It's All About The Story

In 2015, I lost 75% of my poker bankroll in six months, trying to prove myself at high-stakes.

Every day I questioned if I was good enough. I wondered if I’d ever make it, or if I was delusional for even trying. Although I backed myself to pull through, there were no guarantees. Months went by with no signs of progress. Just long, painful sessions and that growing knot of fear in my stomach that maybe I wasn’t cut out for this.

Now? That’s my favourite part of the story.

Because that was the chapter where I refused to quit. That was the part that made everything after it mean something. And when I look back, that’s the story of my poker career that I'm most proud to tell.

The Pain Makes It Matter

We all want the happy ending. But the truth is, the struggle is what makes the story.

Imagine watching a movie where everything goes right for the main character. No resistance. No challenge. No pain.

Would you remember it? Would you care?

Of course not. Because the meaning lives in the battle.

The win isn’t meaningful without the part where you almost gave up.

What Makes a Great Story?

At the heart of every great story is this:

Conflict. Choice. Transformation.

We fall in love with characters not because they’re perfect, but because they’re willing to fight. To struggle and to ultimately change in the process

We love the moment they’re faced with doubt, and choose to keep going. That’s where the juice of the story lives.

And real life is no different.

My Hardest Chapter (And Most Meaningful One)

During those six months trying to break into high-stakes poker, I felt like I was drowning.

Every morning, I’d wake up and check my results with a pit in my stomach. I’d look at my dwindling bankroll and wonder how much longer I could keep doing this. Every loss chipped away at my confidence. Every losing session felt like another step toward failure.

But I kept showing up. Kept studying. Kept playing against guys who were better than me — until they weren’t.

And slowly, something shifted. I started to win more. They started to respect me. And eventually, I earned my spot.

That was the part of the story that changed everything.

Not because I reached the top.

But because I went through hell to get there — and didn’t break.

I Wasn’t Born Strong

When people see me deadlift 250kg, they sometimes say, “Wow, you’re so strong.”

But they don’t see the 15-year journey behind it.

They don’t see the skinny kid who didn’t touch a weight until 23. Who came from an endurance background, not a strength one. Who trained for over a decade — week after week, year after year — adding one kilo at a time, hitting setbacks, pushing through plateaus.

I plateaued for over a year in my mid-30s. Most people would’ve said, “You’ve peaked.” But I knew the story wasn’t finished yet.

Because I’ve learned something over the years:

You don’t become the hero of your story by winning. You become the hero by refusing to quit — especially when it looks like you should.

The Myth of the Clean Path

Social media has warped our perception of success.

We scroll and see highlight reels: the wins, the bodies, the businesses. We rarely see the chapter before the breakthrough — the struggle, the mess, the identity crisis.

For years, I followed elite powerlifters online. Their lifts were ridiculous. Their physiques next-level. And even though I was stronger than 99% of people my age, I still felt like I wasn’t doing enough. Someone would say, “Wow, you’re strong,” and in my mind I’d think, “If you think this is strong, you should see what that guy can lift.”

That’s the trap of comparison: If you measure your story by someone else’s chapter 20, you’ll never feel proud of your own.

Real strength isn’t in being the best. It's in showing up when no one’s watching. It's in doing the reps when progress feels non existent. It's in living the story, not trying to shortcut to the ending.

When I Started Writing My Own Story

For most of my life, I followed a script that wasn’t mine.

Go to school. Study for the exams. Run because that’s what my family did. Tick the boxes. Fit the mould.

But at 23, something shifted. I booked a one-way flight to Thailand with less than £500 in my account to chase a wild dream: become a professional poker player.

I had no plan B. No security net. Just a willingness to bet on myself.

It was terrifying. But it was also the first time I felt like I was living my own story— not someone else’s.

And once you get a taste of that kind of freedom, you can’t go back.

Live a Story Worth Telling

We all crave clarity. But clarity doesn’t come from thinking. It comes from moving. From committing. From being in the middle of the storm, and choosing to keep going anyway.

You’re not just living your life.

You’re writing your story.

The question is: what kind of story are you writing?

Because one day, someone will ask you about the hardest thing you ever did. And you’ll have a choice: To tell them about the time you quit, or the time you kept going.

The win isn’t the best part.

The part where you doubted everything and pushed through anyway?

That’s the part people will remember.

The Chapter I’m In Now

Right now, I’m in another chapter.

New path. New unknowns. Trying to build something meaningful from scratch again. Some days, it’s exciting. Other days, it’s confusing as hell.

But this time, I’m not trying to skip ahead.

I’m not rushing to “make it.”

Because I’ve learned something: The chapter I’m living now—the doubts, the effort, the rebuilding — this is the part that makes the story worth telling later.

And if you’re in that kind of chapter too, keep going.

This might be the part where the story gets good.

Adam