I know what you're thinking—ten years?? Really??

It sounds extreme, but it's true. It took me about a decade (give or take a few rock bottoms) to get my shit together. And it wasn't just one rock bottom—it was rock bottom after rock bottom after rock bottom. You get the picture.

Let me start from the top—or maybe the bottom.

Before I dive in, I want to say this:
I wouldn't change a single part of my winding road. Every moment led me to exactly where I needed to be, and gave me the lessons I needed to grow.

I grew up in a small town, with a small-town family and small-town friends. If you had asked me back then about my upbringing, I would've told you how awful it was and how I wished I had better parents. But now, as a parent myself, I see they did the best they could with what they had. It was their first time growing up, too.

From high school, I went to college—I was the first in my family to attend.

At first, I thought I wanted to be an architect.
Then I thought I wanted to save the planet.
Turns out... I didn't want to do either.

After two colleges and two unfinished degrees, I went to work at a bank.

At this point, I had been with my partner for four years. I got pregnant at 24.

And then—life hit hard.

We were evicted during my pregnancy.

Suddenly, everything we had built started crumbling beneath us.

With no place to go, we moved in with my mom.

It wasn’t ideal. I was hormonal, anxious, and ashamed that I was bringing a child into the world without a stable foundation.

But we made it work the best we could.

By 26, I was a single mom with a two-year-old, living in my aunt's spare bedroom and working toward a nursing degree—because a bank job just doesn't cut it when you're raising a child on your own.

I entered another relationship—one I should've ended before it started. I didn’t know she had a serious drug problem. And let me tell you, drug problems don't always look like you'd expect. Sometimes the person with the addiction is the one managing a hospital unit.

That relationship lasted six years.
It was tumultuous.
It was toxic.
It was a cycle: drug-induced fights, apologies, lavish trips to make up for it—and repeat.

I had my share of blame too.
But when you have a child, you realize you can't keep living in that cycle.

So during my 8th year as a labor and delivery nurse, I made a change. I took a leap into travel nursing to teach my son that you can choose yourself, and that love isn't supposed to feel like constant yelling and fighting.

That job gave us our own apartment, our own fun trips, our own little sense of freedom.

And finally, things began to turn around.
I was supporting us.
I was living a life we deserved.
I was in a loving, stable relationship (still am—and engaged!).
I was working on myself, forming healthy habits.

This is when the real work started.

It's when I finally admitted something that had haunted me for years:
I'm an alcoholic.

Looking back, it probably started a decade ago with postpartum depression.
Nobody talked about it back then. I felt ashamed, like I was broken while other moms around me seemed fine. But I was wrong—they were just silent, too.

So I did what so many others do—I numbed it with a drink.

Long day? Drink.
Great day? Drink.
Any excuse was good enough.

I didn't know how to socially drink. I didn't know how to stop.

It's like I had a never-ending glass—drink after drink, until the hangovers and anxiety became part of my norm.
Even then, I'd do it again the next day.

It wasn't until my fiancé sat me down and gently pointed out how much it was affecting me that I realized:
This is real. This is a problem.

Everything we did involved drinking. The shame was overwhelming.
Why couldn't I do anything without it?

So, I stopped.

It hasn't been easy.

As of today, I'm on Day 248 of my sobriety journey.

It's a rollercoaster. There are emotional highs and deep, painful lows.
But the benefits now outweigh everything else.

My goal is to make it to one year—and then, we'll see.
Right now, it's just one day at a time.

And now, onto the next chapter...

After 3 years of travel nursing, I was completely burned out.
Yes, I delivered babies—but I also delivered the heartbreak of stillborns and loss.
I'll never forget the last time it happened.
That was the moment I said, I can't do this anymore.

Labor and delivery is beautiful, sacred work—but it takes a deep emotional toll.
That's when I decided to shift.
That's when I chose to become a life coach—to help other women rediscover who they are after motherhood.

Something I never could've done if I was still drinking.
Something I wouldn't have had the energy for if I was still nursing.

This is where the new journey begins.

Next week, I'll share how I started this new chapter—
But for now... I know that was a lot to take in.

Thank you for reading my story.

If you're in your own "ten-year breaking point," I just want you to know:
You're not alone—and your comeback is coming.

Oh—and one more thing.

Healing isn’t linear. It doesn’t always look like you expect.
Sometimes, you don’t even realize it’s happened until you look back and think, Wow. I’m not that version of me anymore.

And as for my son—he’s thriving.
His dad, his dad’s wife, and I have built a beautiful friendship.
Our two families work as one unit now.
We support each other, we celebrate together, and we put our son first—always.
It’s something I never imagined would be possible back then… but healing made room for it.