlier, we’d opened a joint Monzo account. Those few months of banking history had quietly unlocked an offer I hadn’t even realised existed. Once again, everything had happened at exactly the right time. The council grant, the Monzo loan and the timing of it all hadn’t happened when I wanted them to.

They happened when they were ready.

With the funding finally in place, we signed the lease and collected the keys. There was still one question that everyone kept asking me.

“How are you going to afford running two buildings at once?”

Thankfully, one final piece fell into place. I’d negotiated three months rent free, giving me breathing space while the building took shape. Even better, the existing tenants wanted to continue renting part of the building until December. Without even trying, the building was almost paying for itself until Ironbridge came to an end.

I remember standing there after everything had fallen into place and laughing quietly to myself. Only a few months earlier every problem had felt impossible. Now, one by one, each solution had appeared. Not always when I wanted them to, but always when I needed them.

Looking back, I realised something.

The building wasn’t asking me to have everything figured out.

It was simply asking me to keep taking the next step.

With the lease signed, the funding in place and the keys finally in my hand…

The next challenge was turning another building into a home.

Part 2 :

A Different Way of Building

With the lease signed and the keys finally in my hand, the real work began.

The biggest difference this time was that I wasn’t racing against the clock. At Ironbridge, every day the doors stayed closed meant another day without income, so every decision felt urgent because it had to be. This time, the existing tenants were continuing to rent the building until December, covering the majority of the rent while I slowly prepared the space. Ironbridge was still running as normal, allowing me to coach Personal Training sessions, treat Sports Massage clients and continue bringing in the income needed to pay the bills while investing every spare pound back into the new building.

For the first time in my life, I had something I’d never really had before:

Time.

That changed everything.

When I built Ironbridge, I didn’t really know who I was. I knew I wanted a gym, but I didn’t yet know my style or what sort of environment reflected me as a person. Most of my decisions were made quickly because they had to be.

Over the previous three years, though, something had quietly changed inside me.

I’d slowed down.

I’d learnt what inspired me.

I’d discovered that I loved simplicity: black walls, clean lines, warm lighting and spaces that felt intentional rather than cluttered. Without even realising it, I’d spent those years discovering myself, and now this building could become a reflection of that.

Instead of rushing from one job to the next, I found myself enjoying the process. I’d spend evenings painting walls before sitting quietly in the room afterwards, imagining what it would eventually become. Sometimes I’d move furniture around several times before deciding where it belonged. Other days I’d paint a single wall and leave, perfectly happy knowing there would always be tomorrow.

It felt strange because I wasn’t used to working like that.

For years I’d convinced myself that growth had to feel chaotic. If I wasn’t stressed, exhausted or constantly firefighting, then perhaps I wasn’t working hard enough. Chaos had become familiar, almost addictive, so slowing down actually felt more uncomfortable than speeding up.

From Mentality

to Performance

That discomfort taught me something I hadn’t expected.

I’d always believed my greatest strength was my mentality. If something needed doing, I’d simply get it done. I’d work longer, push harder and keep moving, even if the process was messy. That mentality built Ironbridge.

But this project introduced me to something else.

Mentality gets things finished, but performance determines how well you finish them.

The first time around I survived because I refused to quit. This time I had experience, cash-flow projections, a proper business plan and, perhaps most importantly, time to think. I wasn’t reacting anymore.

I was leading.

I began to realise that working harder isn’t always the answer. Sometimes performing better means slowing down enough to make better decisions in the first place.

Every morning I’d sit in the garden with a coffee before opening my laptop. Sometimes I’d meditate. Sometimes I’d journal. Other mornings I’d simply sit quietly and let my mind settle before the day began.

I often joked that these mornings had become my own little board meetings.

Around the table sat different parts of me. My ego wanted everything finished immediately. My inner child worried about making mistakes. The anxious part of me wanted certainty. Then there was something quieter that I’d learnt to listen to over the years, the part of me I think of as my higher self. It was like the director of the company, calmly listening to everyone before bringing clarity back into the room.

It probably sounds unusual, but those conversations changed the way I led my business.

Meditation hadn’t made me less ambitious.

It had simply made me less reactive.

Instead of charging forwards and creating ten extra problems for myself, I’d learnt to pause, think, plan and then move.

Ironically, slowing down allowed me to move much faster.

Trusting the Process

Halfway through decorating, life surprised me once again.

Every Saturday morning I was still running my free meditation class, and it had become one of the anchors of my week. We’d spend the first part of the morning talking about whatever had been on my mind before finishing with a guided meditation.

One Saturday I found myself speaking about trust.

Not trusting that life will always go to plan, or that everything will work out exactly as we’d hoped, but trusting ourselves to deal with whatever life places in front of us.

It was a lesson I wasn’t simply teaching.

I was living it every day.

The Gift of Trust

That morning my Sports Massage diary happened to be quiet, so instead of finishing after the usual hour we simply stayed. We talked, laughed and shared stories until almost two hours had passed. Nobody wanted to leave, and neither did I. There’s something incredibly special about watching complete strangers slowly become a community.

After everyone had gone, one person stayed behind.

They’d followed a journey not too dissimilar to my own. They’d built businesses, weathered difficult seasons and reached a point in life where they could look back with wisdom rather than regret. They looked at me and said they loved who I was and what I was trying to build before asking a question I wasn’t expecting.

“How much do you need?”

For a brief moment my mind did what minds often do.

It started calculating.

I could have asked for more because the building certainly needed more, but something inside me wouldn’t let me. I’ve always believed that if someone places their trust in you, your responsibility is to honour that trust.

I answered honestly.

“Ten thousand pounds.”

A few days later I sat down with their husband, who’d spent a lifetime in business. This wasn’t money they handed out lightly, nor should it have been. He asked thoughtful questions about my business plan, cash flow, projections and exactly how the money would fit into the wider vision.

Strangely, I enjoyed every minute of it.

A few years earlier those questions would’ve terrified me. Now I could answer them confidently, not because I’d memorised a business textbook but because I’d lived every lesson myself. The months I’d spent creating business plans and forecasting cash flow suddenly made sense. They hadn’t simply prepared me for banks or councils.

They’d prepared me for this conversation.

He reminded me of Phil Knight in Shoe Dog. Not because he built Nike, but because he’d lived through storms of his own. As we spoke, he shared stories from his business journey, the difficult decisions, the risks and everything he’d learnt along the way.

Those are the conversations I love most.

I’m fascinated by business, but never because of the numbers. I’m fascinated by the human being behind the business. I want to know what they were feeling, what nearly broke them, what kept them going and how they found the strength to continue.

That’s exactly why I’ve written this story.

Not to show you what I built, but to show you what it felt like.

A few days later the money arrived.

It was an interest-free loan of £10,000, repayable over two years.

I walked into one of the empty studios, closed the door behind me and stood looking at my reflection in the mirror. For a long time I didn’t move. I wasn’t thinking.

I was simply feeling.

It wasn’t excitement or relief.

It was something quieter than that.

It was alignment.

For the first time in a long time, everything seemed to make sense. The anxiety. The factory. University. Therapy. Nuffield. Ironbridge. Every difficult chapter had quietly prepared me for this moment.

One thing this journey has taught me is that life never unfolds in a straight line. We spend so much time trying to create certainty and map every step before we’ve taken the first one, but looking back over the last decade, none of the most important moments in my life could ever have been planned.

The opportunities appeared when I was ready to receive them, not when I demanded them.

The lesson was never to trust that life would always go my way.

The lesson was to trust myself because, whatever came next, I’d find a way through it.

Bringing the Vision to Life

By July every wall had finally been painted. More black paint than I care to remember. Walking through the building, I could finally see it beginning to come alive. The decoration was complete, the studios were ready and soon the gym equipment would begin arriving. After that came the access control system, allowing the gym to operate unmanned while memberships gradually grew before eventually taking on staff.

Standing there one afternoon, it suddenly hit me that just over ten years earlier I’d been sitting on a train believing I’d ruined my life after leaving university, and now I was preparing to open my third space.

People often separate business from personal growth, as though they’re two different journeys.

I’ve never believed that.

My business has always been a reflection of me. When I was anxious, the business felt chaotic. When I lacked confidence, it lacked direction. As I healed, the business matured. As I became calmer, the business became calmer. As I learnt to trust myself, the business became something others could trust too.

I’ve realised they’re impossible to separate.

The person builds the business, and then the business reflects the person you’ve become.

📷 Photo ideas

The Next Chapter

There’s still plenty left to do. The website needs finishing, the app needs launching, the gym floor needs laying, the equipment needs installing and the access control needs fitting. Then, if everything goes to plan, the doors will open in January 2027.

If I’m honest, I’m excited, but I’m also terrified. When the tenants leave in December, the safety net disappears and the building will need memberships to survive. Some days I feel completely confident. Other days I feel overwhelmed.

But whenever my mind begins racing too far ahead, I return to the same place I’ve returned to for years: the garden, my journal and meditation. Like a tree, I remind myself to keep growing my roots before reaching for the next branch. I’ve learnt that storms aren’t something to fear anymore. They’re simply part of the journey, and I trust myself enough to keep walking through them.

If you’ve read this story from beginning to end, thank you. I hope it’s helped you understand a little more about who I am before deciding whether to become part of this community.

The truth is, I’m not very different from you.

I’m still trying to figure life out.

I still get things wrong.

I still doubt myself.

The difference is that I’ve learnt to trust myself enough to keep walking anyway.

I believe life is an adventure. The fears don’t disappear—we simply become the sort of person who can walk through them.

So if you recognise parts of yourself in the different chapters of my story, keep going.

You never know what’s waiting around the next corner.

Book Two

2027

Chapter 1:

A New Beginning

Looking Ahead

As I write these final pages, I’m standing in the middle of a building that’s still becoming what I hope it will be. Equipment is yet to arrive. There are still decisions to make, problems to solve and plenty that could go wrong. In many ways, that feels like the perfect place for this story to pause, because life rarely gives us complete certainty. More often than not, we’re all standing somewhere between what has been and what could be.

For years, I thought I had been building gyms. I thought I had been building a business. I thought I had been building a career.

Looking back now, I realise that every challenge, every setback and every lesson was quietly building me.

The gyms, the treatment rooms and the businesses were never the destination.

They were simply the environments that shaped the person I was becoming.

The Vision

When these doors finally open, my hope is simple.

I hope to welcome people who are on a journey similar to the one I’ve been on. People who are willing to show up for themselves, even if they don’t yet know exactly what they need. I hope this becomes a place where people can explore, learn, struggle, grow and gradually discover their own path. A place where someone walks through the door feeling uncertain and leaves a little more confident than when they arrived.

I know this ecosystem will continue to evolve over the years. I don’t believe it will ever truly be finished because I’m still evolving too. As I continue to learn, the business will naturally grow alongside me. In many ways, this place is simply a reflection of who I am. Everything I’ve created here comes from something that has helped me rebuild my own life. Every room, every service and every idea has been inspired by something I’ve personally needed at some point along the way.

When I look back at the young man who left university feeling lost, overwhelmed and uncertain about his future, I realise he wasn’t searching for a gym.

He was searching for belonging.

Somewhere to feel safe.

Somewhere to be vulnerable without judgement.

Somewhere to rediscover his confidence, his self-worth and his direction.

That’s the community I’m trying to build.

Not just a place where people come to train, but a place where people feel accepted exactly as they are while quietly becoming who they’re capable of being. Somewhere that reminds people they don’t have to have everything figured out before they begin.

They simply have to keep taking the next step.

One day, I hope this won’t just be me. I hope there’ll be a team of people who share these same values, each bringing their own experiences, knowledge and compassion to help others. My dream has never been to build something that depends on one person. It’s to create something that continues making a positive impact long into the future, growing far beyond anything I could achieve on my own.

If I Could Go Back

Those words have carried me through every chapter of this story, and they’re something I’m still learning every single day.

Right now, the doors haven’t opened yet. There are still challenges ahead. There will no doubt be problems I can’t yet see, mistakes I’ll make and lessons I’ll have to learn. Some mornings I wake up feeling excited. Other mornings I wonder whether I’m ready. The nerves are still there. So is the uncertainty.

But beneath all of that is something I didn’t have when this story began.

Belief.

Not the belief that everything will go perfectly, because life has taught me that it rarely does.

It’s the belief that whatever happens next, I’ll find a way through it.

That’s been the lesson hiding inside every chapter of this memoir.

We don’t need certainty before we move forwards.

We simply need enough belief in ourselves to take the next step.

Perhaps one day I’ll read these pages back and smile, knowing which worries mattered and which never did. Maybe I’ll laugh at the things I couldn’t possibly have predicted.

Whatever happens next, I know there’ll be more mistakes, more growth and more chapters to write.

That’s the exciting part.

The story isn’t finished.

It’s simply reached the point where you’re able to become part of it.

Thank You

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

I hope these pages have helped you understand not just what I’ve built, but why I’ve built it. More importantly, I hope they’ve reminded you that your past doesn’t define your future. Every challenge, every setback and every chapter is quietly preparing you for the next one, even if you can’t see it at the time.

Whether our paths cross through Personal Training, Sports Massage, the Lifting Club, Roots or simply a conversation, I hope we get the chance to meet one day. And if you ever walk through these doors and see me around the gym, please come over and say hello.

I’d love to hear your story too.

After all…

We’re all just trying to figure life out.

Here’s to whatever the future holds.

And here’s to writing the next chapter…

Together.

My Story

Before We Begin...

LEANING INTO THE FEAR

Chapters...

2015-2017

2018

2019

2020

2021

2022

2023

2024

2025

2026

Book Two

2027

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