Today we’d like to introduce you to Joe Gallagher.
Hi Joe, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
My life has been a collision of extremes—beauty and chaos, ambition and ruin, applause and isolation—like God kept letting me walk right up to the edge so I could finally see what was waiting on the other side of surrender. For a long time I thought my story was about talent, hustle, and survival. Now I know it’s been about something deeper: transformation. The kind that only comes when you’ve been broken enough to stop pretending you can fix yourself.
There were moments early on that felt unreal, like the kidnapping in the Bahamas—one of those experiences that doesn’t just scare you, it rewires you. After that, the world never felt as simple or as safe. You carry a different awareness when you’ve had your freedom threatened, when you’ve felt what it’s like to not be in control. That kind of trauma doesn’t always show up right away; sometimes it waits. Sometimes it becomes the seed of a restlessness that follows you into every room and every decision.
Then came the attempted murder charge. Saying that out loud still feels heavy, because people hear words like that and they make their own movie in their mind. But the truth is, it was years of legal hell—years of living with a label that didn’t match the man I knew myself to be, years of court dates and judgment and fear of what could be taken from me. Even when a case is dismissed and expunged, the weight of it doesn’t automatically vanish. There’s a part of you that stays hypervigilant. A part of you that feels like you’re still being watched, still being measured by the worst day of your life.
That pressure, the trauma, the shame, the constant internal noise—those things have a way of finding an outlet. For me, it was alcohol. Then it became more. Years of alcoholism and addiction weren’t just “bad choices.” They were a slow surrender to numbness. I didn’t wake up one day and decide, “Let me ruin my life.” It was more subtle than that. It was survival. It was escape. It was trying to silence the fear and the anger and the memories and the sense that I was stuck in a story I couldn’t rewrite. For a while, it worked—until it didn’t. Until the cost became too high and the mask slipped and the person staring back in the mirror didn’t feel like me anymore.
In the middle of all that, I had music. Music was my oxygen. It was the place where I felt alive, where I felt seen for something that wasn’t my record or my reputation. I poured everything into my music career—my identity, my hope, my hunger to prove that I was more than my mistakes. I was building toward something real, something that felt like destiny.
Then the wreck happened. A major car accident that didn’t just injure me physically—it interrupted the trajectory of everything I thought my life was going to be. Surgeries. Pain. The kind of recovery that isn’t just about healing a body but grieving who you used to be. It’s hard to explain what it feels like when a dream gets yanked out of your hands. You don’t just lose a plan—you lose a part of your identity. And when you’re already fragile, already leaning on substances, an injury like that can become a doorway into deeper darkness.
But the story didn’t end there. It couldn’t. Somewhere in the exhaustion, somewhere in the collapse, I reached a point where I couldn’t outrun myself anymore. I got sober. Not in a “I’ll try to do better” way, but in a life-or-death way. I learned that sobriety isn’t just quitting—it’s rebuilding. It’s waking up to your emotions instead of escaping them. It’s learning how to sit in discomfort without self-destructing. It’s choosing honesty when your instinct is to hide. It’s humility. It’s daily.
And in sobriety, I found faith—or maybe faith found me. I didn’t find God in a perfect moment. I found God in the mess, in the brokenness, in the place where I finally stopped negotiating and surrendered. I began to realize that I wasn’t meant to carry everything alone, that my life wasn’t meant to be driven by fear and ego and survival. I started praying like I meant it. I started listening. I started trusting that maybe my worst chapters weren’t evidence that I was cursed—maybe they were proof that I was being refined.
That’s when Apastioli was born.
Not as some polished business plan. It started as a spark—an idea planted in a small kitchen. Sauce sounds simple, but it became sacred. It gave me something honest to build. Something tangible. Something rooted in love, heritage, and craft. I walked into stores with a product in my hand and nothing guaranteed, and doors opened. Not because I was the most qualified, but because I was willing. And God has a way of meeting willingness with provision.
Apastioli became more than jars. It became proof that I could create again. It became a symbol of redemption—something people could taste and hold and share. It became a brand, yes, but it also became a mission: a second act, built with clean hands and a clear mind. And as the business grew, the story behind it grew too. People didn’t just want the sauce—they wanted to know how a man rises from the ashes and builds something new.
That’s why I wrote From Bars to Jars. Not to glorify pain, but to testify. To put into words what so many people live through in silence. The addictions, the consequences, the shame, the rebuilding. To show that grace is real, that transformation is possible, that your life doesn’t end because you fell apart. In a strange way, writing the book wasn’t just about telling my story—it was about reclaiming it. Owning it. And letting it serve a purpose bigger than me.
Then came Lowcountry Lunatics. A podcast, yes—but also another platform for storytelling, truth, humor, and humanity. Another way to connect. Another way to turn experience into impact. I’ve learned that everything I’ve been through—every hard season—becomes lighter when it’s used to help someone else feel less alone.
And now the story is pushing into a whole new arena: film and television. I’ve pitched a scripted series to major Hollywood players—and there’s interest. That alone is something I wouldn’t have believed years ago when I was drowning in addiction and court dates and pain. But the truth is, my life has always been cinematic. Not because it’s glamorous—because it’s real. Because it’s messy. Because redemption stories hit differently when they’re earned.
And in the middle of all this evolution came Roma Parfum—a luxury fragrance house born from the same hunger that built Apastioli: to create something that carries emotion and identity. Fragrance is memory. Fragrance is presence. It’s confidence. It’s atmosphere. And for me, it’s another chapter of craftsmanship—another way to build a legacy that’s bigger than one product line, bigger than one industry. It’s the next expression of the same truth: I’m not who I was. I’m becoming who I was meant to be.
When I step back and look at it all—the kidnapping, the charge, the addiction, the wreck, the sobriety, the faith, the business, the book, the podcast, the Hollywood conversations, the fragrances—I see a thread. My life has been about learning that God can take what was meant to destroy you and use it to define you. It’s been about being stripped down until only the truth remains. It’s been about rebuilding with purpose instead of ego.
Most of all, my life has been about coming home—to myself, to faith, to calling, to clarity. And I’m still on the journey. But for the first time, I’m not running anymore.
I’m walking forward—awake, surrendered, and ready for whatever God writes next.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Legal troubles, learning to walk again, pain, addiction, divorce, grief, financial poverty.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your business?
I’ve successfully brought several products to market in 3 separate industrials without formal education. We obtained brand loyalty without paying for traditional advertising. I’m a craftsman and quality is my number 1 priority followed closely by putting myself in the customers shoes. I have developed an omnidirectional marketing strategy. Where every vertical is also spherical. I’ve create a 4 dimensional brand that can be experiences with all 5 senses.
Alright, so to wrap up, is there anything else you’d like to share with us?
Above all else, I pray that my story brings hope to at least one person who has been at the bottom and begged God to take them out of the game forever. That’s who I’m here to tell to not quit 5 minutes before the miracle happens.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.romaparfum.com
- Instagram: https://Instagram.com/joegallagherjr
- Facebook: https://Facebook.com/joegallagherjr
