I was sitting with a good friend the other day, having one of those conversations that meanders through life, work, and all the messy pieces in between. At some point, he asked about the latest crypto theft—if I’d heard anything new from the forensics team.
I sighed. “No. And honestly, I doubt I will.”
I’ve been down this road before. The silence isn’t promising. It’s the kind of silence that feels like a closed door. Deep down, I know the reality: the stolen crypto isn’t coming back. I’ve accepted that truth, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. Every time something like this happens, it’s not just money that’s stolen—it’s trust, peace of mind, and the illusion that I’ve built enough walls to keep the wolves out.
Then, my friend leaned in and hit me with a question I didn’t see coming.
“You know why you keep getting targeted, right?”
I paused. “Why?”
“Because you spend your whole life fixing things for other people,” he said without hesitation. “That’s what you do. It’s your job. You’re damn good at it. You take the time to listen—really listen—and understand everyone’s problems. You make connections that others can’t see, whether it’s in tech, life, or business. But the problem is…” he trailed off for a moment, “…you never take that same time to secure your own world.”
He let the words hang in the air.
“You’re the mechanic whose car is always broken,” he added.
And in that moment, I felt it hit me like a gut punch. He was right. I’ve spent years building, solving, patching, and helping. I’ve made a career out of showing up for people when no one else can fix the problem. But in the process, I’ve ignored my own cracks, my own vulnerabilities. Not intentionally—but because I always assume I’ll get to it later. There’s always another fire to put out. Another person who needs me.
The trouble is, later never comes.
This latest theft—like the others before it—isn’t just a reminder of the risks of the digital world. It’s a reminder of what happens when you stop protecting yourself because you’re too busy protecting everyone else. You leave the door cracked open just enough for someone to walk in.
Why I’m Sharing This
I’m writing this because I believe in being real, vulnerable, and authentic. We all have stories to tell—stories that might feel uncomfortable to share, but are worth sharing anyway.
This is mine.
I want people to hear my story just like I want to hear theirs. Maybe you’ve felt this too—the exhaustion of giving so much of yourself to others that you forget to guard your own peace. Maybe your “broken car” is your mental health, your relationships, or the promises you’ve made to yourself that keep getting pushed to the bottom of the list.
The truth is, we all have moments where we forget to take care of our own world. And the only way to break that cycle is to talk about it. To be honest. To own it.
Even the best mechanic needs a reliable car.
Even the best fixer needs someone—or something—to remind them to fix their own broken parts.
So maybe this blog isn’t about another loss. Maybe it’s about finding the courage to be transparent, even when it hurts. Because if my story can spark even one person to take a step toward securing their own world—whether that’s in tech, life, or anything in between—then it’s worth every word I’ve written.
So take a moment—today, not tomorrow—to check under the hood of your own life. Because the world will always need mechanics… but even they deserve a car that runs.
