I grew up in a military household where life was built on discipline, structure, and strict rules. On the outside, it might have seemed like strength and order, but behind closed doors, things were very different. Verbal abuse was common, emotions were pushed aside, and alcohol wasn’t just accepted—it was praised. Drinking was treated like a badge of honor in my home, and I was handed alcohol at a very early age. That’s where it all began.

Along with that environment, I struggled with ADHD. My brain never stopped racing, and without the right support, I often felt restless, misunderstood, and different from everyone else. I didn’t know how to manage it, so when I found alcohol and later cocaine, I thought I had finally discovered a solution. Alcohol dulled the chaos inside me, and cocaine gave me a false sense of focus, control, and confidence.

But even before addiction fully took hold, I was already carrying wounds. As a child, I was bullied for my last name and my weight. Those taunts dug deep into my self-esteem, shaping the way I saw myself. That pain fueled another battle—an eating disorder. And in many ways, overcoming my eating disorder was even harder than overcoming my substance addiction. Substances numbed me, but the eating disorder distorted every part of how I viewed myself, my body, and my worth. It took years to unlearn the lies it planted in me.

For a while, cocaine felt like it helped—it suppressed my appetite, gave me energy, and made me feel like I finally fit in. But that “solution” quickly turned into a prison. Addiction doesn’t stay manageable for long. Soon, alcohol became my main dependency, and my life revolved around drinking. I couldn’t go a day without it.

Eventually, I spiraled so far down that I attempted suicide. I didn’t think my life mattered. Rehab facilities came and went—I tried multiple times to get sober, but nothing stuck. When I could no longer afford cocaine, I turned to meth. For 15 years, I lived in active addiction. My life became a cycle of self-destruction, and with it came homelessness, criminal activity, and the loss of trust from everyone who loved me.

I had been told I would never have children, and that belief only fueled my hopelessness. I thought: If I’ll never be a mom, if there’s no one who will ever depend on me, then why should I care what happens to me? That thought became my excuse to keep using, to keep spiraling.

But life had a different plan for me. At 30 years old, I found out I was pregnant.

That moment changed everything. Suddenly, it wasn’t just me anymore. The excuses I had clung to for so long didn’t matter. I had a life growing inside me—my son, Maddox. And in that instant, I chose sobriety. I never looked back.

Recovery wasn’t easy. It meant facing the wreckage I left behind—the relationships I had broken, the pain I had caused my family, the trust I had destroyed. It meant fighting my eating disorder head-on and learning to see myself with compassion instead of hatred. It meant rebuilding not just my life, but my identity.

But slowly, piece by piece, I rebuilt.

After Maddox was born, I dedicated myself to creating a new future—for him, and for me. I went back to school and earned my Associate’s degree in Human Services Technology with a concentration in Addiction and Recovery. I became a certified peer support specialist, and today I am working toward becoming a Certified Alcohol and Drug Counselor.

Now, I am proud to say I work in the field I love. Every day, I get to use my story to help others find their way to recovery. I get to remind people that no matter how far they’ve fallen, they can still get back up.

Today, I live a life I once thought was impossible. I have regained most of my family’s trust. I am a respected member of my community. I am raising my son in a home filled with love and stability. And soon, I will own my first house—something I never dreamed could happen. Addiction once took everything from me, but now I am building something real and lasting, a safe place for my son and me to continue growing.

Most importantly, I am a mother—and a role model—for Maddox. He is the reason I chose life, the reason I got sober, and the reason I fight every day to be better. He saved me before he ever took his first breath.

Looking back, I see years of pain, chaos, and destruction—but I also see resilience, redemption, and the power of change. Addiction, eating disorders, homelessness, and criminal activity are part of my past, but they do not define me anymore. Today, I am defined by my strength, my recovery, and my love for my son.

If you are reading this and struggling, I want you to know: you are not alone. You may feel hopeless, broken, or too far gone—but you’re not. If I could turn my life around after 15 years of addiction and years of battling an eating disorder, so can you.

Recovery is possible. Healing is possible. Happiness is possible.

I found mine. And I promise—you can, too.