Raw.Real.Recovered.

I didn’t walk into my first AA meeting because I wanted to. I walked in because a judge told me I had to.

Let’s be clear—I wasn’t looking for recovery. I wasn’t looking for a “new way of life.” I was looking for a way out of the mess I had made. But there wasn’t an easy exit. No shortcuts. Just consequences, burying me alive.

I lost everything—my kids, my home, my job, my car. Every single thing that made life feel worth living had been stripped away, and all I had left was the wreckage of my own doing. Pills, meth, alcohol, opioids—I tried them all, and they took everything in return.

I was angry at the world. Angry at the system. Angry at myself, but not willing to admit it yet.

And so, I sat in the back of those meetings, arms crossed, counting the minutes until I could leave. I judged the people who shared, convinced I wasn’t like them. But the truth? I wasn’t better than them—I was just newer to the process of admitting it.

Somewhere between the tables and the courtrooms, something shifted.

I don’t know if it was hearing my own story come out of someone else’s mouth or if it was the simple fact that, for the first time in years, people saw me. Not as a case number, not as a failure, but as a human being who had lost their way.

The more I showed up, the more I realized I wasn’t just there for the courts—I was there for me.

I had spent years running. From my past, from my responsibilities, from myself. But there was one thing I couldn’t outrun—God.

I had abandoned Him long before I lost my kids, my home, and my dignity. But He never abandoned me. And somehow, through those AA meetings, through those hard conversations, through the people who told me to keep taking one step at a time even when I didn’t believe in myself—God started showing up for me again.

Or maybe, I just started noticing.

It took time. More time than I wanted. But slowly, I started getting things back—not just my kids, not just my stability, but my faith, my self-respect, my life.

I won’t sit here and say it was easy. It wasn’t. There were nights when the guilt and shame were so heavy I didn’t think I could stand under it. There were days when I swore I’d never make it through.

But I did.

Because I kept showing up. Because I let the people in those rooms believe in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. Because I surrendered—not just to the program, but to something bigger than me.

And now? Now, I get to be a mom again. Now, I get to hold my head up. Now, I get to tell someone else who feels like I did that it does get better.

If you’re in that place—court-ordered, hopeless, convinced this isn’t for you—just take it one step at a time ! 

I promise, it’s worth it.