I don’t talk about this part of my story much.
Maybe because the scars still burn.
Maybe because it was so dark, I didn’t think I’d make it back to the light.
Maybe because I still remember what it felt like to want to die more than I wanted to breathe—
Not because I didn’t love my children,
But because being ripped from them left me already dead.
The girl on the left?
She wasn’t living—she was barely existing.
I was drowning in a grief that clawed at my ribs,
haunted by the sound of my children’s voices
in dreams that turned into nightmares.
And when I woke up, I’d pray I hadn’t.
That girl knew the ache of skin that hadn’t felt her babies in months.
That girl ran to a needle because she couldn’t find arms strong enough to hold her pain.
That girl laid on the floor for days,
hearing demons whisper that no one was coming.
And she almost believed them.
But then came the whisper.
The one no darkness could drown out.
The One that said:
“You are not done yet. Get up.”
And five years ago 6-22-2020…
With nothing left but a thread of hope and a scream too tired to even make noise,
I put the needle down.
I didn’t just quit drugs—
I declared war on every lie that told me I was unworthy of my children.
Unworthy of life.
Unworthy of love.
Unworthy of redemption.
Unworthy of God’s grace and mercy.
And I wasn’t alone.
The man I was using with?
He didn’t just get clean too—
He stood next to me and said, “If we’re going to make it, it’ll be side by side, for them.”
He didn’t run.
He fought.
And we’ve been fighting ever since—for our children, for our home, for our peace.
Five years clean.
From hell to healing.
From grave to glory.
From addict to advocate.
From broken mother to the fiercest lioness you’ll ever meet.
To anyone out there still stuck in that place where light can’t reach you yet—
I see you.
I was you.
But this photo on the right?
She is living proof that resurrection is possible.
That even ashes can turn to fire again.
And I’ll say this loud:
I am proud of the woman I am today. Because she had to die a thousand times to become her
If my words spoke to your heart, you can help support our journey:
Letters From the Edge 