Day One - From 'Deon' to 'Deonsha' to 'Dominic'

Good evening, guys!😌First: let me say that I take COMPLETE responsibility for my results✨As I'm taking advantage of TODAY {March 1; a BRAND NEW MONTH} to keep myself accountable in Transforming my Trajectory.. I'd like to share a DEEPER scope of my journey to Sovereignty:

With a last-minute name change post-birth, Dominic was born Deonsha Sanders. From the very beginning, Deonsha was never encouraged, never given permission to just be. I was raised in a world where my truth was always too much, too loud, too raw to fit in. So, I built walls. I created versions of myself that would keep me safe in a world that couldn’t see me. Deon emerged as the first defense. He was strong, tough—someone who could endure the weight of the world without showing the cracks beneath. But Deon wasn’t me either.

Then, for 19 years, I wandered between versions of myself, seeking a sense of purpose I couldn't find. Until, one day, I thought I had found it. I thought I had finally found the real me in Deonsha. I believed that by embracing this bold, fearless version of myself—one who lived without apology—I could finally be seen, understood, loved. But what I didn’t realize was that in my search for validation, I was running straight into my own demise.

The Deonsha I built wasn’t grounded in truth. It was built on a fragile foundation of escape and illusion. And when life got too overwhelming, when the pain of not belonging and not knowing who I truly was became too much to bear, I turned to methamphetamine. It wasn’t just a way to numb the pain—it became a way to feel something, anything, when everything inside felt empty.

At first, it was like I found an answer. The drug gave me this false sense of clarity, a connection I believed was spiritual. I thought it was unlocking some hidden wisdom within me, some higher state of consciousness. For the first time in my life, I felt connected—not to people, but to something bigger, something that made me feel alive. It was a high that fed my ego, made me feel as though I was transcending my human limitations, that I was no longer just Deonsha—I was something greater.

But that connection was a lie.

What meth gave me wasn’t spirituality. It wasn’t clarity. It was a mirage—one that promised freedom but only brought more chains. The more I used, the further I slipped away from the real me, the Dominic who had been buried beneath the addiction. Each hit was like an escape from myself, a way to run away from the truth that I had been too afraid to face. And in doing so, I was slowly, almost literally, killing myself.

The addiction wasn’t just destroying my body. It was robbing me of my soul. I remember nights lying in a haze, looking at myself in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back. My face was gaunt, my eyes hollow, but the worst part was the emptiness inside. I was addicted to the idea of connection, to the idea that the high could give me something I didn’t know how to find within myself.

But each time I reached for that drug, I was only running further from the person I was meant to be. I was dying—spiritually, emotionally, physically. Every time I thought I had touched something deeper, it was only leading me further into the dark.

And then, there was a moment. A moment of clarity, a brutal awakening. I realized that Deonsha wasn’t the answer. The person I had become in this desperate search for meaning was a reflection of everything I was avoiding. Meth didn’t connect me to anything higher. It disconnected me from everything that mattered. I wasn’t becoming spiritual or enlightened. I was just burying myself deeper, afraid to confront the reality that I had been running from my own truth for far too long.

The truth was this: I had to kill Deonsha. I had to destroy the lie I had been living. I had to let go of the mask I had put on to survive, the mask I thought was the key to my happiness. The person who Deonsha represented—an addict, an empty shell—had to die. The addiction had mirrored my own fear, my own inability to face who I truly was. It wasn’t just a drug that I needed to give up. I had to give up the version of myself that had needed the drug to feel whole.

That’s when Dominic emerged. Not in a grand, instant transformation, but in a slow, painful process of unlearning everything I had believed about myself. I had to dig through the wreckage of my past—through the addiction, the lies, the fear—and rebuild from the ground up. Dominic wasn’t a perfect man, but he was real. He was the man who had to die and be reborn. The man who didn’t need the high to feel connected. Dominic learned that true spirituality wasn’t about escaping the pain—it was about embracing it, understanding it, and using it as a stepping stone to growth.

Dominic wasn’t the bravado-filled persona I thought I had wanted. He was humble. He was grounded. He was strong in a way that didn’t rely on external validation or temporary fixes. He was finally free.

The old me had to die. Deonsha had to die. I had to let go of the illusion that a drug, a mask, or an identity could fill the void inside of me. I had to learn that the only way to truly connect—to truly evolve—was to face the darkness within and let it go. Only then could I become the man I was always meant to be. Dominic.

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