I grew up in a small northern town call Grimsby... one of the few Black families in a place where being different wasn’t dangerous, but it was always obvious.
I had role models, but not like me.
No mirrors. Just vibes and questions.
But I was lucky.
Amidst all that difference, I found a group of friends who’ve been my foundation and sounding board for over 30 years.
They saw me... and stayed.
When you’re raised by people who sacrificed everything, failure feels like betrayal. But I’ve come to see that progress, not perfection, is the goal.
My parents were brilliant... academic, accomplished, and brave enough to leave everything behind in Zambia to give us more.
Their story is one of astronomic upward mobility.
They showed me what excellence looked like and made me believe I had to earn my place everywhere I went.
Now, I’m part of a generation navigating a different reality. Despite all the education, ambition, and work ethic… upward mobility feels harder than ever in today’s economic climate.
Growing up as a third-culture kid meant constantly translating between my parents’ values, British norms, and my own identity.
The pressure wasn’t dramatic, but it was constant. Always code-switching. Always adapting.
Straddling two cultures can split you or sharpen you.
Realising this was a late but crucial step in my growth.
It taught me to read the room, hear what’s not said, and earn trust fast... skills you don’t find in a textbook.
Potential without discipline is just regret waiting to happen.
I came out the womb carrying family expectations.
Medicine was their plan. Leeds Met was the reality.
Clearing. Business computing. No real passion.
I loved Uni... made lifelong friends, lived for the nights out.
But I barely showed up for the degree.
Didn’t even attend graduation.
Assimilation often hides in plain sight. I looked cool AF... straightened hair, coloured contacts, wild clothes. But what looked like standing out was really my way of blending in.
It followed me into the workplace: Always dressed to impress. Always smelt like success. Never wanted good times to stop. Always cared way too much about what people thought.
It worked. People liked me.
But behind the image? Thousands in debt.
All to impress people who weren’t even watching.
Survival taught me communication, leadership, and emotional intelligence in a way no classroom ever could... and no boardroom would.
I took on every job I could... working nightclub doors, pouring pints behind bars, and coaching youth football.
None of it paid well.
But the education was World-class.
On the doors, I learned to read fear and ego in seconds.
Behind the bar, I mastered small talk that made strangers feel seen. On the pitch, I learned patience... how to earn trust, give direction, and build belief in young minds.