Let me tell you a story about what it feels like to try getting back up while you’re still falling—when nothing feels steady, and every attempt to stand only leads to another stumble. It’s about losing what you built, what you believed in, and even parts of who you thought you were. And yet, choosing to keep rising.
Resilience isn’t a character trait—it’s a choice you must make.
But at its core, this story isn’t just about starting over. It’s also about the awkward, imperfect act of reinventing yourself—publicly, vulnerably. About accepting what you never wanted to accept, because the alternative is far worse.
This isn’t the inspirational comeback story I ever imagined for myself. I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t see it coming. It arrived uninvited, wrapped in chaos, failure, loss, grief, and above all, a deep reckoning with some uncomfortable truths.
But before I continue, I want to be clear about something: each person needs to face their challenges—writing this story is me attempting to face my own.
Now, at age 45, I’m starting all over again.
How It All Began
My professional life began in technology, around the age of 17, with a job in technical support. Not long after that, I was building and repairing computers, helping people troubleshoot problems. In the late ’90s, that was a cultural moment—building your own PC was a rite of passage. I loved it.
That’s when the entrepreneurial spark first caught me. Creating solutions and seeing the direct impact of my work was far more exciting than the idea of a job where my agency was limited and I had to follow someone else’s instructions.
I turned my passion for technology into a service, then into sales, and eventually into my first business: an internet café. Though truthfully, it was more of a gaming house than a place to drink coffee. Kids lined up after school to play Counter-Strike. It thrived, right up until it didn’t. A bigger chain moved in nearby, and overnight, my customers disappeared. I learned my first business lesson.
If you’re not agile enough to adapt, success will be short-lived.
This failure forced reflection. I realised I’d built something people wanted, but I didn’t have the skills to grow it. I went back to university to close that gap, earning a degree in Media Communications with a specialisation in Marketing and Advertising. It felt it was the right next step for me at the time.
The First Agency
While studying, I worked at the marketing department of a consumer goods corporation. But toward the end of my degree, I teamed up with a couple of friends to start an advertising agency. The partnership was a blend of friendship and rivalry that pushed us all to grow. One of my partners, in particular, became a significant influence in my life, not just professionally, but personally too. The healthy tension between us was fuel for our creativity and ambition.
Eventually, though, our visions diverged. Each of us had different dreams pulling us in new directions. Parting ways was tough, but that experience taught me about collaboration, trust, and the power of surrounding yourself with people who challenge you in meaningful ways.
Scratching an Itch
Though I was born and raised in Brazil, I never truly felt at home. My cultural identity was heavily influenced by American and British culture. My own way of thinking felt distinctively foreign compared to most of my peers.
I grew up on a diet of Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, and Metallica. I was just as drawn to the absurdity of British comedies like Monty Python’s Flying Circus as the goofy charm of John Candy in Uncle Buck. Blockbusters like Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption filled my weekends, but so did gritty British classics like Trainspotting and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. I followed the rise of the entrepreneurial spirit of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates with fascination. I had my mind opened in ways I never saw coming after reading George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. I devoured books like Rich Dad Poor Dad and The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People long before I ever set foot in a corporate office. My cultural identity was formed thousands of miles away from home.
This unique cultural blend came largely from growing up in relative privilege—my parents could afford a good education, giving me access to ideas and influences beyond the local norm. And despite Brazil’s beauty, issues like inequality, crime, and constant anxiety over safety made me reluctant to raise a family there.
Eventually, I moved to London. At the age of 28, I was starting over, but from the moment I arrived, I felt a kind of peace I’d never known before. There is a lot more to unfold about this feeling, but that is a completely different story.
Building a New Life
Before leaving Brazil, I had a long conversation with my then-girlfriend about my dreams and ambitions for our future. I laid everything on the table. I asked her if she wanted to take this journey with me. I was afraid she would say no.
But the answer was simple yet unforgettable: “Wherever you go is my home.”
We married and began building a family business. I brought my design and branding experiences, she brought her experience in sales. I would handle design; she would manage clients. It was a perfect pairing—or so I believed.
But life has a way of complicating even the simplest plans.
I found a sense of cultural belonging, but adjusting to a new life can take time, and everyone faces it differently. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I pulled back on our plans, thinking that a little bit of time would help. I focused on freelancing and honing my design skills while my wife went on to get a job with the understanding that we would return to our original plans later on.
A Wild Ride
Around that time, I stumbled into something entirely unexpected: Bitcoin.
I was working as a freelancer, but for better or for worse, the financial return I was seeing in crypto far outpaced what I could earn through freelance work. It wasn’t just more profitable—it was also more scalable and less tied to hours worked. So, without thinking much about it, I dived deep into this world.
This was around 2013, the period when Bitcoin started to gain mainstream attention. I was intrigued—it scratched my interest in tech. I dove into crypto, learned everything I could, and I invested early. It worked. Back then, the community was small and idealistic, and people believed Bitcoin was the start of a new kind of digital economy. Those were the crypto golden years.
For a long time, we lived frugally, and while it wasn’t easy, we persevered. I was learning more as I was going along, I made a few good investments, others were disastrous, but overall, I was slowly building up a crypto portfolio.
My wife was doing well at her job, and for the most part, life was easy. The idea of building a family business remained on hold. The opportunity Bitcoin was presenting led me to set a new goal: to raise a large pot, enough to buy a home outright and secure our future. The family business would come later.
I made good money in crypto. My days were spent doing hours of research about new projects and carefully investing in newly launched tokens. This strategy worked well during the time I’ve done that, and I was able, with a moderate level of risk, to make great returns and amass a substantial portfolio.
But life had other plans.
Facing Hard Truths
A few years after that, my wife became pregnant, so I returned to our original dream. But this time, instead of a design studio, I aimed for something simpler. We talked about the idea of building a second-hand goods store. It was all good.
This was around the time that COVID was taking over. The business model seemed solid—a low-risk operation that could survive a financial crisis.
We planned to split our time between parenting and running the store. I was hoping that the simpler business model would help us lower our stress compared to what it means to invest in crypto or chase a corporate career.
Unfortunately, reality did not meet our expectations.
Bittersweet Symphony
Becoming a father at 37 changed my life in ways I never expected. And despite every challenge, it remains the most fulfilling experience I’ve ever had. Anyone who says children are a burden doesn’t know what they are talking about.
But parenthood rarely unfolds according to plan. We both stepped into this new identity as parents with hopes and expectations that didn’t match reality.
What I didn’t fully understand at the time—and have only recently come to accept—is that the struggles we faced as a family ran deeper than I could ever imagine. We faced emotional challenges that we didn’t know how to navigate, let alone heal. And through all of this, I learned something painful: sometimes love isn’t enough to bridge the gap between people’s differences.
I was being pushed to my own limits while a crypto bull ran in full force. My head wasn’t in the game. I made mistake after mistake. I missed entry signals. I failed to pull out. I watched my portfolio shrink. I went from being in a stable financial situation to losing more than half my assets, to losing almost everything.
I saw everything I had built for years slip through my fingers.
And it wasn’t just the money. The emotional strain, the mental overload—it cracked the foundation of my life. Suddenly, I wasn’t an investor, a designer, or an entrepreneur. I was just a husband trying to hold his family together and a father trying to shield his child from emotional turmoil.
The Modern World & Mental Health
This period changed everything I knew about myself and others. It forced me to confront my emotional limitations and rethink what it means to be resilient. I’ve come to realise how deeply mental health struggles can shape, and reshape, a person’s life—and the lives of those around them.
This is the hard reality of the human struggle. The journey inward is difficult, and not everyone is ready to take it. No matter how much you want to walk a path together, sometimes people just need to find their way on their own time.
We are all moving through life at our own pace, and that’s okay.
But we have built a world that values comfort over resilience, distraction over introspection, and certainty over curiosity. As a society, we are failing. I worry about the world my daughter is growing up in—a world where people favour simple and stereotyped answers over the nuanced complexity of reality.
I’m facing hard truths, letting go of old ideas, and accepting that this time I have to start over—not because I want to, but because I have to.
Where do I go from here?
Starting over, especially at 45, is a sobering reality. But there are benefits. I have a lifetime of experience and skills. They’ll help, but they won’t make it easy.
I’m taking it one step at a time, laying the foundation for a new future—one I never imagined. And this time, I’m doing something different: In the past, I’ve kept to myself, stayed quiet, worked in the background.
That era is over. Privacy is a luxury I can no longer afford.
Privacy is a Privilege
In today’s world, showing up—being visible—isn’t optional. If you want to build something meaningful, you have to stand in the light, imperfections and all.
This isn’t just a personal mindset shift—it’s a reflection of how profoundly the world of work has transformed. Sharing ideas, documenting experiences, even telling personal stories—these are now forms of labour that help build trust and visibility. And with the rise of AI, I believe more than ever that our humanity—our lived experiences, our emotional intelligence, our unique perspectives—will be the only things that truly differentiate us from the rise of the machines.
This is a personal struggle for me. I’m not naturally drawn to the spotlight. I find it challenging to open up publicly. Even writing this article was incredibly difficult for me, but I know that stepping into this discomfort is necessary. In a world of automation, showing up as fully human is no longer optional—it’s essential.
The price I’m paying to rebuild is stepping out from behind the curtain to tell the full, complicated, messy story of the human experience. Not for sympathy, but for connection. And that’s exactly where new beginnings are formed.
It’s never about the fall. It’s about the choice to rise again—every time.