I was born on March 21, 1978, to my dad, Donald, and my mom, Nelly. From day one, life was messy. My dad was an alcoholic. My mom was both an alcoholic and a drug addict. But as a little girl, none of that mattered. I was a daddy’s girl through and through. Always have been, always will be.

My parents weren’t made to last. They divorced, and my mom tried to hurt my dad in the worst way possible—by taking me away from him.

My dad wasn’t perfect, but he tried. He didn’t know how to be a father because no one ever showed him how, but he gave what he could. He paid child support, even if I never saw it. When he fell behind, my mom dragged him into court, and sometimes he went to jail over it.

My mom was cruel, abusive, and selfish. Every penny she had went to men, drugs, and alcohol. She never gave me what I needed, and I never understood why she didn’t love me.

School was no escape. I was bullied all through elementary and middle school. The stress and pain made me start pulling out my eyelashes and eyebrows, which only made the bullying worse. I hated myself. I hated my life. And I wanted the pain to stop. That’s when I started cutting. Self-harm became my way to cope.

At 13, I had my first drink. Alcohol was always there on the counter, and I thought, If my mom loves the bottle more than me, it must be something special. Soon I was drinking before school, after school, at night—whenever I could. Then things got worse. My mom started slipping drugs into my drinks. Sometimes I was so out of it I didn’t know what was happening. Then she sold me to men for drugs. They raped me, and every time it happened, I lost another piece of myself.

There were nights she kept me up until daylight, threatening to kill me. I didn’t care if I lived or died. Honestly, most days I wanted to die.

I remember wondering why I always had to go to the doctor. My mom would take me to the OB/GYN because men had been raping me. Eventually, she left me at my dad’s house, but by then I was already very sick. I had gonorrhea so severe I had to be airlifted to the hospital. The infection was so bad they had to scrape my tubes, and doctors told me I’d never have children.

During that time, my dad made a promise: if my Mamaw got custody of me, he would quit drinking. And he did. With Mamaw, I finally had some stability. I went to school, made friends, even joined the basketball team. But addiction had already taken hold of me, and eventually my dad didn’t know what else to do but send me to a psych ward.

At 18, I quit school. I wanted nothing more than to work in the woods with my daddy and find someone to love me the way I loved him. Instead, I got pregnant. My daddy threw me out because I was still using drugs. But when I found out about the baby, I quit.

At six months pregnant, I met my first husband at work. We eloped with only $34 and honeymooned in Cades Cove. Not long after, the doctor told me there was no heartbeat. I was devastated. I had already been told I might never have kids, and now my first pregnancy ended in loss. My husband signed the papers, and I went back to drugs.

Then I got pregnant with Logan. Against all odds, he was born perfect. But fear swallowed me. I was terrified of becoming like my parents, so I left. Logan stayed with his dad.

Later, I became pregnant again—with twins, by my first husband. One was stillborn, but the other was my son, Tanner. I wanted so badly to put my family back together, but I was trapped in cycles of lies, drugs, and chaos. When their dad had the boys, I knew they were safe. When I didn’t have them, I used.

When Logan was 2, I married another man. I even took charges for him, got a DUI, and went to jail. While I was locked up, my daddy made a decision that broke me—he gave the boys back to their dad. When I got out, I had nothing—no baby, no home, no daddy. I spiraled even deeper.

I worked at Walmart but felt like I was going nowhere. I thought my kids needed material things, but later I learned the truth—they just needed their momma.

When Tanner and Logan were 9 and 10, their dad and his new wife tried to adopt them. I fought it with everything I had. But then my daddy was diagnosed with lung cancer. Worn down and broken, I gave in.

I’ll never forget sitting at my daddy’s house on July 4th when Uncle Jesse showed up with a boy I didn’t recognize. That boy looked at me and said, “Momma.” My heart broke. He told me he loved me and forgave me. But even then, addiction still had its claws in me. Their dad eventually moved them to Florida, and I was just left a broken mom holding onto pieces of them while drowning in pain.

When Logan turned 18, he moved back. Deep down, I wanted him to hate me—I thought I deserved that. For so long I told myself, “If God would just give me five minutes of happiness, I’d never ask for anything again.” But He gave me more. He gave me nine months with Logan back in my life. He’d come over often, find my hiding spots, and throw out my drugs. He was trying to save me, even when I couldn’t save myself.

Then came October 15, 2025. That day, I lost half my family. Logan was supposed to be at my house, but his girlfriend, Kaitlin, wasn’t feeling well. She was 8 weeks pregnant, so they went home to rest. Around 8 p.m., my uncle came to my door. I’ll never forget his face when he told me: my son was gone.

There had been a house fire. In that fire, I lost my firstborn. I lost my first grandbaby. My whole world collapsed in a single night.

After losing Logan, I spiraled again. I used so much meth that one day I woke up and realized I couldn’t even remember what my own son looked like—his face, his voice, his smell. That broke me completely and I knew I had to change.

At the same time, my daddy’s cancer spread. I held him in my arms as he took his last breath. I promised him then that I would get clean.

I went to treatment. Around that time, my momma got sick too. I went to see her, and for the first time in my life, I forgave her—because I knew she couldn’t hurt me anymore.

It took me three tries, but I finally graduated from treatment. And looking back, I know that if I hadn’t gone through all of it—the pain, the heartbreak, the losses—I might never have gotten clean.

Then I found Clear Meadows. At first, I was throwing a fit, but the moment I saw Ms. Donna, I felt at ease. I spent 13 months with her, and she became like family to me.

Later, I moved out with my best friend. But just before I hit 28 months clean, I relapsed. I was using for a week before Ms. Donna called. She asked me why I kept relapsing. This time, I told her everything. Together, we faced the demons I had been running from for so long.

Now, I’m one month away from getting my one-year chip back. Most of my family has either passed away or left me. But Ms. Donna gave me one. When I met her kids, her daughter-in-law, and her momma, they didn’t judge me. They treated me like I belonged.

I am here today because of them. When I couldn’t love myself, they loved me anyway. I am currently working as house manager over Ms. Donna’s recovery residence, Breaking Free. I am here for the long haul. I love helping people find their path to recovery because it is so possible and so wonderful. I know it's not easy but we love you and we want to help you every step of the way.