From a young age, my dad taught me how to build. We were like a lot of blue-collar families. We built things because we needed them, fixed what we could, and learned to make things last.
Somewhere along the way, one lesson was ingrained in me:
That idea stayed with me.
For 23 years, my career was in law enforcement. It was a life built around service, responsibility, difficult decisions, and carrying more than most people ever see.
Eventually, PTSD brought that chapter of my life to an end.
Leaving a career that had defined such a large part of my adult life was not something I had planned for. There was a loss of identity that came with it, and a lot to figure out about who I was when I had to leave that career behind.
Woodworking became part of that answer.
What started as something familiar, something rooted in the way I was raised, became much more important than I expected. Working with wood gave me a place to focus. It gave my hands something constructive to do and my mind somewhere to go.
There is something powerful about taking a rough board, a sketch, or an idea and slowly turning it into something real. You measure. You think. You solve problems. You make mistakes. You adjust. And eventually, there is something standing in front of you that did not exist before.
For me, that process became therapeutic.
Over time, the projects became more ambitious. Traditional woodworking grew alongside CNC machining, CAD design, 3D modeling, carving, furniture building, awards, signs, and one-of-a-kind pieces.
Eventually, that road became Redfinn Custom Woodworking.
Today, Redfinn combines the craftsmanship I learned to value growing up with modern design and manufacturing tools. Whether I am building furniture, creating an award, carving a custom piece, or helping someone turn a rough idea into something tangible, the philosophy is still the same:
Redfinn is intentionally personal.
That matters to me.
So does the story behind this business.
I share the PTSD part of my story because mental illness can be isolating. It can change careers, relationships, routines, identities, and the way a person sees the future.
I also know that life can still grow in a different direction.
Woodworking did not erase my past, and Redfinn was never meant to be a tidy ending to a difficult story. It became another chapter. A useful one. A creative one. One that gave me purpose, challenge, and a reason to keep building.
And if telling that story helps even one person see that there may still be something worth building on the other side of a hard chapter, then sharing it is worth it.
I share this story because I know what it feels like to lose direction, and I know how much it matters when someone reminds you to keep going.