I’ve spent much of my life trying to survive—and then learning what it means to live. As a former foster youth/ward of the state, I often felt unmoored, like I had to build my own foundation on shifting sands. There were moments when the weight of rejection, instability, and uncertainty made me question everything about my worth and my future. But even then, there was a part of me that refused to give up, that believed, “You can make things different.”
That resilience carried me through countless challenges—sexual abuse, difficult relationships, mental health disorders, navigating life as a single parent, and confronting addiction. For years, I numbed the pain with alcohol, pills, and fentanyl. I thought I was escaping the weight of my experiences, but in reality, I was building walls around my suffering and self-destruction. What started as a way to cope like a cage that felt impossible to break free of.
It wasn’t until I hit what felt like the darkest place in my life that I realized I had a choice: I could let this consume me, or I could fight to reclaim my life. Recovery wasn’t—and still isn’t—easy. There were times I stumbled, moments I wanted to give up, and days when hope felt so far away. But with every step, I discovered a strength I didn’t know I had.
One of the hardest yet most meaningful lessons I’ve learned is that guilt and shame thrive in silence. Addiction and mental health challenges made me feel isolated, like no one could understand what I was going through. But when I found the courage to share my story, to admit my struggles and fears, I realized I wasn’t alone. Every time I opened up, I found connection—and through that connection, healing. I learned that the land and the river always comforted me and taught me soemthing. My mind could be a mess but I coud find clarity by the river or walkign up a mountain. I could be an emotional bundle of chaos and sadness but in field of sage, I could stabilize and breathe for what felt like the first time in so long.
It’s this belief in the power of sharing and connection with community, land, and river that inspired River Sage Revival. I wanted to create something that could help others find their footing in the midst of life’s storms, a place where change feels possible and people are reminded of their worth. Like the river that carves new paths and the sage that heals, I believe in the power of change, both in myself and in the people around me.
Today, I’m still growing, still learning, and still finding new ways to honor my journey. Life isn’t perfect, and there are days when I struggle, but I hold tight to the belief that change is always possible. My hope is that River Sage Revival will be a source of light for others who are navigating their own paths—including those who’ve faced the battles of addiction and are ready to choose something different. My hope is that maybe there is someone who has a loved one struggling with severe mental health challenges or addiction and needs support to learn and refill their cup by connecting with others in the same fight. My hope is that perhaps someone who has a mental health disorder and feels like there is no hope can come and find a space where they are accepted and supported and that there is much more to be seen besides a diagnosis.
If my story can teach anything, it’s that no matter where you come from or what you’ve been through, there is a way forward. Together, we can create spaces where healing, connection, and transformation are not just possible—they’re inevitable.
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