05/18/2025
I go quiet for a reason, and this past week brings one of the hardest. May 15 marked seven years since I lost a close friend I served with in Afghanistan. We went through a lot side by side. He lost his battle with PTSD and took his own life. That anniversary always hits harder than I expect. Part of it is how close we were, but the heavier part is this: I was the senior medic for our company. A small, tight knit group. I took that role seriously. I always felt like it was my job to look out for everyone. And he never reached out. Never showed signs. That is something I still carry with me.
When that day comes around, I go back to the tools I know work for me. One of them is writing. I wrote a lot. To him, for him, about him, and everything in between. I wrote my way through the weight. And it reminded me what writing really is to me. Not a job. Not content. It is an outlet. A release. A way to put order to what is heavy and hard to say out loud.
Writing has been my escape for almost a decade. It is how I process pain, make sense of the chaos, and stay grounded when nothing else makes sense. Sharing it felt right in the beginning. It gave the pain purpose. And that became the foundation for Forged Line Collective. This was never about chasing attention. It was about reaching the few who live in the fight. The ones who do not flinch. The ones who carry more than they show.
But somewhere along the way, writing stopped feeling like mine. It started to feel like something I owed to a screen. A task to keep up with instead of something I turned to for clarity. I found myself pouring into a space that rarely gave anything back. And the truth is, the kind of people this message is meant for, the disciplined, the broken but still moving, the ones who choose to face themselves, most of them are not spending their time on social media. They are out there doing the work. Cutting the noise. And if I am honest, I count myself among them. Social media just is not where I feel at home.
There is still fire in the mission, just not in this part of it. I have more important things that need my focus right now. Finishing my degree. Preparing for PT school. Being a good husband. Raising a son who understands what strength really means. Protecting my own peace before the one thing that used to ground me turns into something that drains me.
So I am stepping back. I am not quitting. I am not walking away. I am just moving different. I will still be writing, for myself, and that will never stop. And when it feels real to share, I will share it. But writing is no longer tied to building this brand. What I have written already stands as a record of everything I believe is worth saying.
From here, the mission shifts into something more aligned. I will continue building the gear. Performance apparel and tools made for the ones who actually live this, not just talk about it. Nothing will be rushed. Nothing will be for show. Just gear that fits, built at a pace that fits my life.
I built this alone, and I will keep building it that way. Which means it moves on my terms and stays rooted in what matters most. No pressure. No performance. Just steady work guided by purpose. The mission is not over. But the way I carry it from here looks different. Slower. Quieter. The fire is still here, and I owe it to myself to protect it.
