I’m Brandon.

Growing up, crying wasn't allowed and anger only brought more anger. Nothing I did was good enough. So I stuffed it all down and built a mask: if I performed, people would like me. Surfing, songwriting, the stage. It worked, until it didn't.

I lost my family, my friends, my music, and my money. I ended up on a mountaintop in detox, kicking heroin. I slept for a day and a half, woke up unable to walk, and crawled to the bathroom. In that moment I knew. Change or die.

That was 16 years ago.

"My name's Brandon, and I'm afraid of everything."

A while later, I went to a workshop at Esalen in Big Sur. Twenty-five people, many of them doctors and therapists. The teacher asked if anyone had something to work on. My hand shot up before I could stop it. "My name's Brandon," I said, "and I'm afraid of everything."

Then I did something I hadn't done in years. I let it out. The anger first, then the sadness. I cried for three hours. When it was over, I felt calm, present, and open in a way I never had before.

I knew I had to learn this work. But I was working at a detox center for $15 an hour, and the training cost $7,000. My dad offered to cover half. I hung up thinking it wasn't going to happen.

The owner had overheard the call. He walked over, pulled out his checkbook, and said, "I believe in you. I've seen your transformation. You're going to do amazing things."

"Intensity becomes your pathway to clarity."

I spent four years training in Core Energetics, a body-based method that works with the emotions your body has been holding. Two more years as an assistant teacher. I've now been practicing for 14 years, supervised over 50 practitioners, mentored more than 100 across the country, and worked with thousands of people around the world.

Today I live in Encinitas with my wife and our young son. I have a home and something I never had before: peace. When I get triggered, I don't lash out, shut down, or run. I stay present and say what's true.

That's what I help you do.