January 26 2026

As of midnight, I now have five full years without alcohol or drugs in my body.
Five years since my first AA meeting.
Five years since the thing that finally flipped my switch - my DUI.

I never thought I would make it here.

Five years ago, I was stuck in a cycle that honestly felt impossible to escape. I wanted to forget everything all the time. I was coming out of a toxic relationship. I didn’t believe in myself. I didn’t believe in God. I thought I was a piece of shit. I used my body to get attention from men because I didn’t know how else to feel wanted or loved. I couldn’t stay sober for more than a couple hours without getting the shakes. I wasn’t talking to my family, or when I did, I snapped at them anytime my drinking was brought up. I was defensive, angry, and broken.

Then I got my DUI.

I was terrified. I was alone. I had burned so many bridges. The cop who arrested me told me that if I could get someone to get me, I wouldn’t have to go to the drunk tank. It was the middle of the night. I didn’t have family nearby. I had pushed so many people away. I started going through my phone, calling name after name, until one friend finally answered. She came to get me — and what did I do when I got into her car?

I asked her to drive me back to my car so I could get the bottle of liquor I had hidden in the front seat… in front of the cops.

That’s how sick I was.

Thankfully, she was a real friend and told me no.

When I got home, I had this internal battle: I can fix this. I don’t need help. I can do this on my own. But the moment I let my brain stop fighting… I realized what I actually needed.

I needed my mom.

I called her. I called a few friends. Every single one of them told me the same thing: try AA.

One of the best things anyone ever said to me was, “Just go to a meeting and see how you feel. If you don’t like it, we’ll figure something else out.”
That cracked something open. Okay… this is doable…. It’s just an option.

Turns out I didn't like it… I loved it.

I found a family. I found people from All Walks Of Life who knew exactly how I felt. They helped me through my legal stuff. They helped me with dating. They helped me learn how to be a human again. I found a group of women who showed me how to love myself — not in a fake, surface-level way, but in a real, grounded, you deserve to exist way. I wish I could name them, but you know… AA and all lol.

They always say to find a sponsor who's living a life you want. I found her. She is strong, empowered, kind, and honest. She was the first person who ever got through to me. She would start hard conversations by telling me how much she loved me — and that’s why she had to tell me the truth. I had never felt love like that from another adult before. It changed me. It gave me a blueprint for how to love other women now who are walking the same path I did.

That first year also taught me something important: I really had been acting like a piece of shit — and I had been a victim about it. No one had to tell me. The steps brought it out when I was ready. They showed me my defects… and then showed me how to work through them. How to call myself out without destroying myself. How to grow.

And then there was God.

I could write forever about the things that happened that first year — the moments, the timing, the things that can’t be explained. One of the biggest was Hanging Lake in Colorado. I had wanted to hike it for nearly a decade, but I kept putting it off because I was waiting for a boy to take me (ugh). He never followed through — so when I decided to do something to celebrate my sobriety, I knew that was where I had to go.

On that hike, I prayed. I asked God not just to help me make it to the top, but to help me move forward. I didn’t want to bring my past relationships, my trauma, my addiction, or my shame with me. I wanted to leave it behind.

So I did.

I left my baggage on that mountain. I made it to the top. I decided right there to let God back into my life.

A few days later, a mudslide wiped out the trail. Along with all of the baggage I left from my past life. 

That was not a coincidence.

What people don’t always talk about is that getting sober didn’t magically make everything easy. In some ways, it got harder. My mental health was at its worst after I stopped drinking. There were nights I didn’t know how I was going to keep going. I felt trapped inside my own head. I couldn’t see a way out.

But somewhere deep down, I had this quiet, stubborn feeling that if I just kept pushing, it would get better than I could ever imagine. I wasn’t imagining much — but I believed I was meant to have a life that felt safe, a life where I wasn’t being abused, a life where people loved and respected me.

So I pushed.

I pushed when I didn’t want to get out of bed.
When I couldn’t eat.
When I couldn’t shower.
When I self-isolated.
When a whole day felt like too much, I broke it down into hours.

Those hours turned into days.
Days turned into weeks.
And slowly, I started to feel better.

I went to therapy.
I went to church.
I told people how I was really feeling.
More people started telling me they loved me.

I started laughing again.

I was becoming… me.

Now here I am, at the beginning of year five. I moved back to Ohio. I work in the recovery field. I started Velvet Rabbit. I’m back in school. I quit my job to go all-in on building something that helps people, rather than destroying myself. Five years ago, I was obsessed with money, men, and numbing my pain. Today, I’m obsessed with healing, community, and purpose.

This... this is the beginning of that life that I was imagining 5 years ago. The one I would dream of when I get out of bed. And this isnt even the best part! I can see it so clearly now, the life I’m meant to live. I’m betting on myself, and it's working! 

And none of this happened all at once.

I didn’t wake up one day five years ago as this version of myself.

I built her one day at a time.

Some days all I did was not drink.
Some days all I did was go to a meeting.
Some days all I did was cry, pray, or just survive.

But those days stacked.
And slowly, a new life formed.

People tell me now they can’t even imagine me angry. That still makes me smile — because I used to live in anger. But anger was just pain that didn’t feel safe to be felt yet.

I didn’t just get sober.
I came home to myself.

Five years. 🖤