Born into the chaos of abuse. Forged by the fire of his family’s addiction. Bred to believe he wasn’t worthy of love. Brandon O. has been through more, seen more, and survived more than most people could fathom. But on the other side of every dark tunnel is a glimmer of light and Brandon has found that within the Beit T’Shuvah community.
Born to a teenage drug addicted mother in Baltimore, pain was the only constant in his early years. His mother, herself raised in trauma and abandonment, struggled with addiction from the time he was born. Like the truly humble empath he is, before telling me anything about his own life, Brandon started by telling me about the hard life his mother had to endure. “She never had any guidance,” every word of sorrowful acceptance was not condemnation, but rather forgiveness.
From the day he was born, Brandon was stuck in dangerous situations—crack houses and dark alleys. His earliest memories are filled with fear, filth, and a desperate longing to be safe. While most people do not retain memories from their early years of life, Brandon does. Some, too traumatic to forget…and others, too traumatic to remember. “There were people lined up against the walls and it was just so filthy. They were trying to feed me and I just remember being so afraid that I wouldn’t eat.”
When he was a toddler, Brandon was in the custody of his mother and the man who, up until a few years ago, he believed to be his father, Gary. Before long, his mom and Gary broke up and she started dating a man named Possum. He was sober, but would take out his anger on Brandon—beating him almost daily.
Eventually, his mom dropped him off at his aunt’s house—his second caretaker. Then, his aunt dropped him off at his grandmother. “It made me feel like no one wanted me. My mom didn’t want me, my aunt didn’t want me, and now my grandmother had to take me in.” But it was with his grandmother that he first felt a sense of love and safety. Her home was clean. Quiet. Predictable. She was his best friend. Despite his mom showing up out of the blue from time to time, it felt like the possibility of stability was on the horizon.
But the ground kept shifting.
School was no escape. Brandon, who was flamboyant and expressive from a young age, was relentlessly bullied for being gay. “They called me names before I even knew what they meant. Grown adults would roll down their windows and scream faggot at me. I didn’t feel safe anywhere.” At five, far before he knew what any of it meant, Brandon started acting out in a sexual nature. The acts of this five-year-old followed Brandon throughout his entire school career—adding to the fuel of his torment.
He struggled academically, too. With no support from his family, and minimal support from his school, he never truly learned how to read. “They told me I read at a fourth-grade level when I was about to graduate high school. I thought I was dumb. I thought something was wrong with me.” But again, Brandon persevered. He refused to give up. By some miracle, he graduated. He put himself through cosmetology school, studying flashcards for hours and hours until the information stuck. He passed his state exam and became a licensed cosmetologist—his dream job.
Brandon has said that his cosmetology license is what has always been there for him, even in the darkest moments. But long before that, he found his first refuge. Booze. His first drink came at 13. An instant escape. He would steal beers from his alcoholic grandfather’s 24 pack of beer. For the first time in his life, he was able to disassociate from the chaotic world around him. “I didn’t even know how to cry. Alcohol made me be able to cry, to laugh, to show any emotion that a normal person has. It helped me feel and connect…even to the tears.” Outside of the drink, there was only one other taste of solace he got in his early years of life: the iconic melodies of pop princess Britney Spears. “Through all of the chaos, I would put her music on and feel like I was in a different world. It was my safe haven.”
Around 13, Brandon came out as gay—suprisingly to his family’s overwhelming acceptance. When he was only 16, Brandon found himself partying with 30-year-olds. Through his twenties, Brandon’s addiction only worsened. Drinking, at first, had made him feel emotions he hadn’t been able to access for years—joy, grief, confidence. But eventually, alcohol stopped working. You see, he saw his alcoholism coming- he knew he had a problem. By his own admission, “it was never really fun.” But after getting sober his first time, things only got worse. He opened up to me that he had been lying for years about that first relapse. He had always told people that he first tried crystal meth by mistake, that he got drunk, blacked out and tried crystal meth. Since being at Beit T’Shuvah, he has been able to unlock the ability to share the truth. “I knew what I was doing.” The drugs that he once looked down upon as “gross” started to become more appealing. He turned to meth, hoping it would fill the void he felt inside. His meth usage would be followed by short bouts of sobriety—but they were always followed by an even more dramatic relapse.
During this time, in the midst of an intimate situation with his then boyfriend, a memory was unlocked—one that, up until that point, his brain had deemed too traumatic to remember. The memory was of him being molested by the man he believed to be his father. This realization shook Brandon—recontextualizing many of the actions he has taken in his life. Foremost of those being the overly sexual acting out of his five-year-old self. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was mimicking. He was scarred. But still, as with every other traumatic situation in Brandon’s life, he persevered.
So, he moved to San Francisco, knowing no one, and built a life there. He worked long hours in a barbershop—living with one of his clients before he could finally start to build something for himself. “God put that in my life. I was meant to be in San Francisco. Not many people let a stranger stay with them who did their hair a few times.” Still, the overwhelming loneliness was crushing. Brandon’s life started to evolve more and more when he found a powerful man who made him feel financially secure—sending him on trips around the world. But with every dollar came a toxicity that reminded him of home. For a long time, the money felt like enough…but ultimately it wasn’t. He would go to AA meetings, but never could stay sober for long—cycling and out of relationships, relocations and rehabs. Nothing seemed to do the trick.
At 26 years old, still living alone in San Francisco, Brandon started to get serious. He decided that he would teach himself how to read so he could read The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous…and that is exactly what he did. “I couldn’t even read a page out of the Big Book when I got to AA,” he says. “But I didn’t want to feel ashamed anymore.” He read the book over and over again until he fully grasped both AA and the English language. He would memorize sections, sound out words, and teach himself—alone, in silence, with no help. It took time. But eventually, he got it. That kind of quiet, relentless determination—the kind that no one sees—is what defines Brandon’s entire life. Honestly, that is the only paragraph this spotlight needs for you to understand what an awe-inspiring person Brandon truly is.
Eventually, Brandon landed in Los Angeles, where he met Beit T’Shuvah alumnus Dano, a man in recovery who believed in him. After a series of relapses at Dano’s sober living, Dano referred Brandon to Beit T’Shuvah. At first, Brandon didn’t want to stay. “I told myself I’d do one month. No way I was doing more.”
But then something shifted.
He had a dream—one where Beit T’Shuvah asked him to leave after two months. He woke up in a panic. “It hit me. I needed to stay. I wasn’t ready to leave. I made a promise to God that I would do the work if I could stay.”
And he kept that promise.
At Beit T’Shuvah, Brandon has faced down some of the deepest pain of his life. He has spoken openly in groups about his trauma—specifically citing the LGBTQ+ group run by Mia and Cameron as a great source of support for him. He’s done a thorough fourth step and found forgiveness—for his mother, his family, and, most of all, for himself.
Beit T’Shuvah didn’t give Brandon strength—he already had that. What it gave him was the space to remember who he is. To feel safe. To stop carrying secrets. To let people love him the way he has always deserved to be loved. “I used to think I was unlovable. But that was a lie. That was their shame. Not mine.” Words like family and community have been redefined for him. “When I first got here, I remember when they would say ‘community’ my skin would crawl. I hated it. I was so uncomfortable. And then on Shavuot, when we stayed up all night, I had this moment while we were dancing where I went, ‘Oh, this is what they mean.’”
He’s four months into his program now. He’s planning to return to cosmetology and begin rebuilding his life—not from a place of survival, but from a place of freedom.
Brandon has endured unimaginable pain. And yet, he remains one of the most thoughtful, resilient, and compassionate people you could meet. Brandon is what happens when pain meets perseverance. When courage outlasts chaos. Strength, embodied. He is the textbook definition of the word: Fighter. He has never wavered on the crusade of his dreams, even when the world gave him every reason to quit. Brandon has stared dead into the eyes of the ugliest elements of life and chanted the words of his idol, “It’s Brandon, bitch.”