Seventeen years ago on February 2, 2026, I walked through the doors of Livengrin, broken and desperate. I had no idea that those 21 days would be the beginning of a transformation so profound that I would barely recognize the woman I was about to become.
When I left treatment, I threw myself into Cocaine Anonymous meetings with everything I had. I got a sponsor and began working the twelve steps like my life depended on it, because it did. After about two years, I found my true tribe in Alcoholics Anonymous, where I continued the deep work of recovery. I changed sponsors along the way, and I also had what I call my “secret sponsors”, women whose grace and resilience I admired from afar, women who didn’t even know they were teaching me how to live without substances just by being themselves. To all those women, I am forever In your debt. We may not be In each other’s orbits today, however, you are always in the orbit of my heart and I will love you forever.
Those twelve steps didn’t just keep me sober; they rebuilt me from the inside out. I learned to live without the anger, resentment, and fear that had consumed me for so long. I discovered a power greater than myself and found that my spiritual grounding was the foundation everything else would be built upon.
Recovery gave me the chance to become the parent I should have been all along. No longer angry, mean, abusive, and self-centered; I learned to be open-minded, loving, nurturing, and present. When my daughter deployed to Afghanistan, I cared for my two grandsons, and in raising them, I got to practice being the mother I wished I had been to my own children. It was my chance at redemption, and I grabbed it with both hands.
Life kept unfolding in ways I never imagined. I bought my first house, my dream home with everything I could ever want, including a pool. But then I lost my thirty-year career when Pathmark went bankrupt, and suddenly that dream was slipping away. The house went into foreclosure. Bills piled up. My finances were an absolute disaster, I had been careless with money, and my credit was nonexistent.
But recovery had taught me something essential: I could face my problems instead of running from them. With the help of therapy, I learned accountability and financial responsibility. I worked my way out of that foreclosure. I paid off my debtors. I turned my credit completely around. What could have been the end of everything became another testament to the power of showing up and doing the hard work.
From that financial crisis, I reinvented myself. I became a certified peer specialist and discovered my calling: helping others who were struggling just as I had. That work opened the door to a career with the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) that continues today at the Central East Prevention Technology Transfer Center, where I get to spend every day making a difference in the behavioral health field.
In 2017, I took another brave step and started therapy for my mental health. Every week for two years, then every other week, then once a month for seven years, I showed up for myself. The day my therapist and I agreed I was ready to fly on my own was one of the proudest moments of my life. I had learned the most important lesson of all: I am okay.
Today, my children tell me they don’t recognize the mother I used to be. They see strength and resilience in me and truthfully, they’ve inherited those same qualities. My family has grown to five grandchildren now, and my heart overflows with gratitude knowing that not one of them has ever known the woman I was before recovery. They only know the grandmother who shows up, who loves fiercely, who is present.
I’ve recovered from hopelessness. I’ve recovered from addiction. I’ve recovered from the darkness of untreated mental health challenges. I’ve recovered from financial ruin. I’ve recovered the parts of myself I thought were lost forever and discovered parts I never knew existed.
I became a better mother, daughter, sister, and friend. I found purpose in helping others navigate their own paths to recovery. I learned that transformation isn’t just possible, it’s waiting for anyone brave enough to reach for it.
If you’re reading this and you’re struggling, please hear me: Recovery is real. Hope is real. You are worth the hard work it takes to heal. That first step through the doors might feel impossible, but on the other side is a life more beautiful than you can imagine right now.
Seventeen years ago, I couldn’t see past my pain. Today, I’m living proof that you can come back from the edge. You can recover. You can rebuild. You can become someone you’re proud to be. And you are so, so worth it.
~ Jeanne