I had the life that was supposed to make you feel okay.

But I was 25 kilograms heavier than I am now. I was suffering from migraines, anxiety, and depression. I was numbing everything I could — cigarettes, weed, hours of Netflix, video games, weekends I didn't enjoy but kept showing up to.

I was eating to feel something, or to feel less. I wasn't present with my family. I wasn't present with anyone, including myself.

I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know what to do with that knowing.

About two weeks in, I was in a local shop. A family in front of me were paying for their groceries and came up short. I paid for them. The woman started to cry.

And I remembered something I'd written in the first days after she left — a gratitude practice that said write down three things, no matter how small. I couldn't think of anything meaningful, so I wrote: the food in my belly. The clothes on my back. The roof over my head.

I hadn't felt any of it when I wrote it down. But standing in that shop, I felt it for the first time.

What followed wasn't a transformation. It was a decision. Not a dramatic one. Just a quiet, exhausted choice to stop suffering — not just from the divorce, but from everything that had come before it. The patterns in my relationships. The way I'd been living. The distance between who I was and who I kept telling myself I'd become eventually.

I took complete responsibility. For all of it. That was the shift — not a habit, not a routine. Just the moment I stopped waiting for something outside of me to fix what was inside.

I found an apartment. I started running. I started journalling. I put myself into uncomfortable situations. I stopped drinking. The weight began to come off — slowly, then steadily. I began waking early and walking, spending time in quiet, learning to actually listen to myself.

None of it happened quickly. And it wasn't linear. There were still bad months. Imposter syndrome. Cigarettes I couldn't quite quit. Sleep I couldn't quite fix. Old patterns surfacing in new relationships.

But the direction had changed.

What followed

Over the years that followed, I studied. Nutrition. CBT. Personal training. I became a part-owner of a gym. I built and eventually closed a meal prep business — three years of long days and hard lessons that I don't regret for a moment. I found mentors. I did therapy. I met my partner Kate, who showed me, for the first time, what a healthy relationship actually looks like.

And throughout all of it, I kept running into the same problem — in myself and in the people I was coaching.

It wasn't knowledge. Everyone had the knowledge. People had read the books, followed the programmes, listened to the podcasts. The wellness and fitness industries are full of information. Most of it isn't wrong. But almost none of it is enough on its own — because knowing what to do and consistently doing it are two completely different things.

What people were missing wasn't more advice. It was structure. A daily practice simple enough to sustain and specific enough to actually work — built around the foundations that matter most, not the trends that sell.

Why reset. exists

My mentor once told me: everything in your life happened for you, not to you. The divorce. The weight. The years of numbing and drifting and restarting from lower and lower baselines. None of it was wasted. All of it became the foundation for understanding what actually works — and what the people I wanted to help actually needed.

Today I run a physiotherapy and coaching practice, and an online coaching business. Every day I work with people across all aspects of their health — movement, recovery, sleep, nutrition, mindset. The same foundations. The same philosophy. Small changes, built consistently, over time.

reset. is not a programme. Not a challenge. Not another thing to buy and abandon. A system. Eighty-four days. Five foundations. One page a day. Designed to work on the days you don't feel like it — because those are the days that matter most.

This is for the person who already knows what they should be doing. Who has tried, and slipped, and tried again. Who is tired — not of wanting to change, but of the cycle.

You don't need more information. You need a foundation.

I needed twenty years, a divorce, a suitcase, and a stranger's tears in a supermarket to understand that.

You don't have to take that long.