About Me – Julien Ciro Riviezzo
From grey concrete to the depths of the Red Sea.
This article exist also in French :
https://ciroriviezzo.medium.com/about-me-julien-ciro-riviezzo-fr-afbd5e1f6667
Photo by Julien Ciro Riviezzo. All rights reserved
Dahab, Egypt. Where I learned to breathe differently.
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I come from a place where failure is expected and survival is the only win.
I grew up in a rough neighborhood in the south of Belgium – a place where you’re introduced early to the darker sides of being human: trouble, violence, sadness, pressure, addiction, death. Where I’m from, you learn fast that no one’s coming to save you.
When you start at the bottom, there’s really only two options: stay there and slowly vanish, or claw your way up the sides of the well, bare-handed.
My personal well was called «La Cité Des Oiseaux» – “The Bird City.”
A name that felt almost cruel, since not even birds would have had the sense to raise a family there.
People didn’t move in. They were placed.
Out of necessity. Out of despair.
My mother raised me alone. After ten years of sobriety, alcohol became her escape again. (I might write about that one day.)
That’s when I understood the weight of choice.
No matter where you’re born or what you lack, you still get to choose.
To sink, or to get out.
And I wanted out.
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The words
They became my lifeline.
A secret door I could disappear through.
I wrote everything down. My fears, my confusion, my aching heart. My notebook was the only one that listened without interrupting.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it simply. Bleed it in ink. Don’t stop until the tank runs dry.”
Paper was my first therapist.
And its method? Brutally effective.
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Copywriting: the deal I made
Later on, I turned writing into a career.
Copywriting. Advertising.
I was no longer writing to survive – I was writing to get paid.
I lent my words to brands.
Helped global companies make even more money.
And in exchange, I filled my own pockets and emptied my heart.
It felt like a fair deal.
Win-win, as we say in marketing.
But truth is, I got played. By the system, and maybe by myself.
I could write punchy headlines at 11 p.m.
Craft a radio script in ten minutes.
Nail a campaign idea in a boardroom, scribble it on a Post-it, walk out like a magician.
I played the clown, sold the story, closed the deal.
And I was proud of it.
But I was also numb.
A machine.
Productive, yes. Alive, not really.
There was no social elevator. So I took the service stairs.
And by the time I reached the top, I realized I had become exactly the kind of zombie I once feared.
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The quiet unraveling
I didn’t crash. No burnout. No crisis.
It was more subtle than that.
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More polite.
On the surface, everything looked good – beautiful house, loving family, German car, respected position in a global company.
The dream.
Especially for the boy I used to be.
But one morning, I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t see myself anymore.
Same face. Same features.
But my eyes? Empty.
I didn’t need a break. I didn’t need a vacation.
I needed to leave.
To find myself. Or to get lost differently.
So I went where my mind couldn’t follow:
Underwater.
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Freediving
I landed in Dahab, Egypt, with a suitcase full of sadness and a few overweight regrets.
That’s where I discovered freediving.
And everything changed.
Diving deep on a single breath forces you inward.
The ocean becomes a mirror – silent, vast, and brutally honest.
In freediving, your greatest enemy isn’t the lack of oxygen.
It’s your mind.
Your thoughts. Your resistance. Your fear.
The more you fight, the more you sink.
The more you surrender, the deeper you go.
The trick is trust.
In your body. Your breath. Your rhythm.
In life.
And paradoxically,
The emptier your mind, the better you float.
Somewhere in those depths, I started to reconnect.
Not with the copywriter.
Not with the coach.
But with the boy who used to write to survive.
Who, somehow, was already writing to heal.
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Today
Today, I write to share all of it.
The falls.
The awakenings.
The weird turns and quiet truths.
I wrote for myself for a long time.
Now I write for whoever it might help.
And if just one person feels less alone reading these words,
then that’s more than enough.
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To you, reading this
You didn’t land here by accident.
If any part of this story echoes something in you, maybe it’s the right time to cross paths.
Let this be a reminder from the universe:
You’re not alone.
And if you ever need someone, I’ll be here.
Welcome.
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