There was a time when I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. Her eyes were tired, not just from sleepless nights, but from years of carrying pain she never asked for — pain she never had the tools to heal.

My story begins with untreated mental health. I lived with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember, but I was taught to “push through,” to “be strong.” The problem was, I didn’t feel strong — I felt invisible. I felt broken. I felt alone.

And then, I entered into a relationship that slowly chipped away at what little sense of self I had left. It started small: control disguised as concern, isolation disguised as love. Before long, I was buried in domestic abuse — emotionally, mentally, and physically — and I truly lost myself. I was just surviving, not living.

Without support from family, I turned inward, and eventually, I turned to substances. At first, it felt like relief. Numb was better than feeling everything. But what started as an escape quickly became a prison. Addiction took hold of me in ways I never imagined possible. I was no longer the driver of my own life — I was a passenger in a downward spiral.

I wasn’t enabled. No one coddled me. No one made it easy. And in the end, that’s what saved me.

It wasn’t until I looked into the eyes of my children that I realized I had a reason to fight. I didn’t want them to grow up wondering why their mother couldn't be present. I didn’t want to be a memory. I wanted to be their future.

They became my pathway to recovery. Every small step I took was for them — but as I walked further into healing, I realized I was also doing it for me. For the woman who had been silenced for too long. For the version of me who deserved to feel peace, stability, and joy.

Recovery wasn’t easy. Some days felt impossible. There were moments where the weight of it all felt too heavy — but I kept going. And every day, I make my children proud by simply being here, being present, being whole.

Now, I stand strong in who I am. I know my values. I live by them. I believe that true recovery starts with finding stability in yourself first. We cannot pour from an empty cup. We cannot face addiction without a strong foundation in who we are and what we stand for.

Today, I create spaces where people can be open and honest, without shame. Vulnerability is not weakness — it’s the birthplace of transformation. I believe in being truthful, even when the truth is hard. Because when we share the truth, we give others permission to do the same.

I don’t sugarcoat the journey. Some days will feel like hell. Some days you’ll want to give up. But I promise you — every hard day is worth it. Every tear you cry is watering the soil where your strength is growing. You are not alone. You never were.

To anyone reading this: I see you. I believe in you. And I want you to know — recovery isn’t just possible. It’s real. And it’s waiting for you.