My Poker Journey, Reclaimed

There’s a voice in my head — the critical parent — that still whispers I’ll lose it all. That poker’s not real, not safe, not worthy. That the money doesn’t count. That I’ll end up alone and broke, and maybe that’s what I deserve.

But the facts say otherwise.

My results are clear. My resilience is clearer. And most importantly, I finally know why I’m doing this.

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The Dream That Saved Me

When I started playing poker as a teenager, it wasn’t just a game — it was freedom. It gave me a sense of control over my destiny that I never felt in my childhood. I believed — truly — that if I studied hard enough, if I played well enough, I could escape the cage I was born into.

And so I studied relentlessly. I was miles ahead of others my age. Not because I was naturally better — but because I needed it more. It was my hope. My way out.

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The Years I Walked Away

I stopped playing for many years.

On the surface, I left poker to pursue stability — for my son, for my ex-partner, for our life together. But underneath that, there was shame. There were voices — my mother, my partner, her family — saying it wasn’t real. That it wasn’t respectable. That it wasn’t enough.

Even when I made more money in a single week than others did in a year, it didn’t feel like I was allowed to be proud. I felt disloyal for succeeding. I felt like every win pushed me further from the people I was still trying to please. And when you’re torn between your truth and your tribe, you often choose silence.

So I sabotaged. I numbed. I played smaller. I made sure no one could say I had really “made it.”

And I lived under the weight of an unspoken fear:
If I truly succeed, I’ll be alone.

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The Return

Now? Now it’s different.

I play poker for fun. I play because I love it. And somehow, that’s made me more profitable than I’ve ever been. I don’t grind endlessly anymore. I play when I’m regulated, rested, aligned. I play when it feels right. And it works.

There’s no pressure now. No one’s voice in my ear. No one to betray. No one to shrink for.

I’m not playing to escape. I’m not playing to prove anything. I’m playing because it’s part of who I am — and it always has been.

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The Integration

It all makes sense now in retrospect.

I spent years running businesses, helping kids through skating, building websites for clients, volunteering, learning to counsel — because I wanted my life to mean something. And now, somehow, all of it is weaving together.

I can make money doing something I’d happily do for free. I can help people express themselves through websites like I did. I can sit with people in pain as I train to become a counselor. And I can show up as a father, honestly, not hiding or pretending anymore.

Poker was never the problem. Hiding it was.

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The Man I Am Now

There’s still grief. Grief for the years I stepped away. Grief for the self I dimmed. But there’s also acceptance. And something even stronger:

Belief.

I believe in my skill. I believe in my resilience. I believe in who I am now.

If my son ever wanted to play poker one day, I wouldn’t push him in or pull him out. I’d just be there — steady, honest, grounded. And that, for me, says everything.

I used to feel like I cheated life.
Now I see it differently:

I just finally stopped cheating myself.

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My Poker Progress

Here’s a snapshot of my staking performance over the past few months—a visual reminder of how emotional regulation and self-trust pay off in practice: