I’m not a therapist. I’m not a grief counselor. I’m a husband, a father, a runner, and a general contractor. I’ve spent most of my life building things with my hands — homes, foundations, shelters for other people’s lives. But nothing has been harder than rebuilding myself after losing my mom to suicide.

Mental Miles wasn’t some polished idea. It started in the aftermath, when I was breaking down in silence and needed somewhere to put the weight. I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want advice. I just needed a place to bleed — and maybe find a way forward. Running gave me space. Writing gave me a voice.

I’ve got a teenage daughter who teaches me what strength looks like, and an 11-year-old son who still thinks I can fix anything. I’ve got a loving wife who’s walked with me through the darkest seasons. And even with all of that — even with love, purpose, and a full life — grief still finds its way in.

This site is for the people like me. The ones who get up every day and carry things no one sees. The ones who keep showing up even when it feels like they’ve got nothing left. You might not be okay — but you're still here. And that matters.

You won’t find clean answers or perfect stories here. What you will find is honesty. Pain. Growth. Movement. And maybe, if we’re lucky, a bit of peace along the way.

If that speaks to you — then stick around. We’ll keep moving, one mile at a time.