All Posts

While proofreading my book, I got hit with reflections on the past versus today: the stress then, the pressure now. Back then, surviving meant dragging myself through suicidal despair, exhaustion, bitterness. Relief came in fleeting moments through injection. Staying alive required massive, exhausting effort—with jail stays, homelessness, emotional chaos.

If you’ve ever hit rock bottom—or even just made a few decisions you're not proud of—you’ve probably heard it before: “You need to turn your life around.” In recovery, that message can feel overwhelming—like you’re being asked to flip your entire life upside down. Changing habits is hard; changing your mindsets and routines takes time.

What’s your first reaction when you notice a flaw in someone else? Many of us think, “I should fix this”—especially when it’s someone we care about or work with.

Once I found what I loved to do, I pursued it with relentless focus—obsessed, even. Others expected burnout or a fallback, but I didn't stop. And I won’t. But I wasn’t always this way. Growing up, I was that quiet kid who blended into the back of the classroom. I learned to fade. Ironically, addiction taught me intensity—and it nearly destroyed me.

Admitting you’re wrong is tough. Not just in small moments—like conceding an argument—but in the depths of realizing your worldview, identity, and choices have been misguided—for years or even decades.

A single decision, realization, or boundary can change your entire life path. That’s powerful—because it shows you’re not defined by your past or the version of you others grew used to.

Trauma can distort our capacity to connect. It dulls empathy, distorts thinking, and fuels entitlement.