About Us

For many years, I pondered this question. And at times, it led me into deep spirals of anxiety and doubt—doubt in who I am, and doubt in whose I am.

Everyone has asked themselves Who am I? But I wonder is it the right question?

Maybe instead of asking who am I, we should be asking whose am I? Hang on to this thought...

I remember staring into the mirror at the age of twelve, asking myself that very question after being exposed to a sin that would root itself deeply in my life for years to come. I felt disconnected from reality, and even more disconnected from myself. I would face my reflection and bawl, feeling ugly and worthless, wondering, Why am I here? What purpose do I have?

Loneliness, fear, and abandonment were some of the loudest emotions in my life. Much of it was self-inflicted—choosing habitual sin. Other times, it was handed to me by the world and by my circumstances. Despite having friends and being in community, I felt deeply alone.

“Show me your friends, and I’ll show you your future,” a mentor once said on a Wednesday night. I chose not to believe him.

How could the people I find joy in dictate my future?

“I love them. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I told myself.

“I know who I am.”

I proclaimed that I was independent—someone who needed no one, an underdog who stood alone. I believed I alone controlled my future, not the people I surrounded myself with. It didn’t matter what they consumed or talked about. That didn’t have to be me.

And yet, I still couldn’t look in the mirror and answer the question Who am I? without anxiety rushing over me.

Trying to live as the main character—the one who gets all the glory—left me empty. My movie-mentality toward life was taking its toll, leaving me wandering and hollow.

I found myself sitting on my couch after successfully living another day of doing nothing but numbing out.

That day was no different—until it was.

Panic.

A feeling I hadn’t experienced in years came crashing in. Doubt flooded my mind. I looked at my hand as a simple lie crept in: What if you aren’t real? I jolted upright.

Then another lie followed: You are not enough.

You are a screw-up. You know what you’ve done. You know what you’ve been hiding. You’re a liar. You deserve to sit in your head. You deserve nothing. How are you even still alive? Is this world real? Are you really feeling your hand? Who are you?

All of it hit me at once.

I rushed off the couch toward the bathroom, feeling like I was going to throw up—thinking purging might somehow calm the panic. But as I turned the corner, everything stopped.

I saw my wife—my wife of two years—washing our one-year-old child.

And in that moment, I was frozen.

I saw myself clearly for the first time: a twenty-five-year-old man who had spent years shielding parts of himself to avoid being hurt. A man who believed he was better off alone. A man sitting in addiction, choosing to lie. A man halted by the very presence he had been ignoring for years.

The moment that changed everything came through a broken cry to my wife:

“Who am I? I need your help.”

A panic attack is your body entering fight-or-flight mode—your system screaming, They need help. Panic numbs everything. Fear becomes the only thought.

But panic became the catalyst that God used to soften my hardened heart. It woke me up from a motionless life. What I thought was suffering was actually God saying, “I miss you.”

Panic revealed His love, His grace, His mercy, and His kindness—right when I was trying to run from it.

When everything stops, you’re forced to ask the question Who am I?

At least, that’s what I had to face.

What I thought was normal was actually sin.

What I thought was love was actually isolation.

What I thought was freedom was actually lust.

My perspective was flipped upside down. My identity was nowhere to be found.

I was lost.

I was broken.

I was exposed.

I was afraid.

Shame followed.

When identity is lost, shame rushes in to fill the void:

I am ugly. I am a loser. I don’t deserve to live. I am a liar. I am filthy. I am unworthy. I deserve to be alone. I deserve this anxiety. I deserve this pain.

I believe in miracles. I’ve seen them my entire life—and in that moment, I begged for one. I wanted God to change everything now. To silence the voices. To remove the feelings. To make it stop.

And then a still, small thought surfaced:

He can… but what would you learn?

“In the crushing, in the pressing, You are making new wine.”

Crazy to read, right? Who would choose that?

Someone willing to look deeper than Who am I?

Someone willing to ask Whose am I?

Because the truth is this:

We are divinely and intentionally created. Knitted together in our mother’s womb. Made to reflect and bear the image of the purest love the world has ever known.

I am not my sin.

I am not my shame.

I am not my anxiety or my addiction.

I am a child of God.

And so are you.