Choosing to declare for the 2025 NBA Draft was not an easy decision, and it came with a wave of emotions. But through it all, one thing remained constant—the unconditional love and support from my family. It’s something I held on to when the days were long, the workouts grueling, and the doubts loud. Declaring for the draft was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was the product of years of dedication, sleepless nights, injuries, setbacks, wins, and losses—and most importantly, the people who walked with me every step of the way.
For most people, seeing your name floated in mock drafts or getting calls from agents would be thrilling. And it was—for a moment. But behind the hype, there’s pressure. Pressure to perform, to impress, to rise up draft boards. I knew I wasn’t just representing myself. I was representing my college, my coaches, my teammates, and the ones who raised me. Every time I stepped on the court, I carried their names on my back, even if only in spirit. That’s why the decision to turn pro meant more than just chasing a paycheck—it meant stepping into a new world that would test everything I thought I knew about myself.
The first time the idea of the NBA became real was my sophomore year. I had just come off a breakout season. Scouts were showing up. Analysts were talking. My phone started buzzing more. My coach sat me down after a practice and asked, “Have you thought about going pro?” That question echoed in my head for months. It wasn’t just about talent; it was about readiness. Physically, I was getting stronger. Mentally, I still had growing to do.
I spoke with my parents about it that night. My mom didn’t say much at first. She just listened. Then, with tears in her eyes, she said, “Whatever you decide, we’ll be proud. Just make sure it’s your decision—not what people want for you.” That stuck with me. In a world where everyone seems to have an opinion, where social media dictates narratives, and pressure builds from every direction, that reminder meant everything.
My dad, who has been my rock since I was a kid, told me to weigh it like I would a game. “What do you gain? What do you lose? And where’s your heart?” he asked. Simple, but effective. I took that advice to heart. Over the next few weeks, I kept a notebook. I wrote down pros and cons. I tracked my performance. I talked to former players. Some had made the leap too early and regretted it. Others wished they had left sooner. Everyone’s story was different, but the common thread was that you have to believe in yourself when nobody else does.
One of the toughest parts of this decision was leaving behind my college team. These were the guys I battled with. We bled for each other. We suffered through hard practices and shared laughs in hotel rooms after road wins. The idea of not seeing them every day hit me harder than I expected. When I told them about my decision, some of them cried with me. That moment reminded me that while basketball brought us together, the bond we built went way beyond the game.
My coach was another huge part of this journey. He believed in me when I didn’t always believe in myself. He pushed me beyond what I thought were my limits. When I told him I was leaning toward entering the draft, he didn’t try to convince me to stay. Instead, he said, “You’re ready. You’ve earned this.” His faith in me gave me the final push I needed. That’s when I knew—it was time.
Preparing for the draft became my full-time job. Gone were the familiar routines of class, team lifts, and film study with my college coaches. Now it was early morning training, meetings with agents, interviews with teams, and navigating a new world where your worth is debated in articles and dissected in front offices. You’re no longer a student-athlete. You’re a commodity. That change is jarring.
But through the whirlwind, my family remained my anchor. My mom called every night. Not to talk basketball, but just to check in. “Are you eating? Are you sleeping? How’s your heart?” she’d ask. My siblings would send texts before my workouts: “Go crazy today.” Those little things kept me grounded. When the stress got heavy—when I questioned if I was doing the right thing—their love lifted me.
There was a moment during a private workout in Los Angeles where I felt it all hit me. I had just finished a tough three-hour session. My legs were tired, my jumper wasn’t falling, and I was frustrated. I walked to the corner of the gym and sat down. I pulled out my phone and saw a video my younger sister had sent. It was a clip of me as a kid, maybe 10 years old, dribbling in our driveway, yelling, “One day I’m gonna be in the NBA!”
I broke down right there. Not because I was sad—but because I realized how far I had come. That little kid had no idea what it would take. But he dreamed. And now, I was on the cusp of making that dream a reality. That moment changed everything. From then on, I embraced every workout, every interview, every sleepless night. I wasn’t just doing it for me—I was doing it for the kid who dared to believe.
The love from my family has never been conditional. They loved me before the rankings, before the awards, before the highlights. And I know they’ll love me if I go undrafted. That’s what makes this journey beautiful. It’s not about the applause or the attention. It’s about honoring those who believed in me when the world wasn’t watching.
Declaring for the draft is just the beginning. I know the hard part is still ahead. The grind to earn minutes, to prove myself all over again, to adjust to the speed and strength of the NBA. But I’ve never been afraid of the work. What I’ve learned through this process is that dreams are fragile—but they’re also powerful when fueled by love and purpose.
Not everyone gets to chase a dream like this. I’m aware of the privilege I carry. That’s why I don’t take any of it for granted. I’m going to give everything I have to this game because it’s given me so much. The joy. The pain. The lessons. The family dinners turned into postgame breakdowns. The hugs after losses. The cheers from the front row when nobody else was clapping. All of it matters.
Looking ahead, I know I’ll face setbacks. The road won’t be perfect. But I also know I’m ready—not just as a player, but as a person. Because through it all, I had a foundation built on something stronger than basketball. Love. Support. Faith. That’s what’s carried me here.
So yes, declaring for the NBA Draft came with uncertainty, pressure, and a flood of emotions. But it also came with clarity. I’m not walking into this next chapter alone. I carry my family with me. Every dribble, every shot, every step—I carry their belief, their sacrifices, their prayers.
This decision wasn’t easy. But it was right. And no matter where I land, one thing will never change: the unconditional love that got me here will stay with me always.
