A message on my reflection these last few years and the constant fight to keep going. Hope it helps those who may be struggling and as motivation to keep going! 

My text to a loved one:

”The world shifted in early 2020, but for me, it wasn’t about a job slipping away—it was about digging deep into the grit I’d forged in the military. I’d spent years training, adapting, pushing through when the odds stacked against me, and that spirit hadn’t faded. When chaos hit with COVID, I didn’t flinch. I saw an opening, a chance to take control. No handouts, no waiting—just pure, hard-wired drive. I kicked it into high gear and launched M. Allen, my own consulting practice, built from the discipline and fire I’d carried since my service days.

I hit the ground sprinting. That military mindset—plan, execute, overcome—took over. My first client came within a week, a small business owner scrambling to survive. Then another, a referral from a buddy who’d seen me hustle. In 30 days, I had three clients locked in. It wasn’t flashy, but it was mine—earned through late nights, cold calls, and a refusal to back down. The revenue started small, just enough to keep the engine running, but it felt like a victory. I’d taken the chaos and turned it into something solid, and for a while, I thought I’d keep that momentum rolling.

The next few years were a grind, but M. Allen grew—slowly, messily, steadily. I leaned on that military precision, sharpening my pitch, delivering for clients, building a name. By 2022, I could ease off the throttle a bit; the practice had roots. Then last year, the lull hit. It wasn’t a sudden blow—just a slow, grinding halt. Clients pulled back, budgets tightened, and the phone went quiet too often. The momentum I’d fought for started to slip, and I’d sit there, staring at numbers that wouldn’t cooperate, wondering if I’d hit my limit. Had I pushed as far as I could go?

It wasn’t just business that tested me. Friends I’d counted on faded out. I’d reach out—texts, calls, meetups—but the replies dwindled, then stopped. It stung, that slow bleed of connection. But in the quiet, a few stood firm. Two mentors, guys who’d seen their own battles, kept checking in. “You’ve got this, Matt,” they’d say, their words like a hand on my shoulder when I needed it most. Then there were the new faces—people I met at events, over coffee, in late-night emails. They didn’t replace what I’d lost, but they built something fresh, something I hadn’t seen coming.

Faith took a beating, too. I’d always carried it like a north star, a quiet anchor from my military days. But in that lull, it flickered, buried under doubts I couldn’t shake. Why now? Why me? I’d wrestle with it in the dark, searching for answers. Somewhere in that struggle, I found my way back—not to the same faith I’d started with, but something tougher, battle-tested. It wasn’t about certainty anymore; it was about showing up, day after day.

By early 2025, I could feel the shift. I threw everything into M. Allen, chasing leads with the same intensity I’d brought to that first month. I leaned on those mentors, leaned into the new friendships, and retooled my approach. The clients came back—some old, some new—and the numbers started climbing. By April, I was staring at an annualized recurring revenue run rate bigger than anything I’d ever pulled off. It wasn’t just survival; it was growth, forged in the fire of every setback and hard-earned win. The lull had pushed me to the edge, but it didn’t break me.

Looking back, I see the arc—relying on that military spirit to launch M. Allen, landing those first three clients in a month, hitting the lull that nearly stopped me, and climbing back to something stronger. I lost friends but found loyalty where it mattered. I lost faith but built a deeper one in its place. The road’s been rough, unrelenting, but it’s mine. And on April 5, 2025, as I sit here watching the sun rise over a world that couldn’t keep me down, I know one thing: I’m still here, still fighting, still building.”— Matt