I was born in Juneau, AK, to immigrant parents from Tumkur and Hassan in the state of Karnataka. My father was a very hard-working man, but carried the burden of hiding his sexuality of being gay, filing for bankruptcy twice, and not being proud of himself. That hatred was displaced on everyone. My mother would go on to live with schizophrenia, 16 years lock down, 9 years step down psychiatric facilities, and I would be separated from her until I was 33 and took her out of a psychiatric facility the day I graduated residency. My brother was gay and had a tough time accepting it. He tried to control and fix his emotions through methamphetamine and alcohol overuse, and was found dead for 17 days with a heart attack at 48. I inherited pain, confusion, doubt, and self-hate, which would be the catalyst to Alchemical Awareness™

Child Protective Services (CPS), Adult Protective Services (APS), Domestic Violence Shelters (DV), and the police visits became my early reality. Systems tried to protect me, but I was already guarding myself. Fear became my nervous system's first language. I was undergoing neurobiological warfare before I could even speak a complete sentence.

You know, my mom wouldn’t say much about my childhood. One thing she always says in her cute, soft-spoken Kannada is that my dad said, “Don’t cry at the airport.” That was when I was separated from my mom. When I moved to Seattle, Child Protective Services (CPS) was ongoing with regular physical and mental abuse. GOD was always there guiding me, and for some reason wouldn’t let me give up. The physical abuse is one thing, but saying—wait, no, yelling—that “you’re stupid, you’re dumb, and you’ll never amount to anything” daily must’ve been hard for that young boy to tolerate. I bet if he just said it once, it would’ve hit harder than saying it every day. The empathy I have for him today is that he was hurting so much that he felt the need to displace his fears on an 8-year-old to feel better about himself.

This picture was taken, I believe, in the 5th grade. I do not have many photos of me growing up because they were all thrown away after my mother had a schizophrenic episode and she got evicted. There are no photos of me from middle school. However, this time in my life is significant, which is why I've placed this picture to show how I was still trying to be happy. In 7th grade, I was made fun of for years for saying that I masturbated in the band room. I’m still embarrassed to talk about it. To be honest, I didn’t know what that was at that age. I was just doing what everyone else was doing in the bandroom. At this time, I was being beaten by my dad regularly, going in and out of Child Protective Services (CPS). Still, I was putting on a facade. That rumor was one of the worst experiences I've had, and it was a setup for my overly confident wannabe gangster attitude.

Talking about this part of my journey remains deeply difficult, unlike many other experiences I've consecrated. My mother yearned to be my mother, but my dad and his schizophrenia created a barrier. I’ve just added this now after finishing up all of the other text.

This picture was taken in Tokyo during my 7th-grade summer break when my grandmother and I traveled to India. My dad wouldn’t allow me to eat anything outside of our home. In Tokyo, my grandmother, sensing my needs, encouraged me to visit the hotel restaurant and choose whatever I wanted. She even gave me $5 that day, a gesture that meant everything, and had little to do with the money itself.

She knew what I endured: witnessing my father's regular beatings and constant yelling. I'm sure she simply wanted me to have a moment of peace, knowing "Appa" wasn't around. My grandmother became a vital source of comfort, a comforting figure in my life from ages 8 to 22, when I was by her side as she passed away in my medical college in India.

I’m curious to write about this experience later. You can notice how I do not use the word trauma anywhere. They are life experiences that you have not been inspired by yet.

You see, Mind Hygiene doesn’t work all the time, and that’s the best part. You know what it takes to be in Emotional Freedom™. You'll probably feel good 70-90% of the day, at a high level, without anyone cheering you on. You shouldn't just listen to me and blindly take my advice. Instead, I would encourage you to write it down on paper. Write about it once, then twice, then five times, ten times, even five hundred times. Then you can ask AI, or a coach, or a therapist. And then, write it down again, just to see if you believe that about yourself.

What this means is, you don't need me, a doctor, a therapist, a coach, or even medication to help you. You can genuinely do this by yourself. And that's precisely what I'm here to show you. I am the prototype, and I know that my grandmother blessed me with this writing that I’m inspiring you with right now.

I was tired of being bullied, so I was en route to becoming a wannabe gangster. At that time, I was staying with random people, tongue out like MJ while playing basketball, started smoking Newports, trying to emulate Tupac, listening to Brotha Lynch Hung, rapping Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, watching Menace II Society, American Me, Blood In, Blood Out on repeat, and matching bowls of weed between classes at high school.To be cool, I was a Blood half of the year and a Crip the other half of the year. Dang, I remember walking in all blued up into Fred Meyer, stole some batteries, and then got caught. The guy who caught me asked if I was a Crip and started speaking slang to me that I will not write here. He may have been a wannabe too.

This is the only official image I have from my wannabe gangster days. This is how we used to talk back then.  My homie was like, “Aye dawg, ice cream ain’t good for you.”I said, “I agree,” but the truth is, I enjoyed ice cream back then. Do you know how people say, “I can’t believe I said that?” I do. It’s because I wanted everyone to like me. I quit sugar in December of 2024, but before then, I liked ice cream. This just shows the extent to which I’d go to please others, to try to fit in. I just wanted someone to like me. Someone to believe in me.

That pattern followed me for years… until I started living in monastic solitude.

Let’s not forget, I probably had a pack of Newports, a dime bag of bud, and a 64-ounce Mickey’s Ice on me, en route to jacking cars for fun.

My world was hurting. My mom had just up and left Juneau with a manic episode when I was 15.

She would be in and out of psychiatric facilities. I started running away, staying with different people. My mom and I did live together for a couple of years, but we never really hung out. She was either hospitalized, or I was being hauled off to juvenile detention. We were on welfare, food stamps, and our car got repossessed.

I made three trips to juvenile detention for stealing jeans and grand theft auto. After my third stint in juvie, I moved to India. My mom had been hospitalized again with a schizophrenic episode, and everything was gone. All my wrestling trophies, pictures, and baseball cards were thrown away after she was evicted.

After I was sent to India, my passport was taken away, and I ended up attending a pre-university college. To be cool in Tumkur, you had to study. I studied 8 hours every day for 2 years straight. I didn’t know there was a subject called Trigonometry, and even though I had memorized the Bhagavad Gita at one point in my life, I didn't know how to write Sanskrit. My aggregate score in Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics, and Biology was 88%, and my Common Entrance Test (CET) Ranking was 3,272 out of approximately 150,000 people who took the test. I received 55 scholarships in various fields of engineering, approximately 22 scholarships for dental school, and 7 scholarships for medical school. Even though my dad abused me, made me hit my mom, always said I was stupid and I’d never amount to anything, I can see he was proud of me. That day, in the CET cell in Bengaluru, he said, 'Why do you look so happy that you got 3272 out of 150,000?' Why aren’t you number 1?

I aspired to be known as the studious one, dedicating 4-6 hours daily to studying during the first year of medical school, increasing to 14-16 hours during exam time, and aiming for a first-class ranking. Don’t quote me on this, but I believe 40% of the first-year students failed and 60% went on to the second year. I think that approximately 10% of students fail every year, and around 40% graduate on time. One of them was me. Just 3 years before that, I would’ve been dead or in prison as an adult for life.

I was performing, rapping, playing basketball, and speaking in medical college. You can see the details from that time, when I was still a wannabe gangster, wearing a red rag. I had a loop in my left ear and a stud in my right. I’m wearing a Sonics jersey, a yellow shirt, and I’m just screaming for anyone’s attention.This image is very representative of who I was back in my wannabe days.

At this time, I had finished medical college and left India the day before my student visa expired. My dad wanted to keep me in India. He would kick me out regularly, and I found myself wandering in Bengaluru. But I had a great partner at the time who supported me. My cousin and friend offered to take care of me, seeing my potential and believing in me when I had no self-belief.I was homeless for the next year with a medical degree and $500 to my name—which was borrowed. I moved to London, then to New Jersey, as that’s where I was offered help. I barely passed the United States Medical Licensing Exam (USMLE) Step 1, was eating two bowls of cereal twice a day, smoking half a pack of Marlboro Lights, and had no clue what it meant to be an American. I had been in India for 9 years.

As a foreign medical graduate, I spent 4 years out of medical school before finally securing a residency. After being taken care of by one of my best friends, I finally got 3 jobs. First, I worked part-time as a pharmacy tech and held a part-time job at Macy's for about 6 months, making about $8 an hour in 2006.Then, I started working at Kaplan Medical, teaching USMLE Step 1 and serving as a Kaplan Medical advisor. I was making $17/hour, but then I landed a job at a call center, where I earned $22/hour.But none of this really mattered, because I was struggling to pay off my Macy’s credit card and my Chase credit card, both with limits of around $500. And then came the payday loans. Boy, I was stuck for a couple of years there.I had lost about 20 lbs, but then gained it back in about a year, struggling with emotional eating. I was trying to fit in with other medical school graduates by buying clothes on credit and paying for drinks as if it were free money.There was a part of me, then, that was so ashamed of who I was. I felt like a failure. I saw all these International Medical Graduates (IMGs) passing, getting into residency, and I thought I was behind.I had a USMLE Step 1 score of 76 and a Step 2 score of 85. I attempted Step 3 and failed it twice. Up until then, I had never failed a test. I didn’t match into residency for the next 3 years.

I prayed to GOD many times, assuring my creator that if I ever make it into residency, I will dedicate my life to service. Well, it was the day of my 3rd match, and guess what? I didn’t match. I still didn’t quit, but I was defeated. I was calling programs on the day after match day. There were about 220 positions. I pulled off something that likely had a <1% probability, especially with a 4-year gap. I finally made it into residency and got accepted in the post match.

This was the toughest time of my life up until then. I was 4 years out of medical school. My cousin lived there too, and I stayed with him. He offered me support at the time. Residency was tough. I was working 80-90 hours a week, getting scolded, and thought I was the stupidest person on earth. But, I had always manifested taking my mom out of a psychiatric facility. I didn’t know who she was, but I was determined to help her. I would meditate on that thought daily, work my butt off, and graduate residency on time. 2 residents that I knew in the same program didn't graduate on time.

I asked every resident in that hospital questions about their studies, including how much they were studying, what they were studying, and how they were learning. I would ask attendings if I could hang out with them when I was on call. Then, I’d go home and work twice as hard. Not to compete, but because I didn’t grasp things as quickly. Oh, let’s not forget the letter I got, saying that I wouldn’t make it into 2nd year if I didn’t shape up. My belief at the time was that I was the dumbest doctor on earth.  I truly believed I was trying to keep up. But over time, I started to understand more than many of them. That’s when the cognitive and emotional dissonance began. I was still trying to belong to a world I had quietly outgrown, and that created a subtle distance I couldn’t name at the time. It wasn't because I was smarter than them; it was because I worked 15 times harder on everything I sucked at.

Shoot, I thought one person would like me for that. I was the overconfident one with low self-esteem.

This was when I started drinking heavily alone, gambling in the Iowa casinos, and smoking about a ½ pack of cigarettes a day. I also brought my brother to live with me and put him into rehab 3 times.

Amazingly, I managed to do the P90x twice in residency, played basketball, and worked out regularly, lost 30 lbs, and was in the best shape of my life.

I seemingly achieved the pinnacle of conventional success: marriage, a home, and the immense, hard-won victory of taking my mother out of a psychiatric facility where she had spent 27 years (16 in lockdown, 9 in step-down). This outward picture, alongside my ongoing attempts to put my brother into rehab three times, masked a profound internal abandonment. My patient scores suffered, reflecting a profound lack of self-respect that was mirrored in how I believed others viewed me. I desperately tried to 'fix' my emotions. Still, my unresolved resentment led to cruel self-talk, and I increasingly coped with this immense dissonance by drinking alone, occasionally smoking marijuana, and gambling heavily. I ate like crap and gained about 40lbs.

My overconfidence weighed heavily on my low self-esteem. I resented and judged myself so much that it deflected onto others. I refused to accept that I hated myself and didn't think blaming others for my problems was right. I thought everything was my fault. My narcissistic behavior became worse when I started talking crap about others, lacking empathy for others, and being condescending to myself and others. I gained 30 lbs during this time, trying desperately to control my mind. When I developed these deep-seated resentments, the only fix I knew was eating poorly, drinking alcohol, smoking up, and puffing cigarettes. My narcissistic traits grew stronger. I spoke condescendingly, lacked empathy, and even started talking badly about people just to feel in control.

The most disturbing part was that I agreed with others who did the same. I found comfort in those life experiences because I thought it was normal to complain, talk crap about others, blame systems for my problems, and then feel like it wasn’t shameful behavior, even though I was waging a silent neurobiological war inside myself.I judged myself so harshly that it began leaking onto others. I craved admiration but avoided real vulnerability. I would act detached, calm, and in control at all times, while at the same time rehearsing insults about myself in private—just so no one else could get there first. I compared myself constantly. Even kindness became performative. I wanted to be seen as good, but not feel anything. I thought I deserved less than others simply because of how much suffering I had seen.

I got divorced. I was drinking alone, smoking weed alone, going to the studio alone, rapping alone, sleeping alone. I was single on purpose for 5 years after my divorce. I was tired of having narcissistic traits and agreeing with people who were complaining. Even though I never played victim, never really thought anyone deserved real harm, or blamed others for my problems, I would find myself trying to fit in with that narcissistic group. I still would—thinking that being alone was because I was stupid and no one liked me.I never bought into the “I’m a doctor” complex.

But I would question, “I’m a doctor, though,” and still would say I’m stupid and dumb. The genesis of Mind Hygiene began here—rapping about all the things I just spoke about. It was forged in the crucible of lived experience and deep, intentional self-work. I was determined to figure out what it really meant to love myself.

This is when true monastic solitude began. Tupac says, “I feel his hand on my brain, when I write rhymes, I go blind and let the Lord do his thing.” I always felt GOD was speaking to me through my physical writing. Whenever I wrote, something magical happened. I had no idea what or who ‘Sublime Shine’ was. I just kept rapping it. That’s when I was bestowed the rap name, Sublime Shine.

Sublime means to elevate your thought. Ok, so you think you’re dumb—let’s elevate that. Let’s shine on it. That’s when I started going to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). I also wanted to keep my job because my patient scores were horrible.

Still navigating the profound pain from finally accepting and embracing self-hatred, I intentionally chose to remain single, driven by a desire to avoid hurting others and to deeply connect with my mother, who preferred my sole company. I was tired of chiming in on conversations that I felt were not within my core values, like complaining and blaming others for my problems. I started going to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) after reading an article in the American Family Physician (AFP) journal.

On the outside, I was moving, but inside, Mind Hygiene was anchoring something deeper. When I wrote, my cortisol levels dropped. I formed an oxytocin bond with myself, not built on applause, but on safety. I delayed dopamine by telling myself, maybe one day this will help someone. I reduced the hits on my amygdala by calming my fight-or-flight responses,  not through comfort from others, but through discipline with myself. I still craved praise. I still wanted someone to tell me I was good. But for the first time, I didn’t need it to keep going. This marked the beginning of practicing Neurobiologic Jiu-Jitsu, transforming stress into strategy and solitude into circuitry. I wasn’t escaping pain. I was redirecting it, using it to train my nervous system in real time.

This was one of the best times of my life. Together, just the two of us, my mother and I traveled the world: Hawaii, Costa Rica, Aruba, Mexico, Vegas, and the Cayman Islands. It was a paradoxical chapter of healing, getting to know myself and my mother. The picture you see was taken in Puerto Vallarta. That night, my mother cried when we watched a night show at the resort. She said, “No one has ever done this for me”. Those are times when you know that you made it.

Even amidst intense personal pain, my unwavering commitment to a mission far bigger than myself compelled me forward, knowing I was positioned by divine purpose. Immediately following Hurricane Matthew, I traveled to Haiti, where I confronted devastation head-on. This profoundly impactful journey became the crucible where my consecrated mission truly began, a visceral calling that felt like it ignited not once, but three times over.

I have an inner that’s been burning inside of me to help humanity on a large scale, but I just didn’t believe I could do it. But this cleared up that doubt. In the town of Grand Boulage, residents face a lack of water, food insecurity, poor cellphone coverage, inadequate sewage, and no power. I am obsessed with bringing clean water and food to this town, Haiti, India, Syria, Ukraine, and then the whole world. I have developed personal connections with these countries. I have found the courage to believe in myself, knowing I can make a difference by helping to feed the poor, purify their water, and support those in emotional isolation, all without anyone cheering me on, emotional support from a partner, family, or friend, or support from a community of well-wishers. If one of the above were to happen, my mission could multiply. This is not a time to feel sorry for me. But my truth is forged in the crucible of monastic solitude. This is where Neurospiritual Soveriegnity was born.

I was up all night in Costa Rica when I took this picture. I don’t know how I was managing to operate under the stress of $300,000 gambling debt, alcohol addiction, nicotine dependence, marijuana misuse, and cocaine abuse. I was surviving, not living. I had nicotine cravings, marijuana-induced paranoia, and cocaine crashes. I don’t know how I was functioning, only that I was running on shame, secrecy, and survival instinct. This wasn’t ‘rock bottom.’ This was life before I accepted I was drowning.

I was trying to fix my emotions, cope with my thoughts, and try to find ways to deal with life, instead of embracing and understanding myself. That resentment implicit bias led to neurological destruction. The only way I could fix my resentments and feel better was to drink and drug. And yet somehow, even then, the writer in me was watching, taking notes for the day I would inspire others. I have videos from that period as well, showing how I was in Neurochemical Consecration™ throughout all of tha

This was taken at a rap video shoot that I put on a credit card, drinking alcohol and doing cocaine early the morning after staying up all night. The one interesting thing about this time is that, still, with the rap music, I was alchemizing all of those resentments and began the process of self-forgiveness through my raps. I even wrote in a bar that  “It’s true, I’m a motivational speaker to myself, it is true - I’ll be speaking to others about this in my 40s, dude, God's work, I’m not confused.”  I was in the middle of a cocaine induced manic episode.

This was one of the most embarrassing times of my life. Everyone rightfully shunned me. I was about to enter rehab for 3 months and would be monitored by the Washington Physician Health Program (WPHP) for the next 5 years.

My concerned coworkers and friends intervened, leading to three months in rehab and a total of six months off work. My plummeting patient scores painfully reflected the self-judgment I had. The more I judged myself, the more I judged others.

This picture was taken in Alabama about 30 days into rehab. I fully immersed myself in structured recovery. I entered a drug monitoring program and started intensive therapies like Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing and Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. I was also prescribed multiple medications for anxiety, depression, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Bipolar disorder—diagnoses that had been given to me during that time. Every single medication I took gave me a problem and harmful side effects. That’s when I knew I had to control everything I could. Staying sober, eating better, practicing mindfulness, meditation, and whatever I could do to stop hating myself and salvage my career. That’s when Motivate You; Inspire Yourself was born. I could only depend on myself and inspire myself. I thought that’s what everyone did.

What people need to understand is that everyone has seen me go through a cocaine induced manic episode. Everyone. Everyone I worked with, friends, family, and my mom.  I didn’t have a choice. I had to prove to everyone that I could improve. That’s when I said, This will likely help someone someday. I kept my head down for 2 years, embarrassed, stayed quiet, and did what I could to stay in Emotional Freedom ™  

I would go on to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT), Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy (EMDR), Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT), Metacognitive Behavioral Therapy (MCT), Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT), and I obtained a course certified Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) certification.

I went an average of 2-3 times monthly for the next 5 years, and now I still go 1-2 times monthl,y and I’ll never stop. However, attending therapy sessions wasn't the most effective part; what made the most significant impact was the intense daily writing with no breaks. Writing and reprocessing the memories, over and over, maybe even a few hundred times over several years, until I felt I had no resentments towards myself and nothing bad to say about myself.

But even after starting treatment, I still got bad patient scores and was given a letter of termination. They said if I got more reviews like that, I’d lose my job. That’s when I brought the letter to my EMDR therapist, and I cried and said, “This is not me. I’m not a bad guy. Please help me.” It was just that hard to forgive myself and accept who I truly was.

The photo on the left is my brother, modeling for Davidoff in New York in 1998. He was a technical writer, in the best shape of his life, and filled with dreams. The photo on the right was taken just a few years before his death. By then, methamphetamine and alcohol had taken hold of him. He had signed one record deal, and BMG Music once paid him fifty thousand dollars for a single song. But it flopped. That failure devastated him. He had always wanted to be a singer. Ajay could produce, write music, produce tracks, choreograph, dance, and was first chair in Alaska playing the violin for 3 years in a row.

On March 19, 2019, my brother was found deceased in his apartment after 17 days. I had tried to put him in rehab three times. We were separated when I was just eight, and though we reconnected here and there, we spent years apart. I emailed him just a few weeks before he passed, telling him to come live with me and my mom in Seattle. I had brought him to Seattle to live with us a few times, but it just didn’t work out.

When the woman from the funeral home told me not to look at his face, because it had caved in, I sat across from him anyway. And I made a promise. I told him I would make his life worth it.

That was the moment Alchemical Awareness was about to take off. That was when I entirely consecrated to GOD’s plan. I didn’t know how I’d get through it, but I knew I would. I’d find a way to validate myself, to transmute pain into purpose, and to inspire others who had ever been called broken or dumb or too emotional. That was the start of Neurochemical Consecration™. That was when I chose to play Emotional Calculus™ with fear. To learn how to speak. To learn how to sit still. To go to therapy. To walk with GOD. To help others see what I wish someone had helped my brother see.

Imagine this: being on welfare, your car being repossessed, in debt, broke, and about to be dead or in jail for the rest of your life. Imagine this, being in the 4 walls of a psychiatric institution for hours. Days, then years, then decades on psychotic holds, being held down, taking medications, and having no family support. Since my mother was alone for all of these years in psychiatric lockup, there was a part of me that felt the duty to be in monastic solitude out of guilt for her journey and my intrinsic desire for service way beyond my capacity as a board-certified family doctor.

Imagine this: being on welfare, your car being repossessed, in debt, broke, and about to be dead or in jail for the rest of your life. Imagine this, being in the 4 walls of a psychiatric institution for hours. Days, then years, then decades on psychotic holds, being held down, taking medications, and having no family support. Since my mother was alone for all of these years in psychiatric lockup, there was a part of me that felt the duty to be in monastic solitude out of guilt for her journey and my intrinsic desire for service way beyond my capacity as a board-certified family doctor.

At age forty-one, on February 2, 2021, at 3:36 PM PST, after seven profound years of genuinely getting to know my mother in the final chapter of her life, I watched her pass away. Just five days before she died, she told me, "I’m tired of living with mental illness." And she meant it. She was ready to go. As she died, I made a sacred promise to use every fiber of my soul to help as many people as I can. That promise became the catalyst for Emotional Calculus and Consecrated Courage. I knew that I had to do it alone. If I can Motivate You; Inspire Yourself to do it yesterday, I could do it again today. Let’s just start off with 1 second at a time.

After she passed, I stayed in that home for two months and wrote through every single photo we had ever taken. I cried, deeply and loudly, sometimes for thirty minutes at a time. But I knew if I kept going, it would get better. I kept writing, on dry-erase boards, flip charts, and scraps of paper. I processed my grief in real-time through Mind Hygiene, not by fixing or numbing it, not by coping through alcohol or food, but by facing it. And that was the beginning of something sacred. I committed to feeding the poor, purifying water, and inspiring the world by alchemizing our collective pain, mine, my brother’s, and my father’s, into undeniable purpose.

I relentlessly used writing and rapping at home to try to fix my emotions and overcome my thoughts, only to realize that these attempts at external control were futile. That realization was the spark. It marked the beginning of true Neurospiritual Sovereignity, the slow, difficult path of accepting and embracing myself, even as I still wrestled with deeply ingrained beliefs that I was stupid, dumb, mentally ill, and everything people had labeled me.

I had six therapists and paid for over sixty coaches. I enrolled in one three-month coaching program and one nine-month coaching program. I was part of Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous and went to meetings regularly. But even then, I had no one cheering me on. No one was telling me I was doing great. No one is saying, "You got this."

That’s when I knew I had no choice but to rely on myself and be confident in my limitations. That’s when ACES Your Life and Mind Hygiene was born.

Accept Your Awareness

Communicate Your Compassion

Embrace Your Empathy

Soften The Process

Not:

Fix Your Thoughts

Anger (Overcome)

Control/Cope With/Deal with

Erase (Block it out)

Strong

This is the first time I said I love myself

At age 42, I moved to Seattle, lost fifteen pounds, and began embracing intentional solitude in a small apartment. I dedicated myself to even deeper writing, self-reflection, and purpose. This period marked a profound full circle. I was now diagnosing patients with the very mental and emotional battles I had once carried, and helping them more than I ever could’ve. From having the worst patient scores in healthcare networks, I started to have the best patient scores in healthcare networks!

During that time, I continued refining Mind Hygiene, developing Motivate You, Inspire Yourself, and slowly stepping into what I would come to call Neuro-Spiritual Sovereignty. This was the moment my lived experience began to crystallize into teachable, evidence-based frameworks. It was also the moment when the idea of becoming a full-time speaker no longer felt like a dream, but a calling.

The photo you see here is one of the happiest seasons of my life. I lived in 526 square feet. After my mom passed away, I sold everything I owned and moved into that apartment with my two pets, four vision boards, flip charts, and stacks of writing and rap lyrics

This was my sixth year of being single by choice. As of July 31st, 2025, I have been single for nearly eight years, on purpose. I chose monastic solitude to develop myself, to consecrate my suffering into service. Through that process, I became the urban monk.

Can you believe this? It’s 1996, and I’m sitting outside of the courtroom in downtown Seattle, about to go away to jail for the 3rd time. Fast forward to 2022, I’m carrying in donuts into the same jail I was at as a teenager, about to inspire the youth. I connect with them well, because I never gave them advice. As a board-certified practicing family doctor, I’ve seen over 130,000 patients in my career, and I stopped giving advice. I inspire through daily action, pave the way for possibilities, and I’m the same way when no one is watching me. I think that resonated with them, and my patients and we developed a special bond among shared struggles of overeating, self-loathing tendencies, substance misuse, and seeking external validation.

I still hadn’t started talking about sobriety until about 4 years in, but I felt comfortable speaking to the youth about it. I was extremely embarrassed about being part of the Washington Physician Health Program (WPHP). I was being monitored, going to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings regularly, and doing urine drug tests. I always had Alchemical Awareness™, and I knew that there was a greater purpose to my drug monitoring.  I would share it with a patient here and there that I was sober, but I kept it to myself. I thought I was still just a stupid doctor, just a drug addict with mental illness. So much so, I wrote a book called "The Dumb Doctor."  I started sharing these stories at the juvenile detention where I was locked up as a youth.

Additionally, it took approximately 6 months of rigorous paperwork to be accepted as a volunteer speaker there. I didn’t have many people to talk to, and I consider sugar my best friend at this time. You can tell, I’m bloated, out of shape, tired, and bringing donuts to the kids, eating two on the way

This pic was taken of me in bed with pounds of sugar in front of me from DoorDash and Uber Eats. Sugar was my best friend and never turned on me. I was ok with it then. Even with all the bold external shifts I had made, I could not stop eating sugar. I was in a deep internal battle, and to be honest, I didn’t have much support from anyone. But it was in that solitude that I started to live inside Neurochemical Consecration™ and Neuro-Spiritual Sovereignty. That’s when I consecrated everything: every breath, every choice, every thought, entirely dedicated to service.

I was still struggling. I had gained fifty pounds. I had a full-blown sugar addiction. But even after my mom died, I never went back to drinking, or smoking cigarettes, or using weed. And that right there, that was proof of fundamental transformation and I knew that  Mind Hygiene was special.  Writing. Reflecting. Rewiring. Everday

I was actively living out the process: Accept Your Awareness, Communicate Your Compassion, Embrace Your Empathy, and Soften The Process. That’s what finally helped me stop being mean to myself.

I began speaking globally on self-love, self-reliance, and Motivate You; Inspire Yourself—demonstrating how Mind Hygiene helps people cultivate kindness toward themselves and engage in empathetic self-talk. I have been speaking for free at the juvenile detention center, the prison, and locally since the age of 42.

I consistently donated 30% of my speaking fees to feed the poor and purify their water. Outwardly, the impact was growing. But privately, I still wrestled with the desire to be accepted by established circles. I believed in myself, and I strongly believe in my limitations. But I also wanted to be welcomed.

I get it now. Neuro-Spiritual Sovereignty™ disrupts systems built on approval and performance. I wasn’t built for applause. I was built for alignment.

I mean, I was the “dumb doctor” once, right? The drug addict. The mentally ill one. The guy with the worst patient scores. I’ve got 840 glowing reviews from patients whose lives I showed up for. Wouldn’t you want someone like that to empower you?

Now? I don’t blame anyone. I don’t gossip. I don’t talk crap behind anyone's back when no one is watching. How the heck do you think I could live alone in peace otherwise?

Two of my mentors, both worth over $100 million, and a billionaire advisor I invested in told me the same thing: “Your growth scares people. You’re a mirror for what’s possible.” So yeah, my message creates cognitive and emotional dissonance. And sometimes, the little boy in me, sitting alone in monastic solitude, still wonders quietly: “Don’t you want to help me… help others?”

That dissonance eventually led to my quiet excommunication from conferences, speaker circles (not all), and being ghosted by speakers. But I don't think I'm special, this is very common amongst speakers from what I hear, but it is a common part of dating, friendships, and life as well. Believe me, I'm used to rejection, so much so I have the rejection tool kit meditation.

Saaru is a south Indian comfort food

Smile
Accept Defeat
Acknowledge GOD's work
Responsibility Transfer To GOD
Usher In Uncertainty

Just repeat the SAARU meditation until it becomes boring!

The one thing that really got to me was that “Don’t you want to help me help others?” “Dang, but I got 5 ovations in one keynote?” "I've been through 3 speaking coaching programs, one was 5 weeks, another 9 months, and another ongoing. Do I need to improve more?" I still go to toastmasters regularly, "should I do the starburst toastmasters competetion?"

It took me two years to speak about this. I was embarrassed. I didn’t realize I had become so disruptive that the system tried to silence me. But now I understand: my message threatens the performance-based model of compassion. Here’s one example:

You cannot truly be compassionate toward others unless you are compassionate toward yourself. If even one percent of resentment remains inward; if you blame others for your pain; if you carry even a flicker of condescension, judgment, or say the word hate at all; if even for a second, even under your breath, your curse at someone; if forgiveness doesn’t include self-forgiveness; or if you exhibit narcissistic traits like being condescending, lacking understanding of others’ pain, or being judgmental (even for a second a day, under your breath)—then all external compassion, empathy, and love is performative.

You can only stop judging others when you stop judging yourself, even when no one is watching.

I guess… not everyone wants to hear that

The picture of me on the left is someone who was dressing because his Mission - Vision - Purpose (MVP) was to be liked by everyone at any cost. The picture on the right is an individual whom I’m still beginning to embrace. The person who does not have a single friend, family member, lover, or a community to support his inner desire to feed the poor and purify their water.

I stopped hanging out with people who complained, talked badly about others, blamed others for their problems, or blamed health systems or the government. I stopped hating myself for stuffing my face with sugar, too. Sugar was my best friend for three years. But when I finally embodied full consecration, and said, “GOD, I’m ready to live in monastic solitude forever and dedicate my life to service without support from a friend, family member, partner, or community.” But here’s the thing, I mean it. That next step, I stopped eating sugar on December 24th, 2024. Of course, I spend Christmas alone, like usual, so there was no temptation around but my lonely mind.

I am more scared of sugar today than alcohol. Since I’ve lost the privilege for both, I have surrendered to my creator that I’ll never touch them again. I underwent financial consecration at this time as well and dropped all credit cards and just stopped spending money in general. I knew that if I wanted to make my desired impact, I would need to consecrate my eating and spending habits. I decided that if it weren't going to move the mission forward, I wouldn't continue. That's when GOD started to bestow immense blessings on me.

Now, I find comfort in my three beloved pets, who are always by my side as I strive to help the world. Imagine the boy on the left, seeking everyone’s validation, smoking a Marlboro light, borrowing money from payday loans just to buy someone else a drink in a club. Today, as I spend my day cleaning up my pets' pee and poop, I realize that this seemingly mundane service represents a far higher standard of existence. Through Mind Hygiene and Motivate You; Inspire Yourself®, we will help you reside in the Clouds of Emotional Freedom™

Dang, the image on the left. That guy was struggling with signs and symptoms of self-hatred. Self-resentment, self-judgment, self-loathing, and lying to everyone and himself. He hid everything about himself when no one was watching. Drinking alcohol, smoking weed, puffing on Marboloros, and just confused with neurobiologic warfare. I operated day to day with a resentment implicit bias, and a super clogged mind.

I’m about to give daps to big homie on the right. Imagine all the equity in your mind that is released when you have an empathic implicit mind. The image on the right is someone who is a full-time resident of Neurochemical Consecration

It must’ve sucked to walk around agreeing with everyone, pleasing them, and thinking that I'm just the dumb doctor. I would have a sit-down with him and say. Lil bro, just start creating Alchemical Awareness, around your resentments, be relentless, in the pursuit of greatness, bounds are endless, don’t be defenseless, keep your guard up, you ain’t helpless, stop eating so much, you won’t regret it, play Neurobiologic Ju-jitsu, just blend it, with your truth, don’t bend it, alchemize your resentments, you’ll have a 4 pack at 45, just accept it :-)

The image on the left captures a time when, like many, my Mission - Vision - Purpose (MVP) were unconsciously driven by the need for external validation. I believed that being 'nice,' agreeable, and pleasing to 'gatekeepers' in various circles was the path to sharing my message.

However, I soon realized that my truth might be too strong, too disruptive for superficial frameworks. Instead of diluting my message to fit in, I chose a different path: deeper internal work through more coaching, mentorship, and relentless writing. I radically consecrated my life, cutting out sugar, consecrated my finances, and the ingrained need for external approval. I embraced the 'monastic fire' of solitude, surrendering to my MVP understanding I might have to walk this path without traditional external support.

The image on the right represents the moment of my 'official comeback.' It embodies the understanding that true power comes not from fleeting dopamine hits of external validation or the catecholamine rush of constantly trying to please, but from attaining Neurospiritual Serenity through evidence-based Mind Hygiene. By writing through my truths and fostering internal validation, even in the absence of immediate external success, I cultivated genuine self-love and Neurospiritual Sovereignty.

This is the embodiment of choosing serotonin levels of self-acceptance over the cortisol spikes of chasing approval. It’s about empowering others from a place of unwavering internal strength, knowing firsthand the disempowerment of constantly seeking external validation. I no longer need anyone to tell me I am good. I believe in myself and my limitations every second when no one is watching.