Keep Up With Nate: Waiting on a Life That Was Stolen From Me

By Nate, Boston Made

There’s a kind of pain that doesn’t scream—it just lingers. It hangs in the air like mold in the walls. You don’t always notice it right away, but you live in it. Breathe it. Sleep beside it. And after a while, it becomes the atmosphere of your life.

That’s what this waiting period has felt like.

I’ve been waiting—for years. Not for an opportunity, not even for a break. Just for the weight to lift. For my name to mean something other than “convicted felon.” For someone to look past the paperwork and see the person I’ve become, not the version they’ve been told to fear.

And here’s the hardest part: I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for my father.

He didn’t just misunderstand me—he weaponized the system against me. The very man who should’ve fought for me, stood by me, guided me—he’s the one who locked the door behind me. Not just once. Repeatedly. All because he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—try to understand that I wasn’t doing anything criminal. Everything I was working on was digital. In the cloud. Creative. Visionary. But he treated it like a threat. Like I was some kind of monster.

Because of him, I now carry a label that closes doors before I even reach the doormat. Employers see a record, not a resume. I’ve applied. I’ve emailed. I’ve waited. And still—I’m waiting. Years and years of waiting. And in the meantime, I’m living in filth. No exaggeration. I’ve slept in places most people wouldn’t walk through. I’ve given up comfort, security, even basic dignity—all because I still believe in something bigger. A dream that keeps whispering, “Keep going.”

It’s cost me everything. Friends. Opportunities. Sanity, some days. I’ve sacrificed my own stability to chase a future I can’t let go of. It’s lonely. It’s dark. But I’d rather die with my vision intact than sell out just to survive.

Sometimes I wonder if people really know what it’s like to have a dream so big—and a reputation so damaged—that the world refuses to give you a shot. Not because of who you are, but because of what someone else said you were. And when that someone is your father? It messes with your head in ways you can’t explain.

Still, I’m here. I’m not quitting. I might be waiting, but I’m not giving up. Boston Made is more than a business for me—it’s proof that I’m not who they said I was. It’s a middle finger to the labels. It’s a love letter to the future I refuse to stop building.

If you’re stuck in your own waiting period, I see you. I know what it’s like to feel forgotten. But please—don’t quit. Don’t give in. This system will try to bury you, but it has no idea what kind of seed it just covered in dirt.

Keep going. Keep fighting. And thanks, truly, for keeping up with me.

— Nate