I used to think the Boogeyman was out to get me, or that “the man” was holding me down. But at the same time, I held onto the belief that if you work hard and stay on the right path, you’ll get where you want to go. It was like I was living in two worlds—part victim, part fighter.

I’d rap about standing tall and resilience while feeling weighed down inside. I was caught in a loop of conflicting beliefs. I said I’d make it. At the same time, I rapped about struggles. I carried gray clouds like a badge of honor. I have years of music filled with lyrics about goals out of reach. They talk about the weight of a glass ceiling. Yet, in the same breath, I’d declare we were going to make it. It was a strange contradiction—a tension between hope and defeat—and, looking back, it kills the vibe.

I don’t even want to listen to those old tracks anymore. They remind me of a mindset that kept me locked in a rhythm that spoke more to my struggle than to my victories. It was undoubtedly real for me then. Now, those songs don’t lift me up; they hold me back. They remind me of how easy it was to get lost in a cycle of self-doubt, even when I was trying to inspire myself to break free.

When it came to health and fitness, I used to think it was all about privilege. In my mind, it seemed like rich people had the upper hand—like they were the only ones who could afford salads. I genuinely thought eating well was reserved for the wealthy, that they had a secret advantage. And to be honest, I leaned into those excuses, letting them shield me from accountability. I used jokes to avoid facing a truth I couldn’t handle. I could change. But it would take effort I wasn’t prepared to make.

I even joked about aging too fast. I went bald right after high school. I used humor to mask the sting. I told myself I was ‘getting old early.’ It was easier to laugh at it than to acknowledge that I was letting a narrative shape my identity. But I eventually realized those jokes and excuses were weeds in my mental garden. They were choking out any real growth.

If you’re on a weight loss journey, it might be time to reconsider letting labels stick. People might call you by a nickname that points to your current appearance, like “Big Steve” or “Heavy Hank.” Those names might feel playful. However, they can also lock you into a character you don’t want to be anymore. You are the main character in your story. If you want to change how you’re seen—even by yourself—start by redefining what you’ll accept. Words have power. Choosing a new name, even something playful like “Lil Steve”, can set a tone for the transformation you’re pursuing.

Here’s the thing: you can’t affirm yourself in one breath and then tear yourself down in the next. That’s like planting flowers and weeds in the same garden—you’re setting yourself up for a mess. Limiting beliefs are sneaky. They infiltrate our self-talk. They hide in jokes and casual comments. We often don’t notice them until the consequences show up. Maybe you call yourself clumsy. Maybe you call yourself forgetful. Then suddenly, you misplace something important. You feel weighed down by small mistakes. Those words subtly shape your reality. You eventually live in a garden filled with thorns you unknowingly planted.

Changing that doesn’t have to be seen as a battle. It’s a new way of thinking. It’s a shift in perspective that requires time to adjust and get comfortable with. It’s about creating a different mental landscape, one where positive beliefs take root and thrive. It took work. It took time. It took uncomfortable, honest self-reflection to start turning those things around.

Some people might hear me speak. They might think I’m some kind of flower-sniffing, butterfly-whispering optimist. But they’d be wrong. Keeping a positive mindset is a constant job—just like any other. I’m still turning things around, every moment. It’s not about a quick fix. It’s not an overnight transformation. It’s about daily shifts in the way I think. It’s about the way I speak about myself. I need to catch subtle, limiting beliefs before they take root. Then I replace them with ideas that align with the person I want to be.

I’m not perfect at it. Some days are easier than others. But I’ve learned to spot the traps I used to fall into. There are jokes that seem harmless but keep you small. A mindset pretends to be lighthearted while secretly holding you back. The changes didn’t happen all at once. They occurred in those quiet, unremarkable moments. I decided to speak differently. I chose to believe differently. I chose a perspective that uplifts instead of limits. It’s about progress, not perfection. And I’m still on that path, turning things around one thought, one word, and one action at a time.

My song B.A. King is my anthem of transformation—a lyrical triumph over my old mindset. It’s about claiming ownership of my life, mind, and body, and standing tall in who I am becoming. The song symbolizes moving from self-doubt to living with intention. It celebrates growth and views the journey as a constant evolution. It’s a reminder that my story isn’t about reaching a destination. It focuses on the ongoing choice to rise. I align my actions with my values. I create the reality I want to live.

So here’s my challenge to you. The next time you catch yourself speaking negatively or joking at your own expense, stop. Replace it with something that lifts you up instead. It doesn’t have to be grand—start with one small change, one positive word, one new habit. Pay attention to the labels you accept, the words you choose, and the thoughts you let take root. Choose to rewrite your narrative with intention and consistency. Speak as if your future self is listening—because it is. Every word counts, and every thought plants a seed. Choose what you want to grow.