Born and raised in Houston, Texas, I didn’t grow up dreaming about marble countertops or backyard pools. I grew up hoping the lights would stay on. My mom, superwoman in disguise, was raising four of us on her own, juggling two jobs and still somehow finding time to ask if we’d done our homework.

I remember one night in particular, she was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by a mountain of bills, using a calculator that made more noise than it solved problems. I asked if we were going to be okay. She smiled and said, “We always figure it out.” And somehow, we did… even if that meant moving more times than I can count.

That’s where the seed was planted. I didn’t know it at the time, but those moments lit a fire in me. I didn’t just want a better life, I wanted to understand how people built one. Real estate found me at 18 when I got a job answering phones at a local office. While most of my friends were out partying, I was learning how the housing market worked and why it mattered so much.

Fast forward to today, I’m 35, and I still get chills handing over a set of keys to a new homeowner. Because to me, it’s never just about the sale. It’s about giving someone the peace of mind my family never had. Real estate is personal. It’s purpose. It’s my way of turning struggle into something solid.