Raw, real, and still being written.
I built this space to share my story, the hard truths, the healing, and the hope. Not just for me, but for anyone who might need it. It is also a chance for clients and colleagues to see the other side of the headhunter, the human being.
I am a husband, a father, a headhunter, and above all a human being who believes in the power of honest storytelling. This website was not created to list accolades or recite a résumé. It is not a pitch deck or a highlight reel. It is a window into my life, the real story, with all its twists and turns.
I built this space for two reasons. First, because I believe that sometimes a story, even the hardest parts, can help someone else find their way. Second, because the people I work with deserve to know the human being behind the headhunter.
My journey hasn’t been straight or easy. But through recovery, neurodivergence, music, family, and meaningful work, I’ve learned that vulnerability is connection — and this site is me, finally connecting the dots.
Built from recovery, reinvention, and a whole lot of heart.
I’m a husband, a father, and a headhunter, but above all I’m a human being who believes in honest storytelling. This website was not built to showcase accolades or sell a polished version of myself. It exists to share the real story, with all its complexity, because sometimes honesty helps others feel less alone, and because the people I work with deserve to know the person behind the work.
Over the past decade, I have gone through a profound personal shift, moving from alcoholism toward clarity and recovery. I live with AuDHD, and receiving a proper diagnosis later in life helped me make sense of years of struggle and finally make peace with the mess. I have learned that vulnerability is not weakness. It is how connection and trust are built.
This site is more than a professional profile. It is a creative outlet that blends work, life, music, fatherhood, and a belief in living one day at a time. It is not perfect or polished, but it is honest. If sharing it helps someone feel seen or understood, then it has done what it was meant to do.
My Journey
Every Chapter Mattered, Even the Hard Ones
Junior Hockey & Start of University
I graduated high school and stepped into university at UFV, unsure of what I truly wanted but following the path I thought I was “supposed” to take. At the same time, I was fully immersed in junior hockey — a world of speed, discipline, and relentless competition. Balancing the rink, school, and a growing social life wasn’t easy, and this is when my partying began. Those years were a collision of expectation and identity, but the grit and pressure I faced on the ice built the resilience I’d rely on later in life.
Early Career & Life Shifts
By this point, my hockey career had ended. I was offered a partial scholarship to play at the University of Utah — a chance to keep the dream alive — but I chose partying instead. I bounced through blue-collar jobs before landing at the City of Abbotsford as a Utility Worker, which felt like a steady milestone. But beneath the surface, things were unravelling. My drinking escalated from lifestyle to dependency, and by 2011, alcoholism had taken full control. On paper, I looked functional; inside, I was lost. These were the quiet storm years — the start of a reckoning that would take years to unfold.
Alcoholism and Recovery Journey
Total chaos. Failed relationships. Broken friendships. I was losing everything — including myself. My alcoholism had fully taken over; I wasn’t living anymore, just existing. My last drink was on April 3, 2015. I woke up outside my apartment door in the hallway — not in a good place — when a neighbour checked if I was still alive. That was my bottom. I had no idea how I got there or what was going on. At this point, I was only drinking to shake the withdrawals. Two days later, I entered the Orchard Recovery Center on Bowen Island. Sobriety didn’t start with clarity; it began with collapse. What followed was years of inner work, pain, and humility. Recovery wasn’t linear or glamorous, but it was real. Each step forward meant reclaiming a piece of myself I thought was gone. These years taught me vulnerability, resilience, and the truth that healing isn’t erasing the past — it’s learning to live with it.
New Beginnings
After years of darkness, this was the start of rebuilding myself from the ground up. The chaos had quieted, replaced by clarity, purpose, and a fragile sense of hope. In 2016, I met my wife, Van, at LAX — sober, present, and without the mask. For the first time, I got to meet someone as myself, not the version numbed by alcohol. Sobriety made everything sharper. Emotions hit harder, and even two years in, it still felt like detox. But I leaned into discomfort, pushed myself to show up, and slowly became a man who could stand for himself — and for others. In 2017, I finished my schooling and founded Balance Mind Recover (BMR), a counselling and consulting practice for youth and young adults facing mental health and addiction struggles. I thought I’d found my calling, but deep down, something still felt missing.
Career Pivot, Growth and Family Expansion
Launching my own counselling practice was meaningful, but something felt off. Beneath the surface, I was still carrying trauma I hadn’t fully faced, and I knew I wasn’t showing up the way I wanted to. By 2019, a pivot was inevitable — I just didn’t know where it would lead. Then I met Warren Smith. He saw something in me before I did, and our conversation sparked a fire. That moment pulled me into an entirely new world: legal recruitment. I had no idea what I was doing at first — my wife is a lawyer, but that didn’t mean I understood the profession. So I did what I always do when the stakes are high: I worked. I studied late into the night, learning practice areas, firm structures, and markets. I immersed myself. I wasn’t interested in just placing people — I wanted to advise them, to be trusted, to bring the same honesty that anchored my personal life. Those first two years laid the foundation for everything I’ve built since. It wasn’t starting over. It was starting stronger — with grit, purpose, and the courage to build something meaningful from the ground up.
Growth, Music, Diagnosis, Life Balance
This chapter has been a blend of self-discovery, creativity, and transformation — the kind of growth that only comes after years of hard work. In 2022, music re-entered my life in a profound way. I’ve played guitar since I was 14, but this time it became more than a hobby — it became storytelling, a way to give shape to emotions I couldn’t always put into words. Writing, collaborating, and creating has been healing, and I’m working on songs I can’t wait to share. That same year, I finally received a diagnosis that made everything click: ADHD and neurodivergence. It gave me language for lifelong struggles and permission to approach life differently — with compassion, structure, and tools that fit me. On the home front, Van and I welcomed our second daughter, and our little family of four is thriving. Life is loud, messy, beautiful, and full of love. Being a dad has grounded me more than anything else ever could. If you had told me back in 2008 — or even 2015, lying broken on the floor of my apartment — that this would be my life now, I would’ve laughed. But here I am: sober, creative, loving hard, living fully, and helping top-tier lawyers find their place in a world that often forgets the human side. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“Closing a deal is rarely about the close itself. It is the hours of listening, the false starts, the hard conversations, and the trust built along the way. Some days it feels impossible. Other days it feels effortless. The difference is not talent or luck, but patience, consistency, and a genuine respect for the people on both sides of the table. When you do it right, the reward is not just the deal, but the relationships and the lessons that stay with you long after the papers are signed.”
A Legal Recruiter with a Human Lens
People hear the word “headhunter” and think it’s all cold calls, LinkedIn messages, commission, and those annoying “I’ve got the perfect job for you” calls. The reality is that the work is far more human than transactional. It is about listening carefully, understanding context, and earning trust over time. It means knowing when to speak, when to push, and when to stay quiet. It is about long-term relationships, not quick placements, and taking responsibility for the impact a move has on someone’s life, their family, and their sense of stability.
Because Getting Help Shouldn’t Feel Hard.
Asking for help was the hardest thing I ever did, and it ended up saving my life. For a long time, I believed I had to carry everything on my own, that needing support meant failure. It did not. It meant choosing to stay alive, to face what I could not fix alone, and to let other people walk beside me. Reaching out did not solve everything overnight, but it opened the door to recovery, clarity, and connection. It taught me that strength is not silence. It is knowing when to ask for help and being willing to accept it.
What's on my mind?
I don't always say it right, but I say it real. That counts for something.
Sometimes I write to make sense of the world — sometimes to make sense of myself. I’m not a writer. I barely passed English 12. Half the time, I can’t piece my words together the way I want in conversations. But here, I get to slow it down. I get to share what’s on my mind, what’s on my heart, or what’s been rattling around in this brain that doesn’t ever seem to shut off. ADHD, recovery, parenting, purpose, presence — it’s all fair game. I don’t write for perfect grammar. I write for connection.
Becoming What I Am, Not Pretending Somewhere Else
The Pills Were Supposed to Help — But They Made Me Worse
Neurodivergent & How it All Finally Makes Sense
Husband
Father
Headhunter
Human