i’ve always felt broken
And I spent most of my life thinking something was fundamentally wrong with me.
I'm Jason Plevell. And if I'm being completely honest, I've spent most of my life thinking something was fundamentally wrong with me.
Not in some vague, self-help way. I mean I genuinely believed I was broken. That I wasn't enough. That I wasn't worthy of being happy.
I can remember carrying that feeling in high school. Hell, if I'm really honest, it was way before then.
I can remember thinking the same thought over and over again: There must be something wrong with me.
I mean, there had to be. Why else did I always feel so out of place? Why did friendships feel so hard? Why did it seem like people looked at me with that look, the one that just confirmed my deepest fear:
Jason, you don't belong here.
Looking back now, I can see the pieces more clearly. Little breadcrumbs from childhood. Experiences that shaped me and molded how I see myself and the world.
I didn't know it at the time, but I was terrified for most of my life.
Terrified of being seen as weak. Terrified of people seeing how I actually felt inside, just a scared little boy who wanted to be accepted. Who wanted to go to bed and wake up happy. Who wanted to feel safe. Who wanted to feel even a little bit of joy without waiting for it to disappear.
And what really sucks? Growing up didn't make those feelings go away.
I just learned how to cope with them.
The Childhood That Built The Obstacle
I grew up in an abusive household. Alcoholic parents who fought constantly.
My mother was insecure, codependent, always looking outside herself for validation. I watched her hurt. I watched her search for worth in all the wrong places. And I learned that love had to be earned. That you had to work for it. That you had to be enough to deserve it.
My father was drunk more often than he was sober. We lived on edge. Never knowing what state he was going to come home in. Walking on eggshells was just how life was.
He was emotionally abusive. Verbally abusive. And sometimes sexually abusive—not to me directly, but I witnessed things no kid should ever see. I remember walking in on him masturbating to porn. I remember the shame of that. The confusion. The sense that something was fundamentally wrong with me for seeing it.
We lived in a constant state of fear.
I never heard the words "I love you." I never heard "I'm proud of you."
And when confusing, painful things happen to us as kids, we don't have the tools to comprehend them. So we fill in the blanks with stories.
Stories like:
There's something wrong with me.
I'm not good enough.
I don't belong.
If I was more valuable, they'd treat me differently.
Those stories became my operating system. The lens through which I saw everything.
They became the obstacle I didn't even know I was carrying.
I Learned How To Cope
During my marriage, I drank. A lot.
And I didn't talk about it. I didn't tell her, or anyone, just how bad it really was.
Alcohol was the only way I could feel good about myself. It was how I shut my head off and got through the day. It helped me avoid the constant feeling that I was falling short or failing in some way.
From the outside, things probably looked fine.
Inside, I was slowly disappearing.
I got sober before the divorce. And I honestly thought that would fix everything. I thought if I just stopped drinking, life would finally calm down and I'd feel okay.
It didn't.
The Divorce That Changed Everything
My divorce was the catalyst I needed.
I finally realized how poor my perception of myself really was. How deeply I believed I was broken. How much of my life I'd spent running from that feeling.
The divorce is when everything I had been numbing finally showed up.
I was sober. Wide awake. And overwhelmed by my own emotions.
Anger that I could justify but never really made sense. Shutting down when I needed to speak. Feeling like I couldn't trust myself.
There were some really dark moments during that time. Moments where I didn't want to be here anymore.
I'm ashamed to admit I know what the cold steel of a Glock pressed up against your temple feels like.
The thing is, I didn't want to die. I just didn't know how to live with what I was feeling.
And being sober meant there was nowhere to hide anymore.
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The Masks I Wore
After the divorce, I started coaching.
I desperately wanted to find some way to show the world I wasn't as big of a fuck-up as it seemed.
In reality, all I was doing was masquerading as some big-shot unfazed by the shit that was happening in his life. I was telling others I had healed and now I had these life lessons I could use to help other people.
I didn't have the answers.
But I needed to understand myself. I needed to make sense of what was happening inside me. I needed something that helped me face my own pain instead of running from it.
That's how Drew Forman came into my life.
The Client Who Became My Teacher
Drew didn't start as a friend. He came to me as a client.
Someone with his own pain and his own past that he had been avoiding for a long time.
As I coached Drew through facing his pain, accepting his past, and learning how to become the man he wanted to be for himself and his family, something unexpected happened.
I started to recognize myself.
Drew jokes about how I'm his guardian angel. In some ways, I was the catalyst he needed so that he could get through a really hard season.
But the truth is, in a lot of ways, he became mine.
Walking alongside him, watching him stop running, watching him choose honesty and vulnerability week after week, watching real change happen—gave me something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
Through coaching Drew, I started to understand myself differently. Or at least who I had the potential to be.
For the first time, I didn't see myself as broken.
I saw someone who could actually have an impact. Someone who could take pain that almost destroyed him and actually use it to help another person feel less alone.
I didn't want everything I'd been through to be for nothing. I didn't want it to just eat me alive.
I wanted to turn it into something good.
The Work That Removed The Obstacle
So I did the work myself.
Not the surface-level shit. Not the "just think positive" bullshit that never touches the root.
I did the real work.
Inner child work. Going back to those moments as a kid and finally telling that younger version of me the truth: It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve that. You were always worthy. You always belonged.
Nervous system regulation. Teaching my body that the threat wasn't real anymore. That I was safe now. That I didn't have to live in fight-or-flight just to survive.
Emotional processing. Actually feeling the grief, the shame, the rage I'd been numbing for decades. Not talking about it. Not intellectualizing it. Feeling it. And letting it go.
And slowly, the obstacle started to dissolve.
The stories that had been running my life? They lost their power.
The belief that I was broken? It started to shift.
The shame that had been sitting on my chest like a stone? It started to lift.
I made peace with my past. I'm not haunted by it anymore.
Does shit still come up? Absolutely. I'm still tripping over my own stuff every day.
But here's the difference:
Once you bring awareness to your patterns, your triggers, your stories
it becomes impossible to unconsciously let them run your life.
At that point, it becomes a decision.
And that? That's freedom.
Why I Do This Work Now
I do this work because I know what it's like to feel broken.
To spend your whole life thinking something is fundamentally wrong with you. To look around and feel like you don't belong. To lie awake at night wondering why you can't just be happy like everyone else seems to be.
I know what it's like to numb yourself just to get through the day. To smile on the outside while you're disappearing on the inside.
I know what it's like to get sober and realize that sobriety doesn't fix everything. That the pain you were running from is still there, waiting for you.
I know what it's like to feel the cold steel of a gun against your temple. To not want to die, but to not know how to live anymore.
And I know what it's like to finally understand that you're not broken. That there's a wound underneath driving everything. And that wound can be healed.
That's why I'm called The Obstacle Remover.
Because the obstacle keeping you stuck isn't external. It's not your circumstances. It's not your marriage, your job, your stress.
The obstacle is the unhealed wound from your childhood. The stories it created. The shame it produces. The belief that you're broken. The emotional reactions it triggers.
And my job? Remove it. At the root.
Not manage it. Not cope with it. Remove it.
So you can finally stop reacting from that wounded place—and start leading from the man you're meant to be.
What Makes This Work Different
I'm not a therapist. I'm not here to diagnose you or keep you coming back for years talking about the same stories.
I'm a man who's walked the path you're on. I know where it leads if nothing changes. And I know the way out.
This work is about:
Identifying the exact moments your nervous system gets hijacked so you can see the trigger before it takes over.
Tracing that reaction back to the childhood wound understanding why your body still thinks you're that scared, broken kid who doesn't belong.
Healing the wound removing the emotional charge so the trigger loses its power.
Rewiring your nervous system teaching your body that you're safe now. That you can feel without breaking. That you can be present without performing.
Integrating a new identity so you don't just "manage" your reactions. You become a man who doesn't need to react that way anymore.
That's the work. That's how we remove the obstacle.
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Who This Work Is For
This work is for you if you're a man who feels like something is fundamentally wrong with him.
You might look successful from the outside. You might have built things, achieved things, provided for people.
But internally? You feel broken. Disconnected. Like you're constantly falling short.
Maybe you're drinking more than you should. Maybe you're using work, weed, the gym—anything to avoid feeling what's actually happening inside.
Maybe you snap at your wife over nothing. Maybe your kids are starting to fear you. Maybe you lie awake at night replaying the shit you said, wondering what the hell is wrong with you.
Maybe you've been sober for years but the pain you were numbing is still there. Maybe you thought stopping the drinking (or working, or whatever your coping strategy was) would fix everything, and it didn't.
Maybe you've tried therapy and it didn't work. Maybe you've tried self-control, discipline, working harder.
Maybe you've spent your whole life thinking you're broken and no one will ever really see you or get you.
If that's you, I want you to hear this:
You're not broken. You're wounded. And wounds can heal.
The obstacle isn't you. It's what you're carrying. And we can remove it.
What I Believe
I believe men aren't broken—they're carrying wounds they don't even know they have.
I believe the anger, the shame, the numbness—those aren't character flaws. They're survival strategies that worked once but don't work anymore.
I believe you don't need more self-discipline. You need to heal the wound that's making you react that way in the first place.
I believe healing isn't about talking about your childhood for years. It's about going back, feeling what you couldn't feel then, and finally letting it go.
I believe once you remove the obstacle—the wound, the story, the shame, the belief that you're broken—you don't just change your behavior. You reclaim your life.
And I believe that every man who does this work doesn't just heal himself. He heals his marriage. He heals his relationship with his kids. He breaks the generational cycle.
That's what this is about. Removing obstacles. Healing wounds. Changing legacies.
A Few Things You Should Know About Me
I'm not perfect. I still get triggered. I still have moments where I react instead of respond. I still have days where that old story tries to creep back in—the one that says I'm broken.
But the difference now is I know what's happening. I know where it's coming from. And I have tools that actually work.
I'm direct. I ask hard questions. I won't let you bullshit yourself. But I also won't let you sit in shame. Because shame is just another obstacle keeping you stuck.
I don't believe in spiritual bypassing. I don't believe in pretending you're "healed" when you're not. I believe in doing the messy, uncomfortable, real work—and coming out the other side stronger.
I've worked with men who were on the verge of divorce. Men who'd lost their kids' trust. Men who were standing on the edge like I was. Men who felt broken their whole lives.
And I've watched those men transform. Not because I "fixed" them. But because I showed them where the obstacle was—and gave them the tools to remove it themselves.
That's what this work is about. Removing obstacles. Reclaiming your life. Becoming the man you were always meant to be.
100% SATISFACTION GUARANTEE
If you don't feel a real shift after your first session, I'll refund your payment. No hassle, no questions asked. Your transformation is risk-free.
What Happens Next
If this resonates with you, the next step is simple.
Book a free discovery call.
No pitch. No pressure. Just a 45-minute conversation where we talk about what's happening in your life, where it's coming from, and whether this work makes sense for you.
If it does, we'll talk about how to move forward.
If it doesn't, I'll tell you that too.
But either way, you'll walk away with more clarity than you had before.
Because that's what I do. I remove obstacles. Starting with the confusion keeping you stuck.