J A C O B G R O S B E R G
M Y S T O R Y
07 / 2025
My name is Jacob Grosberg, and this is the story of how I turned unimaginable pain into a lifelong mission of purpose, compassion, and strength. It’s not always easy to share the most vulnerable pieces of yourself with the world, but I’ve come to learn that it’s in those very pieces where true power lives. This is not just an autobiography—this is a love letter to resilience, a chronicle of grief turned into purpose, and a testimony to what it means to keep walking forward when life tries to bring you to your knees.
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The Day Everything Changed
I was only 14 years old when my life was shattered by the most devastating loss I could have ever imagined: the suicide of my father. A man I looked up to, who shaped who I was becoming, was suddenly and permanently gone. And it didn’t happen in a peaceful moment or in the natural rhythm of life. It happened because the world failed him. Because he didn’t receive the mental health support he so desperately needed and deserved.
The grief wasn’t just emotional—it was physical. It altered my reality, changed the structure of my family, and marked the beginning of a new chapter of my life. One I never asked for.
Losing him was like losing a piece of myself. But somewhere, deep within the wreckage, I made a decision that would define everything I’d do from that moment forward: I would not let my father’s death be in vain.
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The Birth of a Mission
In the midst of my sorrow, I found something burning inside me. A calling. A purpose. I knew I had to do something not just for myself, but for the countless people like my father—those silently struggling, unseen, unheard, untreated. So in 2018, I founded a mental health and suicide prevention charity fund.
At first, it was just me—a teenager with a broken heart and a strong will. But what started as a tribute to my dad slowly became a force of real change. My charity was built on love, empathy, and the simple truth that no one should ever feel alone in their pain.
Since its creation, we have raised over $12,000, all of which has gone directly into impactful, heart-led initiatives. But what’s more valuable than the money is the hope we’ve inspired. Hope that spreads. Hope that heals.
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Hands-On Help—Real Impact
One of our earliest and most meaningful efforts was the Support the Homeless Initiative. I coordinated donation drives and gathered everyday essentials—blankets, food, hygiene products, socks, gloves, personal notes—and packed over 100 care bags for Toronto’s homeless population. But we didn’t just hand out bags—we connected. We looked people in the eye. We treated them with dignity. And many of them told us that this was the first time in months—or even years—that someone had made them feel human again. That broke my heart.
Another project I hold close to my heart was funding two grieving children to attend a specialized weekend grief camp at no cost to them, tailored to help young people cope with the loss of a loved one. I know what that loss feels like—I lived it. So helping those kids get the support they needed, without placing a financial burden on their families, meant everything to me. It was more than a donation—it was a chance for healing, growth, and connection.
Every initiative we’ve taken on has been rooted in love, understanding, and a desire to make a difference—whether big or small.
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Becoming a Voice for the Voiceless – Speaking When Silence Hurts Most
For much of my life, I knew what it felt like to be unheard. After my father died, the silence that followed his suicide was almost louder than the act itself. People didn’t know what to say. Conversations became awkward. Questions were avoided. And I realized something deeply unsettling: even in death, people are uncomfortable talking about mental illness.
That realization stayed with me—and it changed me.
I refused to let my father’s story be buried under the weight of shame, stigma, or discomfort. I realized that someone needed to speak up. Someone needed to say what everyone else was too afraid to. Someone needed to advocate for those who couldn’t find the words, who didn’t know how, or who had been silenced by fear, trauma, or judgment.
I became that someone.
But I didn’t jump into the spotlight for attention or applause. I stepped into the light because I knew that staying in the shadows wouldn’t help anyone. If I was going to carry my father’s legacy and prevent another family from feeling the pain mine felt, I had to use my voice.
I began speaking publicly—first quietly, then confidently. From elementary schools, to community events, to massive arenas of 20,000 people like WE Day with ME to WE, I shared my story. I shared his story. And more than that, I shared our truth—that mental illness is real, it is painful, and it deserves space in every room.
Every time I speak, I carry with me the stories of those who are no longer here. I carry the weight of every person who ever felt invisible, worthless, or hopeless. I carry my younger self—the boy who sat silently in his grief, waiting for someone to say, “Me too.”
Over the years, I’ve been interviewed by 99% of news stations across Ontario, and with each segment, I pour my heart out—not to relive the trauma, but to transform it. To use it as a mirror for others to see themselves in. Because when people hear a story like mine, they don’t just hear facts—they feel seen. They feel understood. And sometimes, that’s enough to save a life.
What I’ve learned is this: your voice has power. Even when it shakes. Even when you’re scared. Speaking truth in a world that thrives on avoidance is one of the bravest things you can do. And I will never stop doing it.
Not just for my father. But for every soul still here, quietly praying that someone might finally listen.
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My Own Battles
While I advocate for mental health publicly, I also live with it privately.
I have personally struggled with depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and Tourette’s Syndrome. These aren’t just diagnoses—they’re daily experiences. Sometimes they show up in small, manageable ways. Other times, they try to pull me back into darkness.
But I face them, every single day, with courage and grace. I’ve learned that having mental health conditions doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t define you. In fact, it can be your superpower. It can make you more empathetic, more aware, more alive.
My father’s death brought a level of trauma I’ll carry with me forever. But even in the shadows of that trauma, I’ve found light. I’ve found a deeper understanding of myself and a fierce determination to not let my suffering go to waste.
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Healing Through Spirituality
When traditional healing methods weren’t enough, I turned to spirituality. I began to explore meditation, manifestation, breathwork, and energy awareness. These practices didn’t erase my pain, but they gave me the tools to sit with it, understand it, and transform it.
Spirituality taught me to slow down, to be present, to recognize beauty in things I once overlooked—a flower blooming, a stranger’s kindness, a moment of quiet peace. It grounded me in something bigger than myself, reminding me that even in chaos, there is divine order.
I now start each day with intention. I remind myself that I am not broken—I am breaking through. And through that mindset, I’ve become more centered, more aligned, and more committed than ever to living a life of purpose.
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A Life of Purpose – Living Beyond Myself
If there’s one belief that anchors everything I do, it’s this: I was put on this earth to help people. Not in a surface-level, feel-good kind of way—but in a raw, real, human way. To sit with people in their pain. To hold space for them when they can’t carry it alone. To show up when it matters most.
After losing my father, I could have easily disappeared into bitterness. I could have closed myself off, focused only on surviving my own wounds. But something deeper inside me—call it my soul, my intuition, maybe even my dad’s spirit—kept nudging me toward something bigger than myself.
I realized that my suffering wasn’t meant to be the end of my story. It was meant to become fuel.
So I turned my heartbreak into healing. My trauma into testimony. And my pain into purpose.
That purpose has led me down the path of mental health advocacy, suicide prevention, grief support, homelessness outreach, and beyond. I don’t place limits on who I help, because life doesn’t place limits on who it breaks. Whether it’s someone navigating abuse, a child who’s lost a parent, a teenager questioning their worth, or a homeless person sleeping on cold pavement—I see them. I feel them. I fight for them.
Because I know that it only takes one moment of connection to change everything.
I’d like to share a story, one that will forever stay with me, and I hope it inspires love and kindness in you too:
The Bracelet: A Story of Unexpected Grace in the Heart of Toronto
It was an ordinary day in downtown Toronto—the kind where people moved fast, eyes on their phones, caught in the rhythm of city life. But for me, that day would become something far more than ordinary. It would become a memory etched into my heart forever.
I was walking down the street, lost in my own thoughts, when I noticed a young man walking toward me. He looked to be in his late twenties. His clothes were worn, his backpack torn at the seams. He was clearly homeless. But that’s not what I saw when I looked at him.
What I saw was a person.
I met his eyes, smiled, and gently asked, “How are you?”
He looked a bit surprised, then smiled back and said, “I’m okay.”
And then—something most people wouldn’t expect—he asked, “How are you?”
That small act of kindness from him, that simple human gesture, struck me. It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t forced. It was real. And in that moment, something in my heart opened. I didn’t want to just keep walking. I didn’t want that brief connection to end at a smile.
So I turned around and said, “Would you like to grab a bite with me?”
He paused for a second, not used to an invitation like that—but he nodded. We found a quiet place nearby, sat down, and shared a meal together. We spent more than an hour just talking. About life. About dreams. About pain.
He shared pieces of his childhood with me—stories that were hard to hear. Abuse, abandonment, loss. He had seen more darkness than many do in a lifetime. And yet, somehow, he radiated light. There was warmth in his voice. Hope in his eyes. And kindness in his every word.
As much as I thought I was doing something kind for him, he was giving something to me too. His spirit reminded me that no matter what life throws at you, your heart can still remain gentle. His story, rough as it was, didn’t end in bitterness—it ended in inspiration. He showed me that it’s not your circumstances that define you—it’s your soul.
After dinner, we said our goodbyes. It was just one night. One shared moment between strangers. But it felt like something sacred.
And then, over two months later, as I was walking downtown again, life surprised me.
Out of nowhere, I saw him walking across the street. We locked eyes immediately, both of us stunned and smiling in disbelief. It was as if the universe brought us back together for one more moment.
We walked up to each other, embraced, and started talking. I asked him how he’d been doing. We only spoke for a few minutes. But before we parted ways again, he reached into his worn-out bag and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth.
It was a handmade bracelet.
He looked me in the eye and said something I’ll never forget:
“ I made these bracelets for the special people I’ve met in my life. And I’m so glad I got to see you again… so I could give this to you”
I stood there, frozen. Tears filled my eyes. And before I could say anything, I hugged him tightly and cried.
I hadn’t given him anything with the hope of getting something in return. All I wanted that night was to make him feel seen, even just for an hour. But to receive a gift like that—from someone who had so little, but gave so much—it changed me.
That bracelet remains one of the most precious things I own. Not because of its material value, but because of what it represents: humanity at its finest. Generosity in its purest form. And the reminder that kindness lives in every corner of this world, even in places where most people forget to look.
I’m sharing this story with you not to be praised, but to remind you of something important: kindness matters. More than you know. You don’t need to be rich to change someone’s life. Sometimes, a warm meal and a listening ear are enough. Sometimes, all it takes is seeing someone—not as a problem, not as a burden, but as a human being.
That man gave me something I never expected. Not just a bracelet, but a memory I will carry for the rest of my life. And even though I haven’t seen him in years, I think of him often. I pray he’s okay. I hope he’s found peace. And I’m forever grateful for the beautiful moment we shared.
If you’re ever wondering whether a small act of kindness can make a difference—let this be your answer: it absolutely can. And sometimes, it might just change your life, too.
Be the reason someone believes in goodness again.
You never know what a smile… or a shared meal… might lead to.
And that’s what living with purpose means to me. It’s not about fame or recognition. It’s about choosing every day to live with intention. To lead with empathy. To act with courage, even when it hurts. It’s about seeing people—not their problems, not their circumstances—but them, in all their messy, beautiful, human wholeness.
Living a life of purpose also means staying true to my values. It means listening more than I speak. It means showing up for people when the cameras are off. It means never giving up—not on myself, and not on the world.
There are days when it’s heavy. When I feel the weight of others’ pain layered on top of my own. But I’ve learned that compassion doesn’t drain you when it’s connected to something greater. When it comes from a place of love, it fills you, even in the giving.
The Deeper Why
What drives me more than anything is the understanding that someone, somewhere, needs the very thing I have to offer. Maybe they need my story. Maybe they need my kindness. Maybe they need my silence, just sitting beside them, reminding them they’re not alone.
My father didn’t get that. And while I can’t change the past, I can absolutely change the future—for someone else.
This isn’t just a mission for me. It’s a spiritual calling.
It’s waking up each morning and asking, “How can I help someone today?”
It’s ending each night knowing I gave the world something good, even if it was just a smile or a soft word in the right moment.
I believe with every fiber of my being that we are here to serve one another. That our greatest gift is not what we do for ourselves, but what we become for others.
My Legacy
If I could write my legacy in one sentence, it would be this:
“ He turned his pain into purpose and gave others the strength to rise”
I want to be known not just for what I do—but for how I make people feel. I want to be the reason someone chose to stay, chose to speak, chose to heal.
Because helping people isn’t just what I do—it’s who I am.
This is the life I’ve chosen. A life of listening, loving, and lifting others up—even when I’m still learning how to lift myself.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world
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Strength in Sensitivity
I’ve been told I’m strong. But not the kind of strength people usually imagine. My strength lies in my sensitivity, in my ability to feel deeply, love fully, and care endlessly.
I’ve learned that there is beauty in every little thing—in the details that others miss, in the quiet moments, in the messy, imperfect parts of life. I’ve learned to smile even when it hurts, to cry when I need to, and to always keep my heart open—even when the world tries to close it.
It hasn’t been an easy road. But every stumble, every fall, every scar has taught me something invaluable. And I’ve come to realize that we don’t find peace by avoiding life’s hardships—we find peace by embracing them, learning from them, and letting them shape us into who we are meant to become.
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My Legacy of Love
This journey I’m on is far from over. In many ways, it’s just beginning. But what I do know is that everything I’ve lived through—from the darkest days of grief to the brightest moments of triumph—has led me here.
I walk with purpose. I speak with passion. And I live with love.
I will continue to raise awareness, build community, and offer hope to those who need it most. I will continue to honor my father not with tears—but with action. With heart. With everything I have to give.
And if one day someone asks what I did with my pain, I’ll tell them this:
“I turned it into power. I turned it into a purpose. And I gave it back to the world with love.”
This is who I am.
And this is only the beginning.