Why I Started the Roll Model Project (And What Jiu-Jitsu Has to Do With It)

I didn't start training jiu-jitsu because I had it all figured out. I started because I didn't.

It was 2013. I was trying to find something that felt real — something that pushed back. A gym. A mat. A sport where you can't fake it and you can't hide. You either survive the round or you don't. And when you don't, you learn something.

I fell in love with it immediately. Not because I was good — I wasn't — but because the mat had this way of putting everything into perspective. Whatever was going on outside those doors, none of it mattered once you slapped hands and bumped fists. You were just a person trying to solve a problem with another person. No shortcuts. No ego surviving for long.

I took some time away. Life moved. Then in 2018, after relocating to San Diego, I found my way back to the mat — and it hit different the second time. I understood more. I appreciated the community, the discipline, the way jiu-jitsu quietly teaches you how to handle hard things without falling apart.

And that's when it started to bother me.

Because this thing — this tool I was using to build myself — wasn't available to everyone. Jiu-jitsu isn't cheap. Monthly tuition, gear, competition fees — it adds up fast. For a family that's already stretched thin, it's not even a conversation. The kids who might need it most never get the chance to find out what the mat could do for them.

That was the seed.

The Roll Model Project was built on a simple idea: partner with gyms in San Diego County and sponsor kids who can't afford to train. Cover the tuition. Cover the gear. Get them in the door and let the mat do what it does. We're a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, and every dollar we raise goes directly toward making sure a kid's financial situation isn't what keeps them off the mat.

This isn't about charity in the traditional sense. It's not about handing something to someone and walking away. Jiu-jitsu demands something from you. It requires you to show up, to stay humble, to keep going when you're uncomfortable. The kids in our program aren't recipients — they're practitioners. They're earning something every time they step on that mat.

I'm still training. Still learning. Still getting humbled regularly, which is the point. And the closer I get to my black belt, the more convinced I am that the lessons from jiu-jitsu — how to stay calm under pressure, how to survive bad positions, how to keep moving when you're tired and stuck — are some of the most transferable life skills a young person can develop.

The Roll Model Project exists because those skills shouldn't only be available to kids whose families can write the check.

We're building something real here in San Diego. And we'd love your support — whether that's spreading the word, making a donation, or helping us connect with a gym or a family that needs to hear about this.

The mat changed my life. We're trying to make sure it gets the chance to change a few more.