I’ve been through a lot in my life—substance use, legal troubles, and homelessness—before experiencing a full recovery and spiritual awakening. My journey taught me the value of self-reflection, the importance of healthy relationships, and the power of faith. After years of working in addiction treatment, I’ve learned how crucial it is to understand attachment styles, healthy communication, and self-love. For years, I struggled in toxic relationships, but in my early 30s, I began learning about codependency and attachment styles, which has transformed the way I relate to others. My close relationship with God has been central to my healing, and I believe that the love I receive from Him forms the foundation for building healthy, fulfilling relationships. I truly believe that healing and growth are possible for everyone, no matter their past. I’m here to share my experiences, tools, and encouragement to help others walk their own path to recovery and healthy relationships.

For the ones carrying the unspoken weight of being “the first” or “the only” on their team. When you’re the one who stands out because of your identity, suddenly everything you do gets magnified. Your cultural expressions get misread as negative, you’re held to tighter deadlines, or more work lands on your plate than on your peers’. And when you try to speak up, leadership dismisses your concerns as “too sensitive.” Do you ever feel like you’re constantly proving yourself while being treated differently anyway? That no matter how much you give, it’s never seen the same way as others on your team? If you’re exhausted from navigating a workplace that feels more toxic than inclusive, let’s talk. I know how it feels to be labeled instead of listened to. Here, you don’t have to shrink, code-switch, or over-explain—you get to be fully seen and heard.

I’ve been through the kind of storm most people don’t walk out of: a high-conflict breakup, postpartum health crises, legal abandonment, and total financial collapse. I had to learn—fast—how to navigate the court system, file restraining orders, fight for custody, and apply for benefits… all while holding a baby in one arm and paperwork in the other. Now I use what I’ve learned to help others who feel lost, afraid, or overwhelmed by the system. I speak your language, I know the timelines, and I won’t sugar-coat what it takes—but I will help you map a way forward. You’re not broken. You’re just buried. Let’s dig you out.

I spent two years of my young adulthood in and out of psychiatric hospitals, sometimes voluntarily, sometimes not. During that time, I felt swallowed by depression, anxiety, and the aftermath of painful relationships that left me unsure if I’d ever feel free again. I was constantly cycling through crisis, often misunderstood, and sometimes silenced in the very systems that were supposed to help. Then I discovered Psychiatric Advanced Directives (PADs), and everything started to shift. I’ve used PADs to express my wishes, protect my rights, and bring my care team—my psychologist, naturopath, even legal support—into alignment. I’ve rewritten my PAD more times than I can count, especially after triggering experiences, because I’ve learned how powerful it is to state clearly what I need before a crisis hits. Creating a PAD has helped me not only stay safe but also stay connected to who I am, even in my hardest moments. Now, I want to help others do the same. If you’re navigating mental health challenges and want to build a plan that supports the practical imagination of frameworking for your own #ThisAbility, I’d love to walk you through what PADs are and how they can support your freedom, safety, and care.

When I got out of prison after a year and a half, I had nothing. I lost my home, my career, and my professional license. I was released on an ankle monitor and didn’t even have a place to go. I had to start completely over with no safety net, no roadmap, and no idea what was next. It was terrifying. I went from having stability to sleeping wherever I could and trying to figure out how to make something of myself again. But I didn’t give up. I found my way step by step. I discovered a new career path. I rebuilt my life from scratch. And now, over 12 years later, I’ve created something solid and I want to help others do the same.

My struggles with drugs started when I was just a teenager. Over the years, I used a variety of substances, and despite my family’s efforts to help me—sending me to treatment programs—things got worse. When I became pregnant, something shifted in me, and I found the strength to get clean. I stayed sober for 20 years while raising my three kids, but after a few deeply painful events, I spiraled into depression. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and during that time, I relapsed hard—cocaine, meth, heroin—anything I could get. What changed everything was meeting the man who would become my husband. He was also struggling with addiction, and together, we decided to fight for our recovery. We leaned on each other, showed up for one another, and started rebuilding our lives. Today, we’re both clean, happily married, and I offer support to others who are walking through similar pain and hope.

Becoming a single mom wasn’t something I planned, and nothing really prepares you for the weight of it—especially when you’re also fighting for custody. For four years, I was in and out of court, constantly trying to keep it together for my daughter while dealing with the stress and uncertainty of not knowing what would happen next. At the same time, I had just moved to a new city where I didn’t know anyone, and everything felt unfamiliar. I had to rebuild my life from the ground up, without a support system close by. It was hard, really hard. I leaned on therapy, phone calls with family, and my faith to get through it. Some days I was just surviving. But over time, things shifted. I was granted full custody, and my daughter and I started counseling together. I slowly started making connections and building community in my new city. I’ve learned how to be both soft and strong, how to listen to myself and to my child, and how to ask for help without shame.

Hi, I’m Maia. I’ve been sober for over two years, but my journey here hasn’t been easy. I started drinking when I was 15, and it quickly took over my life. I hung out with the wrong crowd, stole liquor to keep up my habit, and ended up with alcohol poisoning more than once. My life got even darker when I was sex trafficked—an experience that introduced me to meth and fentanyl. It was a nightmare I thought I’d never escape. But eventually, I reached out for help. I started attending NA and AA meetings, got a sponsor, and built a solid support system. I’m currently on probation, which keeps me grounded and focused, and I’m working toward my harm reduction certificate to help others in recovery. I also decided to go back to college as an adult, which has been a huge step in rebuilding my life and believing in my future again. I know how hard it is to let go of alcohol, especially when it feels like the only way to cope—but I also know what it feels like to reclaim your life. I’m here for anyone who’s trying to do the same.

I started using drugs when I was just 11 years old. For the next 25 years, addiction shaped my life—it brought trauma, rejection, and the heartbreaking loss of relationships, especially with my children. When my mom passed away, everything hit me like a tidal wave. I was estranged from my kids, at rock bottom, and felt completely alone. That’s when I entered a faith-based treatment program and stayed for a full year. It wasn’t easy, but that year gave me the foundation I needed. I’ve now been sober since August of 2017.

In 2019, I married my soulmate, a man who, just a few months later, was incarcerated. I quickly realized that love doesn’t stop because of distance or barriers. It’s easy for others to tell you to "move on" or “it’s too hard,” but when you’ve chosen someone with your whole heart, you stand by them. Loving my husband while he’s incarcerated has taught me so much about patience, communication, and unconditional support. The hardest part isn’t just missing them physically—it’s managing the emotional toll it takes when you can’t be there in person to provide comfort during difficult times. I’ve had to learn how to navigate love through letters, phone calls, and occasional visits. It’s a different kind of relationship, one that requires vulnerability, a lot of faith, and a deep belief in the connection you share. Despite the separation, I’ve found ways to grow together spiritually and emotionally, and I’ve also learned how to manage the loneliness and challenges that come with it. For anyone facing the same situation, I’d love to offer a safe space to share, support, and find strength together.

I hit my rock bottom in 2019 after years of trying to keep it all together. I was prescribed a dangerous mix of medications and ended up in psychosis for two months. During that time, I almost lost custody of my kids, and it shook me to my core. I had already been through so much—multiple rehabs, the grief of losing my sister to alcohol addiction and my brother to heroin and crack, and the trauma of an abusive relationship. But nothing compared to the fear of losing my children. Sobriety wasn’t just about quitting drinking for me—it was about getting my sanity back and learning how to live without chaos. I went through court, got my kids back, and slowly began putting the pieces of my life together. I finished my degree, became a certified recovery coach and peer specialist, and started dreaming about ways to help other families in crisis. I’ve walked through hell and somehow came out softer, stronger, and ready to help others do the same.

When I became a mom, I had big ideas about what family life would look like. But life had other plans. I stayed in a relationship much longer than I should have, believing that keeping the family together was the best thing for my kids. Deep down I knew something was wrong, but I compartmentalized it, telling myself it would be worse if I left. We eventually survived domestic violence, family court, and involvement with the Department of Children and Families. Leaving was just the beginning; I had to grieve the loss of the partnership I had fought so hard for, while also carrying guilt and shame for not getting my kids out sooner. It took time to rebuild trust in myself, focus on my children's healing, and create a new kind of family where we could truly thrive. Today, my kids and I are stronger, more honest, and more connected because of everything we overcame together. I would love to be a support for anyone navigating parenting after leaving a difficult situation.

I started having suicidal thoughts as early as age six. For most of my life, I didn’t know how to ask for help or believe I deserved it. I lived with chemical imbalances and deep depression, which led to multiple suicide attempts and psychiatric hospitalizations. I moved frequently growing up, which made it hard to build lasting relationships. Every few years, I had to reset my world (new home, new school, new people) and that made me feel even more alone. For a long time, I just focused on surviving each day. But in my late 30s, during the pandemic, something shifted. I finally had time to reflect and realized I couldn’t keep living the same cycle. I started building a care team with intention, like finding a therapist and psychiatrist who actually listened and worked with me. For the first time, the medication plan I was on felt like it was doing what it was supposed to. That changed everything. I'm still here because I found support that made it possible to stay. If you're in a dark place right now, I get it, and I'm here to talk with you through it.

I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve ruined your life and there’s no way back. For years, alcohol was my constant companion. Half a bottle of whiskey a day was normal, and I didn’t care about the consequences. Then one bad decision led to another: DUIs, legal trouble, and eventually, a criminal record. I didn’t just lose my freedom, I lost my sense of self. I ended up incarcerated for missing a court date, and that was my turning point. I realized that alcohol had controlled my life for so long that I couldn’t even remember who I was without it. The shame from my past actions felt suffocating. I tried to bury it, but it kept resurfacing. I relapsed after a long period of sobriety, and that’s when I found myself in a psych ward, facing my demons head-on. But that rock bottom became my foundation for rebuilding. Through AA, inpatient rehab, therapy, and a deep commitment to change, I started putting my life back together piece by piece. Sobriety didn’t just mean stopping drinking—it meant choosing a new path, facing my past, and slowly regaining trust in myself. Yes, I still carry the weight of my criminal record, but I’ve learned that my mistakes don’t define my future. If you feel like your past is a chain holding you back, I’ve been there. And I’m here to tell you: starting over is possible.

I’m a woman in long-term recovery who understands the depths of addiction and the incredible strength it takes to rebuild your life. My journey began with alcohol in my teens, and over the years, it spiraled into decades of substance use, which cost me jobs, homes, and nearly my hope. At 39, after losing so much, I decided to seek help with the support of the justice system, and I’ve never looked back. As a single mother, I faced the heart-wrenching trauma of my child’s abuse, but through therapy and healing, we both found a path forward. I've also navigated the challenges of leaving a controlling marriage and discovering the strength that comes with independence. Today, I’m here to share my story and remind you that recovery is possible, and no one has to walk this journey alone. Along the way, I’ve survived the loss of both parents, supported my child through difficult times, and witnessed the miracle of my granddaughter defying the odds after being told she wouldn’t survive. I am passionate about helping others find the hope, strength, and support they need to heal.