Most of my life vibrated low.
Not metaphorically. I mean the hum in my bones was heavy, thick, basement-level stuff — shame, fear, anger, that constant static of survival mode. I didn’t even know there were higher floors in the building.
People say “raise your vibration” like it’s a yoga retreat. I didn’t have incense. I had a knife scar, a rap sheet, and a daughter watching me to see if her father was going to collapse or climb.
That was my starting point. And here’s what I know now: you can build a whole new life by refusing to keep humming on the same old frequency.
The first time I stumbled on Neville Goddard, I almost laughed. Live in the end? Imagine the wish fulfilled? It sounded like some polite parlor trick for rich people with vision boards. I didn’t want a “vision.” I wanted my life back.
But here’s what broke me open: I realized I’d already been living Neville’s law, just in reverse.
I had been imagining betrayal, collapse, prison cells, blood on bathroom tiles. I rehearsed those images so relentlessly that they hardened into reality. And the world just mirrored back the script I kept handing it.
So I thought: if I can imagine myself into hell, why not try imagining myself into something higher?
At first, it felt stupid. Standing in my kitchen, picturing a version of myself who wasn’t broke, who wasn’t defined by scars, who was writing words that traveled further than I ever could. My body rejected it. My chest tightened, my mind screamed liar.
But Neville said imagination is the only reality. And I decided to test him the way a man drowning tests whether a rope will hold.
I pictured the life anyway. Over and over. I pictured my daughter laughing in a house full of light instead of shadows. I pictured mornings without dread. I pictured readers, thousands of them, hearing my voice like a mirror.
And slowly, almost against my will, the vibration shifted.
Pain hums at a certain pitch. So does survival. You can feel it in your chest when you wake up. Heavy, flat, like static that never ends.
But gratitude hums higher. So does creation. So does love.
Raising vibration isn’t about faking happy. It’s about refusing to replay the same basement notes when you know there’s a whole choir upstairs.
I had to untrain myself. Stop narrating collapse. Stop feeding the story of “I’m doomed.” Each time I caught the old hum, I’d flip it: No. The man I want to be already exists. I’m just catching up to him.
That’s what Neville meant by living in the end.
The scar on my back hums low when I touch it. But it also points me up. It says: never again. Don’t settle for the basement. Don’t build your daughter’s future in shadows.
The mugshot still floats around online, but it no longer drags me down. It’s proof. Proof that the old vibration killed me once, and proof that I came back with a louder song.
Every failure is a frequency checkpoint. You can stay there, or you can climb.
The first proof came small. A stranger emailed me to say my words kept them alive one more night. I had pictured that exact moment — someone reading, someone breathing because of my scars turned into sentences.
Then came bigger proofs. Unexpected money when I needed it. Opportunities that looked like accidents but weren’t. Peace that lingered longer each time until it wasn’t an accident at all.
The outer world bent to the inner rehearsal.
I don’t beg life for scraps anymore. I don’t pray like a beggar. I embody the end.
Not “I hope to be free.” I walk like I’m already free.
Not “I wish for peace.” I breathe like peace is the only air left.
Not “I want abundance.” I move like I already have more than enough to spill over.
The world doesn’t argue. It mirrors.
This isn’t self-help. This isn’t candles and soft music. This is survival flipped inside out.
I used to die in the basement every day. Now I refuse.
The invitation is simple: raise it. Whatever weight you’ve been dragging, whatever low note you’ve been vibrating on, lift it. Imagine the end and walk like it’s already here.
Because if the basement can kill you, the higher floors can resurrect you.
And I refuse to imagine anything less than the life I know I deserve.
I am so freaking proud of you and this post! When you say “Every failure is a frequency checkpoint. You can stay there, or you can climb.” I have known you since July, I have read your pain, felt your sadness and listened to your soul pour out. You have literally taken the worst of the worst situations and have flipped them upside down into a place of hope and possibilities. I’m so proud of you as a person, a father and a dear friend! You are the proof 🙏❤️
YES YES YES! I LOVE this! Especially when you wrote " if I can imagine myself into hell, why not try imagining myself into something higher?" Manifesting moment at it's best and worst. People think manifesting can only happen when you think good but it's rare when you hear someone say they manifested in reverse. That fact that you noticed that and you acknowledge it amazing! Now it's time to kick it up a notch and bring in the good. You deserve, Mia does too! Love this..