My life has been filled with challenges. Growing up, I faced a difficult home environment—my father was a functioning alcoholic, and my stepmother’s struggles with addiction created chaos. I took on responsibilities far beyond my years, enduring continuous emotional abuse. Later, I found myself in an abusive marriage, repeating patterns that felt familiar. It wasn’t until I stepped into higher education that I was diagnosed with complex PTSD and discovered my first real tools for healing—grounding techniques that helped me begin managing my mental health.
Even after leaving the physical and emotional abuse of my marriage, I struggled with codependency, letting my ex stay nearby because he had nowhere else to go. One night, overwhelmed and seeking escape, I fled to a place I thought was safe, was drugged, and was trafficked for 52 days. I was trapped in a nightmare, but deep inside, I knew I had the strength to walk away. And I did.
Something inside me knew that I needed help
When I returned home, I found myself again seeking out unhealthy relationships and coping mechanisms, but in 2016 for the first time I entered inpatient treatment. However, I wasn’t ready to share the truth of what had happened to me. My healing journey truly began when two people in recovery stepped in and reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That was the last time I used meth.
Alcohol was a different battle
I found comfort in the sobering unit, yet I struggled to let go completely. Over the years, I’ve embraced every resource available to me—Adapt, YWCA Safe Choice, Lifeline Connections, inpatient and outpatient programs, detox, crisis wellness centers, and even the Rough Ranch Mediation and Horsemanship Program. Each step has brought me closer to healing, self-awareness, and empowerment. But my turning point came in a terrifying moment when someone I trusted tried to take both our lives. That wake-up call changed everything.
Now I feel hopeful and excited about the future
Voices in Recovery is giving me a place to connect with like-minded individuals and explore new opportunities. Support for those struggling with substance use and mental health is still too scarce, but Voices in Recovery is making a difference—reducing stigma and shame, increasing resources, and providing hope. Today, I stand in gratitude for the people and programs that have guided me through my darkest times. My journey is proof that recovery is possible, that healing is real, and that no one is beyond hope.
I’m ready for this next chapter—with strength, resilience, and an open heart full of possibilities due to Voices in Recovery!
I grew up in an alcoholic household where drinking was normal. My family handed me drinks without question, and for the first time, I felt something close to happiness. But what started as relief turned into a cycle that lasted for decades.
By 15, I was drinking a fifth of liquor a day. At the same time, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a chronic pain condition where stress registers as physical pain. Alcohol numbed it—until the hangovers and withdrawal made it worse. So, I turned to pills. At 15, a doctor injected me with fentanyl. By 20, I was on pain management medications.
At 26, I was diagnosed with a mental health condition. When my marriage fell apart, my husband threatened to use my diagnosis against me for custody of our children. Terrified, I stopped all my medications at once, sending me into withdrawal, manic episodes, and depression. My substance use spiraled. At 36, I overdosed in front of one of my three children.
That was my moment of clarity
I knew if I didn’t change, I wouldn’t survive. I called a local rehab center. They told me something crucial: You need to get fully clean and sober before we can address your mental health. I spent 52 days in a dual diagnosis facility, immersed in therapy, classes, and AA meetings. Recovery wasn’t linear. When a mental health crisis sent me reeling, I returned to rehab for a short time. When I lost a sponsee, grief sent me back again. But each time, I came out stronger.
Finding Purpose Through Voices in Recovery
Four years ago, I attended a Dual Recovery Anonymous (DRA) meeting at Clark County’s Recovery Café, which led me to start another DRA group from the ground up. As I continued my journey, I became deeply involved in the dual diagnosis community, understanding the need for more holistic approaches—homeopathic treatments, EMDR therapy, and building a toolbox specifically for my bipolar disorder and addiction.
Today, I do “double duty.” As someone who is both bipolar and an alcoholic, I have to address both aspects of my health. The reality is, my lifespan is statistically 10 years shorter than the average woman—but I refuse to let that define me. Through symptom tracking, therapy, and a strong recovery community, I have a path forward. Being part of Voices in Recovery has given me tools beyond what AA alone could provide. It has given me the ability to truly live—not just survive.
I’m so grateful there is hope, there is healing, and there is a community at Voices in Recovery waiting to support anyone struggling with both mental health and substance use!
I grew up in an alcoholic household where drinking was normal. My family handed me drinks without question, and for the first time, I felt something close to happiness. But what started as relief turned into a cycle that lasted for decades.
By 15, I was drinking a fifth of liquor a day. At the same time, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a chronic pain condition where stress registers as physical pain. Alcohol numbed it—until the hangovers and withdrawal made it worse. So, I turned to pills. At 15, a doctor injected me with fentanyl. By 20, I was on pain management medications.
At 26, I was diagnosed with a mental health condition. When my marriage fell apart, my husband threatened to use my diagnosis against me for custody of our children. Terrified, I stopped all my medications at once, sending me into withdrawal, manic episodes, and depression. My substance use spiraled. At 36, I overdosed in front of one of my three children.
That was my moment of clarity
I knew if I didn’t change, I wouldn’t survive. I called a local rehab center. They told me something crucial: You need to get fully clean and sober before we can address your mental health. I spent 52 days in a dual diagnosis facility, immersed in therapy, classes, and AA meetings. Recovery wasn’t linear. When a mental health crisis sent me reeling, I returned to rehab for a short time. When I lost a sponsee, grief sent me back again. But each time, I came out stronger.
Finding Purpose Through Voices in Recovery
Four years ago, I attended a Dual Recovery Anonymous (DRA) meeting at Clark County’s Recovery Café, which led me to start another DRA group from the ground up. As I continued my journey, I became deeply involved in the dual diagnosis community, understanding the need for more holistic approaches—homeopathic treatments, EMDR therapy, and building a toolbox specifically for my bipolar disorder and addiction.
Today, I do “double duty.” As someone who is both bipolar and an alcoholic, I have to address both aspects of my health. The reality is, my lifespan is statistically 10 years shorter than the average woman—but I refuse to let that define me. Through symptom tracking, therapy, and a strong recovery community, I have a path forward. Being part of Voices in Recovery has given me tools beyond what AA alone could provide. It has given me the ability to truly live—not just survive.
I’m so grateful there is hope, there is healing, and there is a community at Voices in Recovery waiting to support anyone struggling with both mental health and substance use!
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