I’m not a therapist. I’m not a life coach. I’m not a guy with a morning routine that would make you feel bad about yourself.
I’m just someone who, somewhere in his mid-40s, looked around and realised the version of himself he’d been running wasn’t really working anymore. The career looked fine from the outside. The relationships mostly held together. But there was this low-level static in the background, a sense that I was performing “man” rather than actually being one.
So I started paying attention. Reading, thinking, occasionally embarrassing myself in therapy, and talking to other men who were quietly going through the same thing but would rather discuss literally anything else at the pub.
Migrant Me came out of that. The name isn’t just about moving countries (though I’ve done that too). It’s about migrating through versions of yourself, the one you were told to be, the one you thought you wanted, and the one you’re still building. That process is uncomfortable, occasionally absurd, and completely worth it.
I write about mental strength, physical discipline, career, relationships, and the messy overlap between all of them. Not from the mountaintop, but from somewhere in the middle of the climb, looking back far enough to point out the potholes.
If you’ve ever felt like you were wearing a life that didn’t quite fit, you’re in the right place.