Surviving The Odds

Day one.

March 10th, 2025

I sat here pondering how I would start this blog! It has been an intention of mine to share my story of active addiction, mental health, motherhood, and hope with others, and writing felt like a therapeutic way to do it. I hope to connect with you, share with you, reach you, and bond with you through my pain, emotions, joy and everyday life on this page!

I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but I’m not a professional by any means which leaves me feeling wide open, vulnerable and naked, like I’ve felt many times before in my past (figuratively speaking). I’m apprehensive and unsure of how this process will go, however with so much to say, I feel like it needs to be said, and shared with others, or I’m not doing anyone including myself justice.

One reason I wanted to start this blog is for my son to have a reference point when and if he has questions about my life growing up. He can always have a place to come to have the information, some from momentary time, some from memory recall. This opens a dialogue where we can talk about his questions from there. It can be hard to explain certain things to your child.

My hope is simply to bring people like you and me together, to draw strength, hope and light to each others life, and to help others find connection and know they are not alone, and hopefully through sharing my experiences with you, you are able to identify, and find strength and hope in another minute, hour, or day! I hope to be as raw, open, honest and genuine as possible so we can all heal together.

Ill try to keep this simple, I am a recovering Addict with Co-occurring Disorders. I have Bi-polar, PTSD, and ADHD. I have struggled with addiction most of my adolescent/adult life. I have been in and out of treatment centers basically the the entire time I was using, just in and out like a revolving door. That’s where the title of this blog comes from, I survived the odds of the disease of addiction #29 times (Plus now). Every treatment center gave the statistics, and each said, 7 is the average number before it finally clicks for MOST people. Well….let me tell you something, I clearly am not most people lol. I needed more time out running the streets, and more time in treatment trying to figure my life out. So, unfortunately for me, it took me quite a bit longer, but BY THE GRACE OF GOD I finally figured it out. I’m so grateful for it today.

One of the reasons why I started this blog is because I needed to find a way out of my head, and I felt like sharing it with others was a good idea with the hope that it could possibly be an inspiration to someone else. I know that for me, hearing other peoples experiences helped save my life, and still do every single day!

What took me so long to figure it out? Here’s the thing, I will never have it figured out! I suffer from a disease, that’s cunning, baffling and powerful, and that I have no control over and can creep up on me at any given moment, in the sneakiest of ways. I have always believed and been told that if I am not working on my recovery then I am working on a relapse. Its that simple. I must make sure to practice the spiritual principles of recovery in order to maintain the life I have today. The biggest ones for me are: Honesty, Open-mindedness, Willingness, Faith, and Gratitude.

I have had to learn what happens when my recovery isn’t the first priority. Its the same vicious cycle, every time. I fall off my recovery plan, and I start believing the lies in my head such as, “I can hang out with Joe Blow” or “I can go play $20 at the casino tonight” or maybe, “One drink wont hurt!” The biggest one, “These pills are prescribed, they wont be a problem”, and then before you know it I’m off and running again. Its that quick. it doesn’t take very long at all for me to be engulfed by this disease. And I’ve done it time and time again. You would think I would know how to prevent it, but it doesn’t work like that, because you see I’m powerless.

I can choose to be the victim to this disease and be powerless or I can get up, and try again. That’s the most important piece here, is being a survivor. Not wallowing in the wrong or bad choices, not beating myself up because I cant figure it out. But dragging myself to the starting line and giving myself the chance for another “Day One.” The first day clean is always the hardest. So be kind to yourself and others, be gentle, remember that we have been in a war zone of sorts, and getting clean is scary everytime, we are walking away and giving up our best friend and possibly our only friend. So continue jumping the hurdles, and running the race, don’t give up on yourself, a relapse doesn’t have to be the end of the race for you!

And by the way, if no ones told you……I’m proud of you, you are a miracle!
Broken Crayons

November 20th, 2024

“Mom, I have ADHD, that means I can be bad…..”

“No, buddy, that just means we have to work harder to be better at life.”

Subliminal messages are everywhere in life. We must be willing to look, listen, and pay attention. I suffer from co occurring mental h.ealth disorders and substance abuse, and it’s taken me many years to truly grasp and understand what that means and how to live a functional life. I had just started to think I was figuring things out when I unexpectedly got pregnant!! If you’ve read any of my other blogs you might know that being a mom was something I had always dreamed of, I just never actually saw it happening, so at that time in my life, I felt like it was a sign that God felt that it was time, both for me and for this child. My perspective looking back was that, god knew I needed a reason, greater than myself, to motivate me to continue fighting for this life, and he knew that I would fight for my child. And my son has and continue to save my life, over and over still today.

I used to be that person that used my mental health and addiction as the reason and excuse for everything that went right and wrong in life. When you have mental health issues, you are already blocked to a degree from receiving the gifts of life naturally, as the way you feel and perceive things is skewed. I tend to feel things on such an intense level that isn’t realistic I have to put myself in check 95% of the time.

Being a mom with as much experience in life as I have, I knew I would need to use it, I didn’t imagine it would be one of the first big things I would have to tackle with my son and his own mental health, or having to walk through, teach and advocate for my sons mental health starting at 4 years old.

My pregnancy was challenging, and my son was born premature. This is just one indicatior for mental health issues in young children, but I could see almost immediately that there were cognitive differences in him from others his age. Don’t get me wrong, he is extremely intelligent, and always has been, but he has never slept through the night, he always needed to be held, or he would cry, ad he got older he would easily become overstimulated. The term “climbing the walls” was the literal day to day life we lived. Sometimes night time would roll around and he would be exhausted from being in full gear during the day but his brain just wouldn’t shut off so it would take hours on top of a regular night time routine to get him calm and to the point where he could lay still. It was exhausting.

This was only the beginning of his mental health struggle and fight. I knew as his mother that he had ADHD. It was as if I was watching myself as a young girl, feeling helpless, and wanting so badly to help him, but knowing that in todays world, there is such a stigma around childhood mental health. But I was desprate for both him and I, that we had to do something, as it was only progressively getting worse and he was getting older.

When my son turned 4, we were able to get a formal diganosis of ADHD. For many people that may seem young, but the reality is, mental health does exsist in young child even at that age. It is extremely frustrating as a parent to hear from others, “this is just a phase, he will grow out of it,” or “this is a kid with a lot of enery, let him run it out,” or even the thousand other comments I would hear, when its far more complex then that. There is the OCD, anxiety, depression, and sleep issues that are combined with extreme energy that needed to be addressed, and it was something that I could not fix on my own. My child was struggling, and I was suffering watching him. As a single mom, thats such an awful feeling.

We began medication for him when he was diagnosed, but we struggled to find a psychiatrist due to a lack of resources in our area for children his age. It wasn’t until he was almost five that we finally found the doctor he has today. The journey to get him to this point has been challenging, involving many medication changes and my advocacy for his needs.

There was a period when my son went months without sleep because he was experiencing manic episodes, obsession, anger, sadness, and an inability to focus on anything for more than five minutes. This led to multiple hospital stays lasting weeks at a time. At that point, I realized we had overlooked family history, and he was showing signs of bipolar disorder. Although I am not a doctor, I do have bipolar disorder and ADHD, and I could see that he was exhibiting symptoms similar to mine. As a result, we changed our course of action and adjusted his medication again. Today, he is doing much better.

Advocating for my son, has been such a huge part of this journey. Being a broken crayon, has also, helped to heal the little human I am raising.

Im still trying to teaching him that just because he has mental health issues that its not an excuse to act out. It takes 1000x longer for him to grasp a concept, and we have to practice things more then normal, despite how smart he is.

Our journey is far from perfect, and there are still days when it feels impossibly hard. But there is also so much beauty woven into the chaos — the moments of laughter, the breakthroughs, the quiet nights when we finally rest easy. My son and I are growing together, learning together, healing together.

I have learned that broken crayons still color beautifully, and so do broken people. We are not defined by our diagnoses, but by our willingness to show up, fight, and love anyway.

I hope that when my son looks back one day, he will see not just the struggles, but the strength. Not just the hard moments, but the incredible love that carried us through them.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll believe — as I do — that he was never broken to begin with. He was always a masterpiece in progress
You Are My Sunshine ☀️

January 15th, 2021

Tonight, as we lay in bed, you asleep on my chest, the soft tune of “You Are My Sunshine” plays quietly in the background. A blue moon and stars, cast from your elephant music maker, shimmer across the ceiling. I glance around the room, taking it all in—the perfectly arranged stuffies you invited to our “sleepover,” your steady breath against my chest—and I breathe in gratitude, acceptance, and peace.

For someone like me, peace hasn’t always been easy to recognize. Chaos became such a normal state of being for so long that calm moments felt foreign—sometimes even uncomfortable. Peace meant being still. Stillness meant being present. And being present often meant sitting with myself—something I used to avoid at all costs.

But recovery has taught me something I never expected: peace shows up in the smallest ways if I’m willing to notice. Tonight was one of those ways. Sure, I lay with my son every night—the same playlist, the same stars reflected on the ceiling, the same rise and fall of his breath—but something about tonight hit differently. Tonight, it felt sacred.

I’ve realized that I’m often so busy tearing myself down—rehashing mistakes, bracing for judgment, or fearing what others might think—that I miss the beauty right in front of me. Even after surviving addiction, custody battles, mental health struggles, and leaving abusive relationships, I still catch myself wondering if I’m “enough.” Wondering if my story is even worth telling. The truth is, just being here, alive to tell it, is already everything.

Covid didn’t help. It shrank my world in ways I didn’t fully see at first. What used to be weekly conversations and interactions turned into monthly, if that. I became too comfortable in my own little bubble. Masks gave me anxiety, running into old faces at the grocery store filled me with dread, and isolation became a habit. Slowly, without realizing it, I slid backward into that too-familiar spiral.

But here’s where I draw the line. My goal this year is to step outside my comfort zone. To expand my world again. To do things that make me feel good about myself—not because anyone else says so, but because I deserve it.

So I’m choosing to make peace my mission. To grab onto those moments when I feel it—like tonight—and actually sit with them. Not rush past them. Not sabotage them. Just let them be.

Because those little moments of peace? They’re proof. Proof that I’ve made it through the storm. Proof that I’m still here. Proof that life—even in its simplest, quietest forms—is worth loving.

And maybe most of all, proof that I’m worth loving, too.
Miracles

September 27th, 2020
On September 2, 2018, my life changed in the most profound way—I became a mother. It was the greatest gift I had ever received, a dream I had held close for as long as I could remember. Yet, despite that lifelong hope, the reality of motherhood had always felt distant and uncertain.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was swept into a whirlwind of emotions. Joy was quickly overshadowed by a deep, all-consuming fear—not just of becoming a parent, but of doing it alone. I hadn’t planned on being a single mom, and that realization hit hard. Fear triggered a cascade of emotions: detachment, anxiety, nervousness, and uncertainty. For nearly six months, I struggled to accept the reality of my pregnancy, unable to fully believe it was happening.

Then came the moment that would redefine my life forever. When I held my son for the first time—his tiny fingers wrapped around mine, his head resting on my chest—I was flooded with an overwhelming sense of love and responsibility. In that instant, the truth sank in: this tiny human was a part of me. I had carried him, created him, and now he was here. That miracle alone could fill pages, but it was only the beginning of our story.

Addiction, Motherhood, and the Storm That Followed

I’ve struggled with the disease of addiction for nearly half my life. I fought relentlessly to break free—years in and out of treatment centers, jails, and psychiatric hospitals left me feeling defeated and hopeless.

But finding out I was pregnant gave me something I hadn’t felt in years: hope. Despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, I saw a chance—maybe my only real chance—to change everything. My son’s arrival wasn’t just a turning point; it was a lifeline. Holding him, I felt a sense of purpose I had never known before.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for how fragile recovery would be in those first weeks. After a complicated C-section with preeclampsia, the very medications prescribed to help me heal reignited the cravings I thought I had left behind. Addiction doesn’t care if it comes from a prescription or a street corner—it all lands the same. Slowly, quietly, the disease crept back in.

At the same time, postpartum depression hit. Within his first month of life, my son was hospitalized twice. He wouldn’t sleep unless he was in my arms. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and drowning under the weight of new responsibilities—starting a job, moving into our own place, juggling bills. I tried to keep going, but it all spiraled quickly.

I began leaving him with my mom just to escape to the casino for a moment of air. Anxiety led me to a doctor, who prescribed Xanax and other medications. At first, it felt manageable. But soon I was slipping—taking more than prescribed, being secretive again. Old habits. Old lies. That’s when I knew: it wasn’t just stress. The disease was back.

The Hardest Choice

Within months of his birth, I faced a devastating truth: if I didn’t make a drastic change, I would lose everything. So I made the hardest decision of my life—I signed over guardianship of my son to a trusted family while I went into treatment.

It was the most painful choice I’ve ever made. Handing over my child felt like the ultimate failure, but it was also the only way to save us both. I promised myself that I would fight to be the mother he deserved, even if the path was long.

That path stretched on for nearly two years. Treatment, recovery, setbacks, and a custody battle that tested every ounce of my strength. There were nights I doubted I’d ever get him back. But I held on.

And then came the miracle.

On September 14, 2020, the judge terminated the guardianship. My son was mine again. That day, I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders.

What This Journey Taught Me

This road has taught me more than I can put into words:
- Gratitude — For God’s grace, for parents who never gave up, for a son who loves me unconditionally, and for a recovery program that keeps me grounded in spiritual principles.
- Fear and frustration — For the pain of not having a say in my child’s life and learning to walk through that with dignity, even when I felt powerless.
- Humility and self-acceptance — For finally learning that I am not less-than. That my failures don’t define me. That showing up for my son, one day at a time, is enough.
I could write endlessly about the lessons and miracles along the way. But the bottom line is this:

I stand in awe of who God has helped me become. I am living proof of His grace, of His power to restore. Today, my son and I live free—together, whole, and healed.

Recovery is possible. Miracles are real. And every day, I get to wake up to mine.
Mothers Guilt

May 3rd, 2020

The day my son was born, my life changed forever. I carried him for nine months, not realizing just how much he would steal my heart, reshape my world, and wrap me around his little fingers. But from the very beginning, motherhood also introduced me to something I never expected—guilt.

When my son was just a few days old, I struggled with feeding. He wouldn’t latch, my body wouldn’t produce enough milk, and no matter how many times I tried—or how many specialists I saw—I couldn’t make it work. I wasn’t just afraid he wasn’t getting enough to eat. I was terrified I’d never have that magical “connection” other moms seemed to talk about. When it didn’t happen, guilt consumed me.

Then came postpartum depression. At first, I didn’t even realize I was suffering. I just knew I was exhausted. My son only slept if I held him, and months of sleepless nights left me feeling numb and detached. I remember handing him to my mom one night and walking away, completely blank. That moment scared me—I could hear his cries but felt nothing. When I was diagnosed with PPD, I thought relief would come, but instead guilt crashed in. How could I not feel anything for my baby? What kind of mother was I?

As the months went on, the guilt just kept showing up in new ways. Going back to work made me feel guilty for leaving him. Staying home made me feel guilty for not providing. When he was hospitalized twice, I felt guilty for not being by his side every second. Motherhood started to feel like a constant cycle of damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

And then came the hardest decision of all. When he was four months old, I placed him with another family because I knew I couldn’t take care of him in my addiction. That choice ripped me apart. The guilt was unbearable—but it was also the choice that saved both of us. Today, I’m grateful to say we’ve rebuilt a bond I once feared was gone forever.

Even the smaller decisions carried guilt. When I sleep-trained him at 18 months, it was a nightmare. He cried, I cried, and I questioned if I was breaking his trust. But I also knew we both needed rest, and giving in wouldn’t help either of us. That’s motherhood—you’re constantly weighing two hard choices, hoping one of them will be “right.”

And the guilt hasn’t stopped as he’s grown. At two, it was missing milestones while I worked. At four, it was not giving him the same experiences other kids had. At six and seven, it became wondering if my struggles—mental health, recovery, single parenting—were too heavy for a child to carry. I’ve questioned myself at every stage: Am I enough? Am I showing up the way he needs? Am I giving him the life he deserves?

Here’s what I’ve learned: guilt is part of parenting. Every mom I’ve ever talked to feels it, though it shows up in different ways. For me, mental illness has amplified it, making even small choices feel like life-or-death decisions. But the truth is, we’ll never get it all right. And that’s okay.

What matters most is love. My love for my son is fierce, unwavering, and greater than any guilt I’ve ever carried. That love is what keeps me moving forward, making mistakes, learning, and trying again.

If you’re a mom carrying guilt, please hear this—you’re not alone. We all question ourselves. We all wonder if we’re doing it right. The very fact that you’re worried about being a good parent is proof that you already are one.

Motherhood is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s also the most rewarding. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. My son is my reason for everything.
One Year

April 4th, 2020
The lies were brutal—things no one should ever tell themselves. Lies like:
- “You’re just a junkie who doesn’t deserve to live.”
- “How could you choose drugs over your son? You’re a terrible mom.”
- “You’ll never make it in life, all you ever do is mess up. You might as well just kill yourself.”
Those words became my truth for so long. My self-esteem was non-existent. I couldn’t look in the mirror without shame. I lived in constant fear—fear of my past, my present, and especially my future. I was terrified I’d never be enough for my son.

After my last brutal relapse, I honestly didn’t know what would be different. My track record was messy—get clean, relapse, repeat. So walking into this attempt, I was apprehensive, unsure, afraid. But there was one thing I did know: if I ever wanted my son back, if I wanted to be in his life long-term, I had to do something different. That realization hit my brain and my heart in a way nothing else had before.

So, I went to treatment. Again.

And here’s the truth: there wasn’t anything brand new about the treatment itself. I didn’t learn some magical new skill I’d never heard of before. What changed was me. My heart and my head were finally in the same place. I was ready to not just hear the lessons, but to take them home and live them out.

Small Habits, Big Shifts

One of the most surprising lessons that stuck with me was this: make your bed every morning.

It sounds silly, right? But starting my day with that simple, mundane act gave me a foundation. It was a productive step forward before anything else could derail me. On hard days, it meant I still had something clean and peaceful to come back to. Over time, making my bed became more than a chore—it became a symbol of my recovery.

And from that one habit, other positive choices grew.

Rebuilding as a Mother

The relationship I have with my son today is something I once thought I’d never have. For a long time, I wasn’t sure he would ever know me as his mom. But today he does. We are closer than I ever imagined. His hugs, his kisses, his little arms wrapped around me—those are my reasons for living.

Letting him live with another family while I went to treatment was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but it was also the most loving. His safety and happiness had to come before my pride. And that choice—choosing to love him well, even from a distance—set the stage for us to rebuild.

Motherhood has been the anchor that kept me steady when everything else could have pulled me under.

Accountability and Stability

Another huge change? Work. For the first time in my life, I’ve held a job for almost a year. In the past, I couldn’t last more than a couple of months. Today I’m accountable, reliable, and self-supporting. I show up. I work hard. I’m just another worker among workers—and honestly, that feels amazing.

I’ve also been able to step into another role I never thought I’d be capable of: caregiver to my mom. She has loved me unconditionally through my darkest days, and being able to care for her during her illness has been one of the greatest gifts recovery has given me. Service isn’t just a concept we talk about in recovery—it’s something I get to live out with the people I love.

Growing Up at Last

Let’s be real: I’ll always need my parents. But today, I don’t depend on them in the way I used to. I’ve grown into adulthood, something I avoided for a long time. It’s scary, but it’s also empowering.

Because I can finally be a friend, I now have true friends in my life. Because I can finally be present, I get to experience the blessings of real relationships. Recovery has given me the life I thought I’d never deserve.

Gratitude

The gifts of recovery are too many to count: my son’s love, my parents’ support, my job, my friendships, my ability to serve others. I am beyond blessed.

So here I am, celebrating this milestone—not as the end, but as a new beginning. Thank you to everyone who has cheered me on, believed in me, and had faith in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.

This is just the beginning.
Wreckage and Damage

March 15th, 2020
Trigger Alert

I remember the desperation of chasing a fix. No one knew I was using again. My paycheck was gone, my body was aching, the hot-and-cold sweats had set in, and all I could think about was the next high. The obsession had me by the throat — it was all I could think about, morning to night. The compulsion to use was stronger than any logic, reason, or love I had for my family. It felt impossible to stop once the thought entered my head.

I stretched the last bag as far as I could, but it never lasted. I knew my parents had coins or cash hidden somewhere, and I told myself I just needed to be quick enough to grab it. My attitude was changing, and my mom was starting to catch on. Getting caught didn’t matter though — the only thing that mattered was getting high. That’s the kind of wreckage addiction left in its path: instant, reckless, and uncaring.

I remember one time I found money, got my drugs, and rushed home to use. In my hurry, I forgot to lock the bedroom door. My little brother walked in while I was in the middle of it. I didn’t feel horror or shame in that moment — I only felt anger that he’d interrupted me. I yelled at him to get out, shoved my stuff aside, and finished what I was doing. That was who I was in active addiction: selfish, dishonest, careless. And in the process, I dragged my family through shattered glass.

This isn’t my reality today — I want to be clear about that. But it was my truth in the past, and it breaks my heart to look back on the damage I caused. It wasn’t just my family I hurt; I broke trust with friends, with relationships, with myself. Addiction made me someone I didn’t recognize.

I remember being unable to trust myself in the simplest things. I couldn’t go into Walmart alone with a purse, afraid I’d steal without thinking. I had to retrain myself — step by step — to act differently. Even at home, if my mom left money lying around, I had to practice walking past it. Learning honesty wasn’t easy; it took time and discipline.

That’s what recovery has been for me: more than just not using. It’s been work — daily work — on my attitude, my choices, and my integrity. It’s practicing honesty when no one’s watching. It’s staying open to the perspective of others, even when I don’t like what they see in me. It’s doing the hard things I don’t always want to do. Those spiritual principles have become the cornerstones of my recovery.

My life today looks nothing like it did a year ago — even six months ago. But I’m still cleaning up wreckage.
- I’m fighting for custody of my son because my choices once put him at risk.
- I’m paying back a student loan I blew during a relapse.
- I’m rebuilding relationships with siblings I hurt.
- And every day, I’m building a stronger relationship with myself — the woman I am today, not the one I was in the grip of obsession, compulsion, and addiction.
It hasn’t been easy, but I’m grateful I’m no longer stuck in that sick cycle. Recovery hasn’t erased the wreckage, but it has given me the tools to face it — one day, one choice, one act of honesty at a time.
Disneyland

March 2nd, 2020

“They call it the happiest place on earth.” Sure. If your definition of happy includes melted ice cream tears, toddler meltdowns, and parents stress-eating $9 churros just to survive the day.

Don’t get me wrong—I love Disneyland. But this trip was different. This time, I brought my tiny human sidekick. And let me tell you, seeing the magic through his 18-month-old eyes almost made me forget that we paid $6 for bottled water. Almost.

He was mesmerized. Jessie from Toy Story, Minnie Mouse, Mr. Potato Head—straight up celebrities to him. The way he stared, like his whole brain was exploding in sparkles, was priceless. I swear, if Minnie had asked him to move in, he’d have packed his diaper bag on the spot.

Of course, not everything was magical. Ursula from The Little Mermaid? Nope. Monsters Inc.? Hard pass. Basically, anything with a dark room and loud noises was nightmare fuel. But tractors at California Adventure? Yes. Driving cars on Autopia like he had his driver’s license? Double yes. I got it all on video because I’m that mom.

And let’s talk food. Disneyland food is daylight robbery with sprinkles on top. Corn dogs, pizza, fruit cups that cost more than my weekly groceries… but hey, I guess that’s how they fund the fireworks show. And okay, I’ll admit it—those fireworks? Worth every overpriced bite.

Then there were the princesses. Sparkly gowns, tiaras, twirling down Main Street like tiny queens. Every little girl looked like she had just signed a contract with Disney royalty. Meanwhile, I looked like I had signed a contract with exhaustion.

Because here’s the truth: Disneyland with a toddler is no joke. It takes stamina, snacks, and the patience of a saint. By the end, I was fried. But the last ride sealed it for me: It’s a Small World. My son was in a full trance—dancing, pointing, quacking at the ducks like it was his own private concert. I could’ve ridden it 10 more times just to watch him live his best life.

Here’s my hot take: Disneyland is still overcrowded, overpriced, and hotter than Hades. But this time? I actually loved it. And here’s why—recovery.

If I wasn’t clean, I wouldn’t have been there. I wouldn’t have had the patience, the presence, or the joy to soak in that chaos with my son. Recovery let me show up—not just for him, but for me too.

So yeah, Disneyland is crazy. But seeing it through his little eyes? Worth every penny, every meltdown, and every overpriced churro.

Grateful. Exhausted. But mostly grateful.
Keaton Sawyer – My reason

February 7th, 2020

Keaton Sawyer—my son, you are my reason for everything in life today.

Growing up, I always dreamed of becoming a mother, although I had no idea what that truly meant. I’ll never forget the day I found out I was pregnant. I had walked into a room where someone had peanut-butter coffee creamer, and the smell hit me so hard it sent me running to the bathroom. I hadn’t even had my morning coffee yet, and instantly I knew something wasn’t right.

A friend of mine gently suggested I take a pregnancy test. At first, I resisted. After years of trying, after doctors telling me that PCOS and endometriosis would likely make pregnancy impossible, I had all but given up hope. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she might be right.

So I went and bought two tests. Every test I’d ever taken before had been negative, and I wanted to be sure. I didn’t want to be alone, so I took the test with someone by my side. She looked at the result before I did, and the expression on her face said it all—I was pregnant.

I nearly collapsed. The shock was instant and overwhelming. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t sad—I was frozen, unable to process what was happening. The truth was, at that time in my life, I had been acting out of hurt, fear, anger and a mix of other emotions, making choices that ultimately lead to something life-changing. Here I was—pregnant.

The first call I made was to my best friend. I was shaking so badly that she thought I was about to tell her something tragic. Then I called my parents, who were on a cruise in Mexico, because I couldn’t keep the news in. I knew my mom would practically fall over when she heard—and I was right. Her reaction mirrored mine: nothing but pure shock and disbelief.

Once the news settled, excitement began to creep in, but so did anxiety. This wasn’t the way I imagined becoming a mother. My choices had led to an unexpected pregnancy and, ultimately, to raising a child without a responsible father. That reality terrified me. Yes, I had the support of my family, and I was grateful, but still—I longed for things to be different, both for me and for my child.

Pregnancy was anything but easy. Around that time, my mom became sick and needed open-heart surgery, which added even more stress to an already overwhelming season. My own health was also difficult to manage, and I often felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. At my 14-week ultrasound, surrounded by my mom, close friends, and the baby’s grandmother, I learned I was having a boy. Instead of pure joy, I broke down in tears—a mix of sadness, fear, and guilt that I couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him; it was that life felt so uncertain, and I was already exhausted. Those feelings stayed with me through much of the pregnancy, as I battled constant sickness and overwhelming fatigue, just counting down the days until it would finally be over.

Then, five and a half weeks early, complications forced me into an emergency C-section. The fear in that moment was indescribable. Everything I had carried for months—the stress, the guilt, the questions of whether I was strong enough—came rushing in at once. At first, I couldn’t hold my son, and the waiting felt endless. But the moment they finally placed him in my arms, everything shifted. The noise of the world seemed to quiet, and in that instant, I felt what people talk about—that indescribable, unshakable love of a mother.

That day, Keaton Sawyer entered the world, and everything changed. He became my reason for living, my reason for fighting, my reason for becoming. The journey to him was not easy, but his little soul has been the greatest blessing of my life. Every struggle, every hardship, and every tear was worth it, because they led me here—to him. And as I held him close, I knew without a doubt that no matter what lay ahead, my greatest purpose would always be found in being his mom.

To other moms who may read this: I want you to know that if your journey hasn’t looked the way you imagined, you are not alone. Motherhood isn’t always picture-perfect, and sometimes it’s born out of the hardest, messiest circumstances. But love has a way of redeeming even the most unexpected beginnings. No matter how your story started, the love you have for your child is enough—it’s powerful, it’s real, and it will carry you through.
Addiction or Recovery?!?

April 5th, 2018

This is a monster I have been battling for just about half my life. Addiction is a disease, and it destroys life. It has the ability to take away the greatest gifts of life, and it can take a person who’s never touched drugs and turn them into someone they had no idea exsisted.

My journey in addiction and recovery has been a long one. It’s only been the last couple of years, that I actually have been able to see the truth of life and situations, and been able to fully concede to my Innermost self that I am an addict and I CANNOT use any substance no matter what!

I believe that I have again reached a turning point in my life and in recovery! My spirit is shifting and the benefits and gifts are beginning to out weigh the disease.

I must share. Today I had an experience. Something that is different from MOST of my life. I reached a breaking point, a point where my head, who is my WORST enemy attacked me!

Walking through Walmart pushing my grocery cart, it just stopped moving! The wheels locked up as if I was trying to take off with the cart?!? No big deal right? Just leave your stuff and go get another cart.

For me, it was the breaking point, for some odd reason! A gentlemen that worked there went and got me a different cart, and I took what I had, left what was still on the list, paid and went home!

Once I was home, it all hit me, ALL these feelings and emotions that build up, being pregnant, feeling like death for 3 months straight, soaring hormones, almost losing my mom, dealing with some painful things in recovery, and then of course, the stupid cart, pushed me over the edge, and I lost it.

For the first time in a really long time, taking some pain pills or smoking some dope,(meth) sounded like a GREAT idea. Regardless of the fact that I’m pregnant 🤰🏼 my addiction told me that was the best solution out there!

I was scared by this thought. It also gave me a chance to practice some of the spiritual principles I’ve learned in recovery. Reach out, share about it, pray, meditate, and DONT USE NO MATTER WHAT!

I shared about it, and I cried for a solid hour. So cleansing!

The last 3 months have been a challenge, and a gift at the same time. God blessed me with a miracle of motherhood, and has blessed me with a clarity of mind.

The grocery cart is a good analogy of life, sometimes we run into things that bring us to a HALT! Things, thoughts, feelings that stop us in our tracks! What we do in those times, shows where we are a humans and what we need to work on!

I have taken that experience, and looked at it closely, it was all the little bumps that led me to a screaming halt and so overwhelmed! Today I’m learning to push through and find a way to continue on the path…..even if I feel like I can’t any longer!