I’m a Veteran and a father who spent years living with active addiction, lost everything, and found my way back through recovery. For two decades, I struggled with alcohol and substance use—trying to hold my family together while my own life felt increasingly out of control. Eventually, I lost my marriage, my children, and my home. I ended up a homeless Veteran, unsure how to move forward. The turning point came when a man from the VA connected me with Mental Health Services and helped me understand that I had a Substance Use Disorder. That diagnosis—and the acceptance that came with it—gave me the foundation to heal. Through the VA, therapy, 12-step programs, and peer support, I’ve spent the last 15+ years rebuilding my life. Today, I work to help others find the same hope, clarity, and strength to move forward. Whether you’re just starting your recovery journey or feeling stuck somewhere along the way, I'm here to walk alongside you.

Addiction took a toll not just on my health, but on how I saw myself. At my lowest, I felt like a shell of the person I used to be—ashamed, doubtful, and afraid I had lost my potential for good. Even after I started my recovery journey, I struggled with self-doubt. I wondered if I could be trusted again, if I could rebuild what I’d broken, or if others would ever see me differently. But what I learned is that confidence isn’t something you either have or don’t—it’s something you can rebuild. Little by little, I started making choices that aligned with the person I wanted to be, not the person I was in the midst of addiction. I celebrated small wins, acknowledged my growth, and started taking up space again in my own life. Confidence, for me, came from doing hard things, showing up anyway, and realizing I didn’t have to be perfect to be worthy. It’s still a practice—but one that’s now grounded in truth, not fear.

I’ve witnessed addiction from both the outside and the edges—close enough to feel the heartbreak, the fear, the waiting, and the deep desire for someone you love to come back to themselves. I’ve supported family members who struggled with drug use and eventually found recovery. I’ve walked beside a partner through alcoholism, holding space for both the chaos and the courage it took to get sober. Addiction doesn’t just affect the person using—it ripples out into every relationship, often in painful and complicated ways. Whether you're the one trying to quit or someone who’s watching someone you love disappear into a version of themselves that feels unrecognizable, the journey is full of hard questions. When do you step in? How do you hold boundaries with love? What does it look like to forgive—yourself or someone else? I’ve seen the beauty of recovery, and I’ve seen the setbacks. I know how isolating it can feel, and I also know you don’t have to face it alone. Whether you’re in the thick of it or healing from what’s already happened, this space is for you.

My journey through addiction and recovery has been full of challenges, growth, and transformation. I served in the military, where an injury led to being placed on prescription fentanyl for pain management. Over time, that dependence turned into a full-blown addiction. After leaving the military, I struggled to access prescriptions and eventually turned to street drugs. A DUI arrest became my wake-up call. I entered inpatient treatment for 90 days, followed by intensive outpatient therapy, and have been clean ever since. At one point, I also battled severe alcohol dependence that landed me in the ICU for detox. Now, after over 5 years of sobriety, I'm a proud mom of two, married for over 15 years, and passionate about supporting others in recovery. I attend 12-step meetings regularly, sponsor young women, and believe deeply in the power of therapy and connection. I'm here to share my story and help you find hope and strength in your own journey.

When I first started my recovery journey, my relationships with family were strained, especially with my kids and co-parents. The emotional toll of addiction had left scars, and trying to rebuild trust felt like an uphill battle. My decision to leave my job and focus on therapy, even after changing therapists multiple times, was one of the hardest choices I made, but it was necessary for my healing. Sobriety became my foundation on December 18, 2020, but learning to reconnect with my family and rebuild trust took time. I realized that recovery isn’t just about overcoming addiction; it’s about repairing relationships and being there emotionally for those who’ve been affected by my past. I now support others in similar situations, offering guidance to parents and family members who feel like the damage is too great to overcome. The key is patience—both with yourself and with those you love.

In my early 20s, I was working long, stressful hours in retail and started drinking heavily on the weekends just to cope. It wasn’t long before I began experiencing hallucinations and was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. Accepting that diagnosis was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. On top of that, alcohol had already been a big presence in my life—my mom is a recovering alcoholic, and many family relationships were strained because of drinking. After years of struggling, I made the decision to get sober in 2020 and committed to therapy and peer support groups. Every day, I work at maintaining my mental health and sobriety. I still deal with the effects of cerebral palsy and mental health challenges, but I've found that helping others, especially my family and peers in support groups, gives me purpose. I believe deeply that no matter how heavy life feels, there is always a way forward.

For 15 years, I lived in active addiction, using heroin and fentanyl from the time I was 14. Despite multiple attempts to get clean, I never truly committed to recovery. I’d use up resources and burn bridges, but nothing ever stuck. I didn’t know how to make recovery real, and I was just going through the motions of life. It wasn’t until I made the decision to actually want to live, to find meaning in my life, that everything started to change. Recovery became possible for me when I realized it wasn’t just about stopping my drug use, it was about finding a deeper purpose. In February 2022, I celebrated three years in recovery. I now live with intention and purpose, and every day I make the choice to stay sober because I believe in the life I’m building. I’ve found fulfillment in helping others as a Certified Peer Specialist, guiding them to see that recovery is not just about quitting, it’s about choosing to live with meaning. I truly believe that when you decide to embrace life fully, recovery becomes not only possible but worth everything.

I’ve been through a lot, and my journey has shaped me into someone who is passionate about helping others. After leaving my first marriage, I found myself battling addiction to opiates. I knew I needed to make a change, so I got sober in 2017, but life wasn’t easy after that. I remarried and ended up in another toxic relationship that was emotionally abusive. I struggled deeply with depression and anxiety, which I only realized through therapy. I decided I couldn’t continue living that way, so I made the hard choice to leave and get sober for good. It wasn’t an easy path, but through the process, I’ve reclaimed my life and learned so much about myself. I now co-run a sober women’s group with over 30,000 members across the world, and I’m here to offer a nonjudgmental, compassionate ear to anyone struggling with similar challenges.

I used to drink for all the reasons that felt justifiable at the time—social anxiety, not feeling comfortable in my body, not being out, and trying to fit into spaces where alcohol felt like the ticket in. At first, it was weekend binge drinking. Then blacking out became so normal, it stopped scaring me. But deep down, I knew something needed to change. After a hard conversation with my husband, I decided to quit. I joined an online sobriety community and, like a true overachiever with ADHD, dove headfirst into podcasts and self-help books. I did relapse three months in, thinking maybe I could “moderate”—spoiler alert: I couldn’t. But that stumble gave me clarity. I’ve now been sober for over a year, with nine strong months of continuous sobriety, and I host support groups including a weekly LGBTQIA+ meeting I started from scratch. I know firsthand how deeply alcohol is woven into our community spaces, and I want to be a real, judgment-free voice for anyone trying to rewrite that narrative. If you’re sober-curious, starting fresh, or just need someone who gets it, I’m here for you.

I never imagined myself getting sober. Honestly, I had already planned out my death—I didn’t think there was any hope left. After twelve years of nonstop partying, I found myself at 29, sick and tired of being sick and tired. I wasn’t trying to get sober, not really—but something shifted. I picked up the phone and asked for help. That one small moment cracked the door open, and it saved my life. Since then, recovery has become the foundation of everything I do. It hasn’t always been easy—my journey has been shaped by trauma, mental health struggles, chronic illness, and growing up in a family deeply impacted by addiction. I understand that recovery isn’t a straight line or a one-size-fits-all process. Now, I help others find their own way through it. Whether it's meeting someone where they are, supporting someone in a violent relationship to take their first steps toward safety, or walking alongside someone questioning whether they’re ready—I've been there. I offer honest, compassionate support to anyone wondering if it’s time for a change. Sometimes, all it takes is one small sliver of hope. I’d love to help you find yours.

As a recently remarried mother of three teens, two of whom are neurodivergent, I’ve experienced my share of challenges, especially after the loss of my children’s father to cancer. Navigating grief alongside parenting has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it’s also been an opportunity for immense growth. Before this chapter, I spent years as a single parent, raising my children on my own. During that time, I faced significant challenges, including managing anger issues with one of my children. Seeking support through doctors and groups was crucial in helping me address these issues. I’m also a survivor of domestic violence, and though I carry mild PTSD, I’ve worked hard to heal and grow. Over the years, I’ve become a life coach, guiding others through their own life transitions, especially those who are navigating grief, single parenting, or coming out of toxic relationships. I want to offer my experience to others, particularly mothers of toddlers and pre-teens, those experiencing the challenges of homebirthing, and survivors of domestic violence who need support in moving forward.

I started drinking when I was 15, and by the time I was 21, my alcoholism had taken full control of my life. I experimented with many other substances, including marijuana, cocaine, and opioids, which seemed to numb my anxiety and depression. I didn’t realize at the time that the substances were just a temporary escape from the pain. By the time I was 24, I had lost everything—my family’s trust, my friends, and any sense of stability. That was when I knew something had to change. Getting clean wasn’t easy, but I did it all at once, eliminating every substance from my life, including the opioids that had such a hold on me. The road to recovery was tough, but with the support of my family, a 12-step program, and a lot of hard work, I found my way. Now, over 15 years later, I’m proud to say that I’m clean and sober. I’m even working on kicking my final addiction—tobacco—and I’m using patches and lozenges to help me through it. Recovery isn’t just about quitting substances; it’s about rebuilding a life. It’s about finding new ways to deal with anxiety, depression, and the challenges that led me to seek relief in the first place. I know it can be done, and I want to be there for anyone who needs support on their journey.

I’m someone who has walked the tough path of recovery, dealing with challenges related to eating disorders (OSFED with anorexic and AFRID tendencies), addiction (including cocaine, Xanax, and marijuana), and mental health struggles like depression, anxiety, PTSD, and OCD. I’ve spent the last two years in recovery, learning how to build a healthier relationship with myself and others. Along the way, I also navigated emotional and verbal abuse, which made my journey even more complex. My goal now is to help others who are facing similar battles, whether it's with eating disorders, addiction, or difficult relationships. I’m here to offer support, share my story, and remind you that recovery is possible—even when it feels impossible.

I used marijuana almost daily for over a decade, mostly to cope with chronic pain from my disability. It started when I was 20, and for a while, it felt like the only thing that helped me function—but it slowly became something I couldn’t imagine living without. The turning point came when my lungs started bleeding, and I needed surgery to address the source of the pain. That experience forced me to face the bigger picture: the weed wasn’t helping anymore—it was hurting me. Getting sober wasn’t just about quitting; it was about learning how to live without the thing I thought was saving me. The first few months were brutal. My body hurt, my mind was foggy, and emotionally, I was raw. But I leaned on my support system, therapy, and my sheer stubbornness. Now, over a year into sobriety, I’ve learned how to manage pain and emotions without turning to weed. Recovery has helped me reconnect with joy, presence, and self-respect. I know how overwhelming it can feel to even imagine a sober life, especially with physical limitations, but I’ve been there—and I’d love to be here for you as you take your next steps.

When my daughters were young, my husband went to rehab to get sober. Overnight, I became a single parent. Not because I wanted to, but because it was what our family needed to survive. I had to hold it all together while he worked to save his own life. That season of life was lonely, overwhelming, and filled with hard truths. There were moments I felt resentful, moments I was proud, and many where I simply had to keep going without knowing what came next. I juggled preschool drop-offs, tears in the shower, and answering my daughters’ questions without breaking down. But I also found strength I didn’t know I had. I kept showing up. And through all of it, I gained perspective not just as a partner, but as a woman and mother. Today, my husband is in long-term recovery, and I’m here to support anyone who’s walking that same tightrope. You’re not weak for struggling, you're strong for staying.

At 34, I was rushed to the hospital with pancreatitis from years of alcohol abuse—my organs were shutting down. That was my breaking point. I walked out of the ICU on June 1, 2012, and decided I wasn’t going to die like that. I had seven kids who needed me, and I was tired of the pain I had carried since my teenage years, numbing it with alcohol, cocaine, and marijuana. With no support system, I had to rebuild my life from the ground up—new friends, new mindset, new habits. I faced my past head-on, including fighting to expunge charges, leaving a 15-year abusive marriage, and doing the hard emotional work of healing childhood trauma. I also moved to Miami to escape an unhealthy environment and reunited with my daughter who had been in the foster care system. Recovery wasn’t just about quitting substances—it was about learning how to live and feel again. Today, I’m a certified peer specialist and social work student with a 4.0 GPA, and I use my experiences to support others through addiction, trauma, and transformation.

There was a time when I felt completely broken. I lost my father, and the grief swallowed me. I turned to meth to quiet the pain, then spiraled into a world of addiction, using whatever I could find: Methanphetime, Adderall, weight loss pills, cocaine. Things got worse when I married my dealer and spent years in an abusive relationship. I went through homelessness, brushes with the law, and the kind of trauma that leaves you unsure who you even are anymore. But then I found out I was pregnant. That moment snapped something awake in me; I quit cold turkey and never used again. It wasn’t easy. Recovery wasn’t just about getting sober; it was about clawing my way back to myself. I fought for my peace, leaned into therapy, found support, and eventually built a life I never thought possible. Today, I’ve been clean since 2001. I’m a Peer Support Specialist helping others with complex PTSD, mental health, and addiction. I use what I’ve lived through to walk alongside others in their darkest moments. I know what it’s like to feel lost—and I also know the way out.

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.