One thing is certain: I refuse to leave this world the same way I entered it — unwanted.

I was born to a 17-year-old young woman who couldn't love me, who could not attach to me and fed me nothing else but rejection and traumatic moments my whole life long, and she became the core issue for my whole life — not because she was evil, but because she never dealt with her own trauma. She was not just an aggressor but also a victim herself.

I've lived in the U.S., England, France, Germany, Denmark, Poland, Switzerland… I'm still searching. You could call me a mongrel. A man without a home. Without a nation. And I'm fine with that. I've had plenty of success — from being an awarded athlete to acting and modelling jobs, to even becoming a millionaire in my twenties and early thirties — to losing it all.

I grew up in Luxembourg, but never belonged. Truth is, I've never really belonged anywhere. I'm a gay man who didn't want to be. I didn't dream of a "gay life". I dreamed of a wife, a child, seeing my eyes in theirs. But growing up in the '70s, that dream wasn't available to boys like me. So I left home at 16. And I've been searching ever since.

In 2009, the woman who raised me — my grandmother — passed away. With her went the last anchor in my life. At the time I didn't know that my resilience left with her — and all my unresolved childhood trauma hit me at once. It was too much. I had a mental breakdown, with no one to catch me. What followed was a brutal fall:

• 01I lost my entire family
• 02Contracted HIV through self-destructive behaviour
• 03Fell into drug addiction
• 04Became homeless
• 05Spent seven years as an escort to survive

But I refused to stay broken. I made my pain louder than my shame — and turned it into something that could serve others.

Today, I help others do the same. Through coaching. Through writing. Through radical, unfiltered truth. I speak four languages. I've lived nine lives. I'm wildly creative. Deeply organised. Painfully honest.

If you choose to have children, it becomes your duty to heal your own trauma — so they don't have to. The work is yours. Not theirs.

I refuse to leave this world as unwanted as I entered it. And I won't let you either.

I was about twenty-nine when I asked my grandmother about her childhood. She couldn't answer at first. Days later, she came back to me and said: "My mother was a terrible person." I looked at her and saw not a grown woman, but a broken little child. That child never left her.

She told me how, at just six years old, her mother locked her in a cellar — not the kind you know today, but a cold, dark place in 1940s Luxembourg. No heating, no light, no electricity. Bread, water, and a potty to survive punishment she did not deserve. Her mother drank, partied, and left behind thirteen estranged children with five different fathers. No warmth. No safety. No childhood.

That pain flowed into my mother, into me, and into the rest of my family.

My mother gave birth to me at seventeen. She didn't raise me — and maybe that could be excused. But what came after was unforgivable. For years, for decades, she wore the mask of "mum" while draining me for whatever she could get. She never took responsibility. Not once. Not ever.

I don't remember her hugging me. I don't remember her holding my hand. I don't remember her ever choosing me. What I do remember is the emptiness — the constant reminder that I was never safe. Six years later she spat out my half-sister. Seventeen years after that, my half-brother. She was never meant to be a mother. Not to me. Not to them. Not to anyone.

My uncle's son became addicted to heroin. My cousin battled mental illness until he took his own life in 2017. My sister continues the cycle of drugs and abuse with her own children. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same broken pattern repeating.

What you don't heal, you pass on.

For years, I wished I had never been born. My life was nothing but fight-or-flight, survival, despair. But I never gave up. I fought. I worked on myself. I survived. I treated myself, even abused myself, the way I was treated by my mother — meaning I rejected myself, and I copied her behaviour into that of my relationships, which were all copies of my mother.

I also realised something else: as a gay man — or any other person wanting to adopt — you have to pass tests, evaluations, and restrictions just to be considered a parent. Yet any fertile girl can give birth tomorrow without preparation, without guidance, and without ever looking at her own trauma. That's when my mission became clear. And I started to ask one question:

Would your unborn child choose you as their parent?

Every new parent must ask this question. The answer is not money, not stability, not dreams — the answer is you.

It is not okay to bring a child into this world if you are not willing to face yourself. It is not okay to hand down unresolved pain to another life. Parenting must stop being a selfish choice and become a conscious decision. If it were up to me, every future parent would first pass through deep self-reflection — even mandatory parenting tests — before being entrusted with a child. Not to shame anyone, but to protect the innocent and to finally break the cycle — to protect those who did not choose to be born.

I imagine a world where:

• Children can be children, not having to heal from their parents.
• Parenting is a privilege earned through self-work, not an automatic right.
• Schools teach self-awareness, trauma, and family responsibility from age six — one hour a week, until adulthood.
• Adults stop reacting to life and start living it freely.

Because when we heal ourselves, we give the next generation the freedom to live.

This project was born from my family's pain — and my refusal to let the cycle continue. I empower people, parents, adult children, educators, and leaders to face themselves and make wiser decisions, so that fewer children grow up carrying their parents' wounds, and create much happier, settled adults — and with that, a safer, more productive society.

This is not just my story. It's a call to all of us. If you think you don't know what I'm talking about — go look closer. Walk through the not-so-safe neighbourhoods, the train stations, the seedy red-light districts. You'll see it: someone's child, high out of their mind, selling their body because they don't know any other way to survive. Or don't even go that far. Look at that one friend of yours who can't hold a decent relationship — not with themselves, not with anyone else. That's what inherited pain looks like. That's what happens when cycles are never broken.

Stop the toxic inheritance. Heal first. Give every child the life they deserve.

This is for you.

Wherever you stand in the cycle, there's a place for you in this work.

Adult Children (any age). You've carried pain that wasn't yours to carry — shame, rejection, the weight of your parents' wounds. Maybe you numb it, maybe you explode, maybe you quietly self-sabotage. None of this is your fault, but it is your responsibility now. I help you break free from the past, stop repeating old cycles, and finally live as the adult you were meant to be.

Parents. You love your child — but sometimes love isn't enough if old wounds keep leaking through. Maybe you see yourself repeating what you once hated. Maybe you've already hurt your child and want to make amends. Or maybe you carry guilt that eats you alive. I help parents face the truth, step into responsibility without shame, and raise with awareness so the pain stops with you.

Future / Soon-to-be Parents. Thinking of having kids? Or maybe you just welcomed a baby. This is the most powerful moment to pause. Because what you don't heal, you pass on. I help you work through your own unresolved pain now — so your child doesn't inherit wounds, but love, strength, and safety instead.

Adolescents & Young Adults. At your age, you're building your identity, relationships, and future dreams. But maybe you already feel the weight of things you didn't choose — family conflict, rejection, loneliness. I come into schools and youth groups to share my story and give you tools: cycles exist, trauma is real, but healing is possible. You don't have to repeat what was done to you.

Institutions & Workplaces. Unhealed trauma doesn't just stay in families — it walks into classrooms, offices, hospitals, and factories. It shows up as burnout, sick leave, conflict, lost productivity, broken teams. I help institutions understand the hidden human and economic costs of unresolved trauma, and I bring practical interventions that create healthier, more productive cultures.

Troubled Youth / At-Risk Groups. You've already seen too much, felt too much, maybe done too much. Drugs, violence, chaos, disconnection. I know that world. I don't judge you — I meet you where you are. I show you there's another path, one where your pain doesn't define you. Together, we create awareness, find support, and open up real choices.

Educators & Professionals. Teachers, social workers, therapists — you're on the frontline of children's lives. But often you haven't been given the tools to really understand trauma cycles. I equip professionals to recognise patterns, respond with awareness, and prevent re-traumatisation. With the right knowledge, you can change a child's trajectory.

Policymakers & Funders. The cost of unhealed trauma is staggering: higher healthcare needs, more social instability, broken families, lost productivity. Prevention isn't just compassion — it's strategy. My project creates measurable impact: fewer children inheriting pain, stronger families, more resilient communities. Funding this work means breaking cycles at the root.

What did you inherit that was never yours to carry?

A typical class of twenty-five children. Under ten years old, in Europe. This is what trauma looks like before anyone has said a word.

If you want to learn something — or just hear my story — you can book me. Just let me know.

And for business: I've built a keynote about all of this. Trust me — people rethink their lives after hearing me speak.