Almost 20 years ago, I worked at a company called Beneficial Finance. One day, I found myself on the floor in the bathroom with the lights out, curled into a fetal position against the wall, crying uncontrollably. Life had become too much for me to bear. I was filled with anxiety, and at that moment, it had overtaken me. Though I had never experienced anything like this before, my brain and nerves let me know that it was too much. I needed relief and my brain went into autopilot as it ushered me onto a cold, dirty floor with the lights out, just so I could disconnect and be “safe.” For a host of reasons, this book is deeply personal for me. It wasn’t prompted only by reflecting on the personal battles that I have overcome. It was also motivated by some heartbreaking experiences with my family. In my sophomore year of high school, my uncle was beaten to death. The pictures of my uncle’s beaten face have been seared into my memory. His head swelled so much that it looked like someone pumped it full of air. He was killed by someone I used to play basketball with regularly at the park. The irony is that the man who murdered my uncle had deep admiration for me and used to “look out,” as is common for many hustlers in urban areas for those they see potential in. He didn’t know that it was my uncle that he killed. Unfortunately, my uncle was a drug addict. And because the issue was drug related, I question if knowledge of my family connection would have made a difference. I share the story of the death of my uncle to highlight the fact that drugs and alcohol have ravaged my family, causing a number of traumatic experiences. But chemical dependency and all of what that brings wasn’t the primary issue. For most of my family members, addiction was an outflow of a deeper issue – a lack of mental, emotional, and spiritual wellness. Mental illness aside, I wonder if many family members whose addictions caused their early demise could have benefited from a book like this. In addition to family drug abuse, I also know what it’s like to be on suicide watch for a loved one. I know what it’s like to remove medicines, sharp objects, and cleaners from an environment and yet still be hyper-vigilant after 3am, where every noise you hear spikes your adrenaline and has your heart pounding. And this suicide watch wasn’t due to mental illness. It was the result of poor mental and emotional hygiene. It was the result of self-imprisonment with invisible but seemingly impenetrable bars. These same bars, along with the lack of mental and emotional hygiene, are what prevented so many of my family and friends from excelling in key areas of life.