I am a proud woman in long-term recovery, and those words mean everything to me. Recovery has given me things I never imagined peace, purpose, and a life I’m truly grateful to live.

I first entered treatment in 1995 as a teenage runaway. By the time I turned 18, I had already been in and out of rehab multiple times. My family had moved from Queens, New York, to Salt Lake City, Utah, and adjusting was hard. I found comfort among other misfits who didn’t quite fit in. By fourteen, I was experimenting with drugs and alcohol. By fifteen, I was a runaway, learning what it meant to survive on the streets.

By nineteen, I was a full-blown alcoholic. Each substance became another love affair: ecstasy, cocaine, ketamine and eventually meth and bath salts. For over ten years, I was a chronic relapser. I got married and had two beautiful daughters. For a time, I wanted to be better, but I never truly surrendered or worked a program so the disease was just waiting. When it returned, it took everything.

I went from being a loving mother  and wife to someone who only cared about her next fix. I cycled through jails, treatment centers, and homelessness. My kids would beg me to come home or at least stay the night, but I’d always  slip away into the darkness. I found it was  easier to play the victim than to face the truth: I was my own problem.

I’ve learned that for me, every time I drink, I eventually end up back on the hard stuff and that road always leads to the same place: jail and homelessness. I had to accept that recovery meant giving up alcohol too, even when it felt impossible. That realization changed everything.

In July of 2017. I was homeless, broken, and exhausted. One last walk led me to my mom’s doorstep, where I detoxed for the last time on her couch while my daughters, just seven and nine, sat with me and loved me anyway. Then came the knock at the door of the warrant squad. My youngest answered with pride, “Mommy, she’s here!”

Being arrested in front of my children broke me in a way nothing else ever had. For the first time in my life, I was truly done. In that jail cell, I found a moment of clarity and a deep desire to change not just to stop using, but to learn how to live differently. I finally stopped blaming the world and began taking responsibility for my choices. I stopped being the victim and took my life back.  I was delivered from the obsession that had controlled my life for over twenty years.

Since that day, I haven’t picked up a drink or a drug. I’ve completed treatment and probation, earned back full custody of my children, and regained the trust of my family. I’ve worked hard to rebuild my life one choice at a time getting my driver’s license back, becoming employable, and proving through my actions that I can be trusted again. My kids depend on me, and so do my employers. That’s a kind of freedom I never thought I’d know.

My oldest is in college now, and another is preparing to go next year. They both know I’ll show up today. I’m newly married, and my home is filled with peace. I’ve learned that being dependable, honest, and present is one of the greatest gifts recovery gives us.

Today I have the privilege of helping others find the same freedom I’ve found. I’ve learned that no matter where we start, healing begins with willingness.

I’m not ashamed of who I was because those experiences made me who I am today a strong, independent woman in long-term recovery.

I am living proof that when you surrender completely, freedom follows. If you’re struggling, please know this: redemption is possible. There is a beautiful life waiting for you on the other side of surrender. You are not alone.

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