The Healing Power of Dance and Fashion in My Journey

A Body That Felt Like a Battlefield

From the day I was born, my body carried a war inside it. With Factor VII deficiency, every step, every movement, felt uncertain, like walking on glass that could shatter at any moment. Pain became my oldest companion — deep aches in my bones, sudden bleeds that stole my strength, and fatigue that whispered, stay down.

But something inside me refused to stay down. My body was fragile, yes — but it was also an instrument. And in the quiet between hospital walls and in the echoes of loneliness, I discovered two ways to speak when words failed me: dance and fashion.

Dance: Movement as Medicine

When I danced, I was no longer the “sick boy.” My body, which often betrayed me, became a vessel of rhythm and freedom. I remember standing barefoot in my room, music pulsing through cracked speakers, and feeling the beat crawl up my spine. My chest would open, my arms would rise, and suddenly I wasn’t broken — I was alive.

Each movement was defiance. Each spin, each step, was a way of telling my illness: you do not own me. I felt the pain loosen its grip as sweat poured down my face, my heart syncing not with fear but with the rhythm of survival.

Dance wasn’t about perfect choreography. It was about release. It was about breathing life into a body that constantly reminded me of its limits. And in that release, I found healing.

Fashion: Armor for the Spirit

Fashion came next. Clothes, for me, were never just fabric. They were protection, transformation, and expression. When I slipped into a bold jacket, a carefully chosen shirt, or even something I had stitched together with my own vision, I felt like I was rewriting the story of my life.

Hospitals stripped me down to gowns and labels: “patient,” “bleeder,” “lucky to be alive.” But fashion gave me another language — one of confidence, creativity, and power.

Leopard prints, neon accents, tailored suits — they weren’t just style. They were armor. Every outfit said: I am more than my condition. I am beauty, I am resilience, I am alive.

When I walked into a room, my clothes spoke before I did. They carried the energy of my survival, wrapping my fragility in strength and elegance.

The Dance Between the Two

Dance and fashion became two sides of the same coin. Movement healed me from the inside; fashion shielded me on the outside. Together, they gave me something medicine never could: a sense of identity beyond survival.

I wasn’t just a boy battling pain. I was a creator. A mover. An artist.

Every time I danced, I felt the rhythm of love flowing through my veins. Every time I dressed with intention, I carried myself like a king, even if my body felt weak. Together, they whispered a truth into my soul: you were born for more than just survival. You were born to shine.

How It All Led to MLP

Looking back, I see how these passions were never random. They were seeds planted early, guiding me toward the birth of MLP — Master Love Perpetually.

MLP isn’t just a brand. It’s the marriage of everything that saved me:

• The creativity of fashion — turning scars into strength, fragility into elegance.

• The energy of dance — moving through pain, transforming rhythm into resilience.

• The message of love — the force that held me when my body wanted to give up.

When people wear MLP or feel its energy, I want them to sense what I felt in those sacred moments — the freedom of a body in motion, the protection of clothes as armor, the fire of resilience stitched into every thread.

Survival, Love, and Purpose

Survival is not just living. It is finding the sparks of joy that remind you why life matters. For me, those sparks were the stomp of a foot on a wooden floor, the sway of my body against the beat, the shimmer of fabric against my skin.

Love showed up in these moments — love for myself, love for life, love for expression. And from that love, purpose was born. Purpose to inspire, to create, to turn pain into beauty, and beauty into healing for others.

MLP is not about clothes or movement alone. It’s about what they represent: the spiritual armor we all carry when we dare to show up as ourselves, no matter the scars.

A Reflection for You

I share this story not just for me, but for you. Maybe you don’t dance. Maybe you don’t care about clothes. But I believe each of us has a language that helps us survive. For me, it was dance and fashion. For you, it may be painting, singing, writing, or simply walking in nature.

The question is: Have you found your language of healing? That one thing that makes your soul breathe deeper, that reminds you of your strength even when life feels impossible?

Call to Action

If you’ve read this far, I invite you to pause and reflect: What is your dance? What is your armor?

Take a moment this week to honor it. Move, create, dress, or express in a way that reminds you of your power. And when you do, share it with me — let’s build a community where survival turns into celebration, where scars turn into art, and where love becomes the thread that binds us all.

Because MLP is not just my story. It’s ours.