I wasn’t born into money. I wasn’t handed a blueprint. I didn’t come from a family with connections, investors, or the kind of safety net that makes failure feel safe.
I came from the other side of it.
The side where every dollar matters.
The side where your kids are watching you, and you’re trying to smile like everything is fine… while your mind is doing math all night long.
For 15 years I worked at Woodford Manufacturing — long nights, hard labor, and restless shifts that left my body tired and my mind on fire. People think dreams start in luxury. Mine started in exhaustion. Mine started while standing on concrete floors, staring at the clock, realizing I couldn’t live the rest of my life trading my time for just enough.
I wanted more. Not just for me — for my kids.
I wanted generational wealth.
Not the kind people flex online… the kind that changes bloodlines. The kind that makes your kids’ kids safe. The kind that ends the cycle.
I told myself I’d be wealthy by 35.
I believed it. I chased it. I built plans in my head while the world slept.
But life doesn’t care about deadlines.
35 came… and it didn’t happen.
Not even close.
And that’s where a lot of people quit. That’s where most people fold the dream up like it was childish and put it back in a drawer somewhere.
But I didn’t quit.
Because the truth is… I wasn’t chasing money.
I was chasing freedom.
I was chasing redemption.
I was chasing a future where my kids didn’t have to inherit my stress.
I kept grinding through adversity—problems most people never see, hardships that would’ve broken the average person. There were seasons that felt like poverty, seasons that felt like war, and seasons that felt like I was walking through hell holding my kids’ hands trying to keep them from realizing how heavy it really was.
But I stayed locked in.
Somewhere in all those nights, the idea became a plan.
And the plan became a decision.
I was going to build something different.
Something people would remember.
Something that didn’t exist in my city.
Something that made people feel excited again.
That’s how The Ice Cream Lab was born.
Not from comfort…
From hunger.
Not from luck…
From obsession.
Not from a “perfect time”…
From a moment where I decided I didn’t care how hard it got — I was doing it anyway.
I built it while life was still hitting me.
I built it while people doubted.
I built it while I was still climbing out of the mess.
And then it happened.
The place started to blow up.
Lines out the door.
Customers coming back again and again.
People recording, posting, talking.
The brand started to spread like wildfire.
The same dream I carried through those 15 years… the same one I held onto while I was broke, tired, and fighting just to keep my head above water… became real.
Not at 35.
But in my 40s.
And I wouldn’t change that.
Because I didn’t just build a business — I proved something.
That if you’re willing to suffer longer than most people are willing to try…
You can pull yourself out of anything.
And you can build something that can’t be ignored.
The Ice Cream Lab isn’t just ice cream.
It’s a comeback story in a cup.
There’s a part of every success story nobody talks about.
The part where things fall apart.
Where you’re not climbing anymore — you’re just trying not to drown.
At one point, The Ice Cream Lab hit rock bottom.
Not the “oh business is slow” kind of rock bottom…
The kind where you feel the weight of everything you built on your back — and you realize you can’t carry it alone anymore.
That’s when Shae stepped in.
Shae wasn’t just an employee.
She wasn’t just “help.”
She was family.
I always called her my little sister — because that’s what she felt like. Loyal. Sharp. Hungry. She didn’t just work the job… she bled entrepreneurship.
Some people show up to clock in.
Shae showed up to build.
When I went down, when the pressure got heavy, and the business was fighting just to survive… she didn’t run from the chaos.
She ran into it.
She held the line.
She brought order back to the madness.
She took responsibility like it was in her DNA.
She stepped up with the mindset of someone who wasn’t trying to “help”…
She was trying to revive something that mattered.
And that’s rare.
Because most people only stay around when things are winning.
Shae proved herself when things were losing.
She kept the doors moving forward.
She helped rebuild systems.
She kept quality alive.
She protected the culture.
She revived The Ice Cream Lab from rock bottom — not with speeches… but with work.
Real work.
The kind you only do when you care.
The kind that proves this isn’t just a job to you.
The kind that shows you have what it takes to carry a mission.
Shae didn’t take over like someone stealing a throne.
She took over like someone protecting the legacy.
And to this day, I’ll always give credit where it’s due:
The Ice Cream Lab survived that season because Shae stepped up like family.
Like a little sister with a big heart and an even bigger vision.
