For most of my life, two things have occurred. One, people don’t know what box to label me. Is he black? White? Hawaiian? Two, they’ve underestimated and written me off.

I grew up in a highly fundamental religious environment. My parents kicked me out of their house at 17 because I didn’t want to follow their path and become a Pastor. I was written off as a failure.

All the “friends” and even some family members in my early adult life told me my dream of being a writer couldn’t happen for someone with my background.

I was a high school dropout that was living in a homeless shelter at 17. I got three jobs and did everything I could to overcome my circumstances. As I got my own place and could breathe and think about what I wanted for my life — I was underestimated at every step.

It was the judge that handled my divorce case that was surprised.

He said, out loud in court, that he doubted I could afford the proposed level of child support and alimony that was being asked — even though I had built a multiple six-figure business and the judge was looking at my tax records.

I was labeled as another black man who was destined to become another statistic.

Some of my hardest mental battles have been triggered by the people that send daily messages saying I’ve forgotten where I came from. They tell me I’m out of line for speaking my truth and that I don’t deserve a happy life. They point out my grammar mistakes and lack of formal education — they tell me to stop writing.

Naysayers tell me consumers won’t spend money with a “black guy,” even though they love my content. If I showed screenshots of some of the messages I get, you’d probably be shocked.

There was a time when thinking about all of this made me bitter. I had a chip on my shoulder and let that drive my decision-making. Today, I see negative situations for what they are: contrast, lessons, and part of the journey.

I understand that hurt people hurt people.

My father was a white guy from Chicago; my mother is an African woman from Kitui, Kenya. I was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and lived in Mombasa, Kenya. Even though my skin tone is not dark, I’m African — American in every sense of the word.

I’m writing this post for my fellow brothers of color.

In a perfect world, no one would see color. I suspect we’re a few generations off from that being the case because racism and prejudice are taught — no one is born that way. All we have is this world we live in now.

MANY good people see us for more than the color of our skin. But there are those (starting at the top) who have labeled us, written us off, and downright want to see us become a statistic. They can’t make that happen if we work to overcome challenging circumstances.

Is it harder? Absolutely. Will you have to go through more? Yes. Do you have to be concerned with simple things such as traffic stops, a job interview, trying to get financing for a business, etc.? Yes.

But none of this means we can’t become the best versions of ourselves and live our dreams. Let them write us off and label us as we put in the work and grind it out every day.

Let’s redefine hustle and wealth and change those statistics for people of color.

We can work to win the battle that starts in our minds and accomplish our major goals. Let your action do all the talking about who you are and how you show up in the world despite how anyone sees you.

If you’re a fellow writer of color, we have so many gettable opportunities right now to share our truth and even make a living doing so. Boldly pursue the spotlight.

Let’s stand together as we put in the growth work.