It was the summer of 1996, and my family had gathered on my uncle’s farm in Marshall, Texas, for a cookout. My uncle, long retired from his days as a merchant seaman, was now a farmer. The day was warm, the watermelon bright red, juicy, and inviting—perfect for a hot afternoon. I couldn’t wait to dig into its cool, crisp sweetness.

“Billy,” I said, using the only name I ever called my uncle. “Do you want some watermelon?”

“No,” he replied, completely disinterested.

Surprised, I pressed further. “Why not? Do you not like watermelon? Are you just not hungry? Do you want some later?”

Everyone else was enjoying a slice, but not Billy. It seemed odd to me, and I had to know why.

He finally relented, more to satisfy my curiosity than anything else. As it turned out, his disinterest in watermelon had nothing to do with its taste. In fact, he had loved watermelon as a child. But a single, painful memory had forever changed that.

When my uncle was about seven or eight, he and his friends stole a watermelon from a neighbor’s garden—a simple, mischievous act on a sweltering summer day. But when his father, my grandfather, found out, he was furious. As a church trustee, my grandfather would not allow anyone to think his son was a thief or that he wasn’t providing for his family. So, he beat my uncle with a belt, a punishment so severe that it left a lasting emotional scar. From that day on, Billy never ate watermelon again.

I was saddened and shaken by his story. But still, I had to ask, “Billy, that was over 60 years ago. Do you think the lesson was supposed to be, ‘thou shalt not steal’?”

He looked at me squarely, his voice firm. “I don’t eat watermelon.”

This time, I let it go.

In that moment, I gained absolute clarity—what I now call a food story. My uncle wasn’t afraid of the watermelon itself; he was afraid of the feelings it brought back. The trauma associated with that long-ago summer day was so intense that even six decades later, he couldn’t bring himself to eat the fruit he once loved. The joyful memories of watermelon had been eclipsed by pain and fear.

Then a question hit me: What if the opposite is true for me? What if my uncontrollable cravings for certain processed foods stem from a deep-seated desire to relive the pleasure of the happy memories associated with them?

The answer struck me like a bolt of clarity. Just as my uncle avoided watermelon to escape painful memories, I was overeating to chase the happy ones. I didn’t want the food—I wanted the feeling it evoked. For forty years, I had been confusing food with happiness, mistaking it for the solution to emotions it could never satisfy.

It was like putting on glasses and seeing clearly for the first time. I had been living in a fog, just like my uncle. The realization was so profound that I did something I had never done in sixty years of living—I looked up the definition of food. There it was in black and white: nutrition, nourishment, energy. That’s all food is.

Food is fuel. The only problem food solves is hunger.

In 2020, when I began writing my book Leaving Large - The Stories of a Food Addict, I had no idea where this journey would take me. I hoped that by sharing my experiences, I might help others see themselves in my story and find their own path to wellness, wholeness, and health. But I could never have anticipated the transformation that was in store for me.

Fast forward four years, and my life has changed in remarkable ways I never imagined:

I didn’t land a traditional publishing deal, but I did something even more empowering—I established my own publishing company and self-published my book.
I took a leap of faith, left my 9 to 5 job, and stepped into the world of speaking and writing full-time, confronting my fears head-on.
I was invited to share my story on an international stage in Spain at the 5th International Conference on Obesity.
I launched a coaching program to guide others through the challenges of food addiction and obesity.
I reached out to Urban One founder Cathy Hughes to write the foreword to my book—and she did.
I shared my insights with leading experts during Grand Rounds at NIH/NIDA.
I won the 2022 Memoir Prize for Books in the inspiration category.
I conducted impactful workshops for the International Black Theatre Festival.
I was invited to deliver a TEDx Talk inspired by my book.
Most importantly, over these past four years, I’ve uncovered parts of myself I never knew existed. Through pursuing my dreams, I’ve touched lives in ways I never imagined. This journey has allowed me to release fears, doubts, stressors, and burdens I didn’t even realize I was carrying—all because I believed in myself and my purpose.

So, I say to you, “Keep pursuing your dreams.”

Someone needs what you have to offer. Someone needs healing, motivation, inspiration, or guidance. Someone needs you to keep going.

Pursue your dreams even when it’s hard, even when it hurts. Keep pushing forward when you’re unsure, when you’re weary, or when you feel discouraged.

You never know whether it will be the first step, the last, or something in between that will change your life—or someone else’s.

Keep the faith. Your journey will take you to places you never dreamed possible.