I was a single mother of a three-year-old, and I hated myself. I hated any form of a higher power that would hand me the life I had. My childhood ended abruptly; my mother got sick when I was six and passed away when I was twelve. I grew up in foster homes—not the supportive kind, but the kind that make the news for all the wrong reasons.
By 13, my addiction was in full force. I went to school with alcohol in every drink, fueled by a deep rage from years of physical, mental, and sexual abuse. At 18, I walked away from the foster system and never looked back. I finished high school, though I barely remember it. To survive, I did things I wasn’t proud of. I was homeless, bouncing between jobs and dangerous people, just trying to stay afloat.
At 23, in the height of my use, I got pregnant. I managed to quit until she was born, but the cycle returned quickly. I tried to hide it—I only drank when she was sleeping—but I started making her bedtime earlier and earlier just so I could start sooner. By the age of two, I had taught my daughter how to use a microwave so she could be self-sufficient. Those were not my best moments.
The breaking point came when she was three. I realized I had no idea how she got to bed, what we did for her birthday, or even if she had eaten. I was faced with a devastating choice: either I end my life, or I change it. I couldn't let my daughter grow up in foster care like I did.
On the outside, I appeared "functional," but inside, the wounds were deep. I had physical and emotional scars and utilized self-harm to cope. I wouldn't let anyone get close to me. But at 26 years old, I finally walked into an A.A. meeting with my daughter in tow. All I remember they told me was: “Just keep coming.”
I wish I could have detoxed in a professional facility. If I had known then what I know now about the safety and support of a clinical environment, it would have been my first choice. But at the time, I was terrified of losing my child, my apartment, or my job.
I detoxed while working 60 hours a week as a manager. I pushed through on coffee, energy drinks, and daily meetings. Slowly, I started to let my guard down. Through the 12 steps and working with a Licensed Alcohol and Drug Counselor (LADC), I finally began to process my trauma. I discovered yoga and dance as creative outlets, and for the first time, I actually started to like life.
Sobriety has given me gifts I never thought possible. I am no longer moving my belongings in trash bags. I bought a house that no longer feels temporary—it’s a home that no one can take away from me. Most importantly, I love myself today. That is huge, because I used to be the person I hated most.
My daughter is now a grown woman on her own successful path. I have a partner who loves me, faults and all, and a "made" family of bonus kids and grandbabies. Professionally, I’ve gone from surviving to leading. After earning my Associate's degree, I am finishing my Bachelor’s in Human Services and just passed my LADC exam.
Today, I work at Avenues Recovery as a Client Engagement Specialist. I love being the person who meets you at the door—a face of comfort in an unfamiliar, scary place. I know exactly what it feels like to be on the other side of that door.
I plan to continue my education with a Master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. My goal is to help people navigate not just addiction, but all the aspects of life that feel broken. After 16 years of sobriety, I still serve on the same A.A. board I joined over a decade ago. I remain willing to learn and grow.
I don’t have any "before" pictures from those dark years, but I have plenty of "after" ones. Today, I’m not just surviving—I am a full participant in my own beautiful life.