By the Grace of God: My Journey as an Artist, Father, and Survivor

Life has a funny way of working out. Looking back, I could chalk it all up to a string of incredibly good luck sprinkled with moments of bad luck. But deep down, I know better—I know God has been with me every step of the way.

Right now, I’m facing struggles. I’m a starving artist. I’m a single dad. I battle bipolar disorder every single day. But here’s the thing—the Lord didn’t bring me this far just to abandon me now. The fact that I’m standing here today as a professional multi-medium artist, doing what I love, almost seems surreal.

I grew up in Midland, Michigan—one of the wealthiest cities in the state, home to Dow Chemical. My grandfather, Norbert Jerome Rudy, was the company’s head patent attorney. Sounds fancy, right? Well, here’s the reality: my beginnings were anything but privileged. I grew up on the lower-class side of town, borderline impoverished, as the youngest of six kids—three boys, three girls. That’s right, I was little Bobby Brady. Our three-bedroom house on State Street had us stacked like sardines—three boys crammed into one room, three girls in another, and my parents in their own. I shared a room with my brothers, who were seven and eight years older than me. And let me tell you, being the youngest wasn’t a cute gig. I got picked on—a lot. Downright cruelty was the norm.

My escape? Creativity. I found solace in drawing, writing my own choose-your-own-adventure stories, and recording parody songs with my friend Billy on a clunky old tape recorder. Those little moments of joy were my lifelines.

Things changed when I hit seventh grade. My dad was doing well at Dow, and we “moved on up to the East Side” of Midland, landing in a six-bedroom house. The quality of life improved, but my role in the family didn’t. I was still the black sheep. Practicing guitar in the house? Forget it. My sisters would scream for me to shut up so they could watch TV. I had moments of connection with my siblings, but I always felt like the odd man out.

After high school, I packed my bags and headed to Detroit to chase a dream—stand-up comedy. That dream evolved into improv, then into traditional acting. I enrolled at the University of Detroit Mercy and earned my Bachelor of Arts in Theatre. That might not sound shocking, but here’s the kicker—I did terrible in high school. I was the class clown, the troublemaker, the kid who skipped school and refused to do homework. Most people probably thought I’d never set foot in a college classroom. But here I am, not just with a BA in Theatre, but with a Master of Science in Marketing from Yeshiva University and a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Concordia University Saint Paul, where I graduated with a perfect 4.0 GPA.

People misunderstand me all the time. They think I’m a manic mess. Nah. I’m a creative genius. The class clown outsmarted the system and turned his antics into a full-time career in music, writing, acting, and visual art. Oh, and did I mention I’m a homeowner? No idea how that happened, considering the whole “starving artist” thing, but hey—by the grace of God, I made it happen.

Out of everything, the thing I’m most proud of is my son, who turns 14 soon. Raising him as a single father while battling the ups and downs of mental illness isn’t easy. If it weren’t for the grace and mercy of God, I’d probably be locked up in an insane asylum. Bipolar disorder isn’t a joke. It’s not just being “really happy” and then “really sad.” That’s a wildly ignorant take. Mania isn’t happiness—it’s an overwhelming, delusional whirlwind. Bipolar depression isn’t just sadness—it’s a pit deeper than the Pacific Ocean. Medication isn’t a magic cure, and mental illness is still the last issue to be taken seriously. I was diagnosed in 1999 at 18 years old, and I’ve carried shame and embarrassment ever since because of the way the world stigmatizes people like me. But here’s the thing—I’ve accomplished more than most so-called ‘normal’ people. So, to the ones who doubted me—how you like me now?

Growing up, people thought I was dumb because I played the fool. What they didn’t realize is that it takes a comic genius to know exactly what’s going to be funny—even at their own expense. That’s me. And yeah, an MFA is a terminal degree (a little academic flex for those who don’t know—meaning it’s equivalent to a PhD). But degrees don’t define me. My grit, creativity, and faith in God do.

I wrestle with sleepless nights, with mania, with depression. But I’m a soldier who keeps pushing forward. I seek the plateaus, the balance, the peace in the storm. My life isn’t easy, but it’s mine. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

If you’re out there struggling, feeling like the odds are stacked against you—keep pushing forward. If the world doesn’t get you, fine. Let them underestimate you. Just don’t underestimate yourself. And if you ever feel like giving up, remember: the Lord didn’t bring you this far just to leave you now.