My spiral into addiction started well before I ever used drugs. From a young age, I was a perfectionist — always striving to do better, always critical of myself when I didn’t measure up. I wanted to make others happy, to keep the peace in a tense household.
But you can’t control other people’s actions, especially as a child. When I couldn’t keep the peace, I turned inward. I developed anorexia and started cutting. These behaviors gave me a sense of control, a way to feel something.
When my parents divorced, my little sister and I both struggled. I started collecting diagnoses: anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder. And though my mom tried her best to help, things didn’t get better.
Addiction ran in my family, and I swore it wouldn’t be me. But the first time I drank, it felt like the answer I’d been searching for. That deep, unexplainable hurt inside me seemed to quiet. From alcohol, I moved to marijuana and prescription stimulants. Then a friend introduced me to heroin and crack, and suddenly nothing else mattered.
Drugs silenced my hunger and numbed my pain. I abandoned real friendships for transactional relationships built only around survival.
Even as my addiction deepened, I excelled academically. I graduated high school with a full scholarship to Michigan State University, where I planned to study veterinary medicine. I was on the equestrian team and showed horses with my grandfather, who passed away two years ago.
I truly believe that without my family and my connection with my horse, I might have disappeared into the streets of Detroit before I turned 18. Still, instead of preparing for college, I spent time in psych wards. I overdosed, attempted suicide, and found myself further pulled into addiction.
I tried treatment several times. At first, I found relationships instead of recovery. Other times, I left with hope that never followed me into the real world because I never truly addressed my mental health and trauma.
By the time I was arrested for possession of crack, fentanyl, and retail fraud, my family had given me an ultimatum: go to rehab, or live on the streets.
On June 1, 2016, I entered a long-term program near Grand Rapids. Unlike my past 30-day programs, this time I stayed for 72 days. At first, I planned how to lie and get away with using. But as I watched others change, graduate, and find joy in sobriety, I started to believe recovery could be real for me too.
The staff shared their stories. The program forced me to confront my trauma and be brutally honest. Slowly, I found peace.
Instead of going home, I chose sober living. For the first time in years, I felt like I belonged somewhere. The void inside me began to close. Drugs lost their hold on me.
Life didn’t suddenly get easy. I lost friends to overdoses and suicide. I lost my horse, my grandpa, and my dog — back to back. But I leaned on my recovery support instead of running.
I worked to rebuild trust with my family and surrounded myself with supportive, sober friends.
Through recovery, I met my husband. Today we have a beautiful son, two dogs, a tortoise, and a horse. It’s been nearly a decade since I entered recovery, and I wouldn’t trade the serenity I’ve found for anything.
I’ve been with Avenues Recovery since we opened. I graduated with a bachelor’s in psychology, earned my CADAC II, and I’ll complete my MSW next summer.
What helps me stay sober is being intentional with my time:
Every day, I remind myself: “You can’t keep dancing with the devil and ask why you’re still in hell.”
Recovery isn’t about never facing pain — it’s about choosing to live, one day at a time.
Julia’s story is proof that recovery is possible. If you or a loved one is struggling, reach out to Avenues Recovery today to start your own journey.