In 2015, my life fell to pieces.
My girlfriend of five years — the woman I thought I would grow old with — left me for another man.
And looking back, I don’t blame her.
The other guy had his life together.
He had goals, ambition, and passion.
He was interesting, and as much as I hated to admit it — he was a genuinely good dude.
But me?
I was a lost boy without a purpose, looking for a mum, not a girlfriend.
Today, I’m talking about the one thing that saved me.
If you’re feeling lost, confused, or like you aren’t where you want to be in life — maybe it will save you too.
After the breakup, I had never felt like more of a loser.
I spiraled hard.
When I say “spiraled,” you might picture me lying in bed surrounded by pizza boxes, drowning my sorrows while watching old Simpsons episodes.
I only did that for a few days.
Then I turned to something way more destructive.
HARD DRUGS.
I was at a party multiple times a week — snorting as much MDMA as I could get my hands on.
guess which one I am? (hint: not the black guy with an afro)
If you’ve ever been to a rave, there’s always a crazy, topless, sweaty guy in the front row sticking his head in the speakers.
That was me.
Looking back, I was hoping the music would silence the screaming pain in my head.
But it didn’t.
The pain was creeping over me — slowly getting worse.
Do you know what one of the most effective prescribed treatments for chronic pain is?
It’s not hardcore drugs.
It’s mindfulness (hardcore attention).
Because there’s a level of pain so intense that all attempts to distract yourself become utterly ineffective.
At that point, the only way out is through.
I had hit that point.
Except — I had no idea how to go deeper. I only knew how to avoid or numb.
Not only was this not working, but the comedowns were getting worse — dragging me into pits of despair I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Tuesdays were the worst. And they can get really bad.
Long-time ravers call them “Suicide Tuesdays.”
It’s the point where your serotonin has been completely drained by the weekend’s drugs, but your brain hasn’t replenished it yet.
And it was on a particularly suicidal Tuesday that it happened.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly had the urge to write.
Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was my mind clinging to something, anything, to keep me from slipping under.
I loaded up a blank document on a site called Penzu, skipped the “create account” bullshit, and started typing.
At first, I felt clumsy.
“Dear Diary? Is that how people do this? I feel like a teenage girl,” I thought.
But then — out of nowhere — the floodgates cracked open.
And pure heartbreak started pouring onto the page.
My typing sped up. My breathing got faster.
Words began to pour out — raw, messy, unfiltered.
Tears filled my eyes. My chest tightened.
And suddenly, I was saying things I hadn’t even admitted to myself.
As my fingers moved, my mind took me on a journey through my memories. I went through the relationship with a fine-tooth comb — processing pain and grief in a way I had never experienced before.
I had opened the door to an emotional release I desperately needed.
To say it was cathartic would be a massive understatement.
When the storm finally passed, I felt something I hadn’t felt since before the breakup.
Peace.
I was converted.
MDMA numbed me. Writing woke me up.
Over the next few months, I wrote at least 1,000 words a day.
I went through journals like a chain smoker goes through lighters.
But I wasn’t just writing about the breakup.
I was peeling back the curtain on my entire life.
Insights. Revelations. Old, buried wounds.
All of it bursting through the surface.
I stopped hanging around people. I started spending more time alone.
Just me and my journal — healing together.
I wasn’t just doing inner work — I was rediscovering myself for the first time in God knows how long.
Then, something unexpected happened.
I felt the impulse to share my revelations.
So, in 2016, I started posting on YouTube.
You can still find some of those old videos. (I look like a baby.)
I wrote stuff, then I shared it.
And I kept this up consistently.
But even though I felt better, I was still floating around, not knowing where I was going.
Until 2017, when I came across a guy named Jordan Peterson.
In one of his lectures, Peterson talked about something called the Future Authoring Programme.
A guided writing exercise where you map out your vision for the future.
Being a go-with-the-flow hippie, I had never done anything like this before.
But this exercise was life-changing.
It was the first time I seriously asked myself:
“What do I want?”
And I actually listened to the answer.
And that answer was freedom.
I wanted to go anywhere. Do whatever I want. Live on my own terms.
Deep down, I had known this long before my girlfriend dumped me.
But I was too scared to chase it.
Until now.
And here’s the crazy part.
The entire time, I had already been building the skill that would set me free.
Because as I got better at writing, my ideas got deeper and more valuable.
My YouTube videos stopped being confusing, meandering streams of consciousness — and started hitting hundreds of thousands of views.
My inbox blew up with emails from people who wanted to work with me.
They often said:
“It felt like you were speaking directly to me in that video.”
But the truth was — I was speaking to and for myself.
And that’s what made it resonate.
Your writing can only reach others as deeply as you’ve gone within yourself.
Fast forward to today.
I have that freedom I desperately wanted back then.
I no longer feel like the loser I did after she left.
I do what I want daily.
I write. I help clients live better lives. I travel.
But most importantly — I live life on my own terms.
And the crazy thing is…
I started writing because I wanted to escape myself.
But writing took me further in.
And that’s where I found my freedom.
Coffee and writing is a gift from the gods
If you’re feeling lost right now, you might want to try doing what I did.
Pick up a pen and paper.
Load up a Google Doc.
And start writing.
You have no idea where it might lead you.
Oliver