If you’re here, there’s a good chance you’re searching for something deeper than tactics and tools. So let me tell you where all this started.

    I stepped into my first leadership role at twenty years old, in Iraq, in 2006. I was leading others whose lives were on the line before I really knew who I was. That kind of responsibility changes you. It makes you grow up fast—and it never really lets go.

    Ever since, I’ve held leadership roles across every kind of team and mission. Training, mentoring, commanding, building. By twenty-three, I was a drill sergeant shaping the next generation. On the surface, I was confident, consistent, and successful. But under the surface, I felt the weight that every leader carries—the pressure to measure up, to perform, to always be the one with the answers. And that’s when I started looking inward.

    I didn’t set out to create a leadership philosophy. I just needed a way to stay whole in the role. Somewhere between the pressure, the responsibility, and the reflection, I started to uncover the roots of something deeper—something more than performance. Something I could lead from. Something I could come back to.

That’s where the Rooted Leadership Philosophy began.

    Over the years, I earned every kind of recognition the system offers. Awards. Distinctions. Top-performer status. Every box was checked. And still, I knew there was something missing. Not in the results—but in the definition of leadership itself. I realized I’d built a version of myself that could succeed in any environment—but couldn’t always survive it. I wasn’t the only one.

    So I started paying closer attention to the leaders around me. The ones I mentored. The ones who came up through the systems I had once performed in. And I began to see it clearly: the most sustainable success didn’t come from pressure or polish. It came from presence. From clarity. From being rooted in something deeper than the role.

    The philosophy got sharper. The patterns held. The culture shifted—and the proof showed up not in what happened while I was there, but in what continued after I left. That became my new measure of success: not how well I could lead, but whether the people I led became leaders themselves.

    That’s why I founded Axia. Not to scale a business. To offer an alternative. I’m not here to help people perform better in broken systems. I’m here to help them become leaders worth following—leaders who fix the system, who leave something better than they found, and who never lose themselves in the process.

    I’ve held the titles. I’ve earned the accolades. I’m happy to share, but that’s not what makes me the leader, coach, and mentor that I am. That’s not what changed my life—and it’s not what’s going to change yours.