Hitting rock bottom doesn’t begin to describe what I felt. Living in a homeless shelter was dehumanizing, but it was also the beginning of my journey to recovery. During my time in treatment, I was assigned a therapist who changed my life. She helped me unravel years of pain, loneliness, and the root causes of my addiction.
This therapist didn’t just address the symptoms of my addiction; she helped me confront the emotional and psychological wounds that had been festering for years. We delved into the pain of being adopted, the struggles of my childhood, and the feelings of isolation I had carried for decades. For the first time, I felt seen. Her unwavering belief in my potential sparked something in me. She helped me see that my life was not defined by my mistakes but by the steps I chose to take moving forward.
During my time in treatment, I was assigned a therapist who changed my life. She helped me unravel years of pain, loneliness, and the root causes of my addiction.
One of the most pivotal moments came when I realized I wanted to follow in her footsteps. The idea of helping others the way she had helped me gave me a sense of purpose. But at 45 years old, living in a homeless shelter, the thought of going to college seemed impossible. That’s when I met a woman who worked at the community college near the shelter. When I told her my doubts about returning to school, she looked me in the eye and said, “You’ve got this.”
Her confidence in me was transformative. With her encouragement, I enrolled in classes and excelled beyond my own expectations. I graduated at the top of my class and was even nominated to be the graduation speaker. From there, I earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology from the University of Illinois and later a master’s degree in counseling. Each step felt like a testament to the power of belief—both hers and, eventually, my own.