It is hard being the child of an alcoholic father. It's difficult carrying the shame, guilt, resentment, anger, and many more emotions along with learning how to adapt and thrive and cope with having no contact and my father not being in my life. I've learned that I have been better off without him and his toxicity, and I have learned to stand on my own two feet and to be proud of myself for all of my accomplishments. Most importantly, I'm proud of myself for not following in his ways. I've learned to accept myself in my own eyes, instead of seeking validation and acceptance in other ways that weren't healthy.

In my early 20s, I began misusing prescription medications, which slowly led me into more destructive substance use that took a heavy toll on my life. Alongside navigating mental health challenges, I searched for healing through many different pathways. I explored various recovery models and therapeutic modalities—taking what helped me and leaving the rest. Over time, I built a personal toolbox that truly supported the parts of me that needed care, not judgment. I’ve been on my recovery journey since 2020, and becoming a peer support specialist was inspired by the incredible people I met in support groups. Building a support system was one of the most life-changing and life-saving parts of my path. Now, I hold space for others to find their own way through chaotic substance use and mental health struggles, with compassion, choice, and hope.

For over 15 years, I was in and out of psychiatric hospitals—places that left me with trauma, nightmares, and deep shame. I was restrained, forcibly medicated, silenced, and treated as less than human. Many of the facilities were dirty, cold, and run by staff who ignored my autonomy and voice. These experiences shattered my trust in the mental health system. But through the pain, I found a fire for advocacy. I became a peer support specialist and started Unlock the Psych Ward Doors, a support group for survivors like me. I still carry the wounds, but I’ve found strength in speaking my truth. I hold space for others to process and heal from the dehumanization of forced treatment. I offer a safe space free of judgment, where pain is honored and voices are heard. I know what it’s like to feel voiceless—and I’m here to listen, believe, and walk beside anyone ready to reclaim their power.