From the Ditch to Redemption

When people ask why I choose to share my story with the world, why I want to mentor young adults, or whether I can handle the pressure of counseling those in active addiction or recovery, my answer is simple—because I’ve been there.

Being on drugs is like being stuck in a ditch. I wouldn’t trust someone to pull me out if they’ve never been in that ditch, too. How can they tell me to pray, that help is just around the corner, if they don’t even know what to pray for or what kind of help I truly need?

I’ve learned that judging others is the biggest mistake I can make—because I know what it feels like to be judged. In reality, no one knows who I am on the inside. I’m human, just like everyone else. I’ve come to understand that pointing fingers only leads back to me because, in one way or another, I see pieces of myself in others.

Being here has shown me that we are all on a path toward wholeness, toward love. And just like all journeys, this one begins and ends with God. I’m open to new ways of thinking and living because I’m sick of my old ways. I’m tired of my own bad advice. I want to succeed instead of fail. I want change—because I want to save my own life.

I want to be the person who has dreams and goals and actually lives them out. I’ve decided that I am beautiful, even with my scars, my tattoos, and my missing teeth. I want people to see that God has a new plan for me. And because I believe in Him, nothing can harm me or stop me.

I have forgiven the people who abused me. I pray for them. I hope they find peace. And in doing so, I’ve come to understand the sweet taste of forgiveness and love. I see now that even my pain was a gift—one I can use to help others. Sometimes, I marvel at the fact that the person I am today was shaped by those experiences. I have known grief. I have felt tears against my skin. But forgiveness has given me the ability to move forward with peace.

Before, the only thing I could do without feeling was use drugs. Now, I want to try giving unconditional love to someone who doesn’t know what love is—because I don’t fully know what it is either. Drugs taught me how to love someone and still lie to their face. They taught me how to be both mean as a pitbull and gentle as a lamb. I used to be a thief in the night, justifying it by day. I’d look you in the eye and lie, almost like the drugs had taken my heart’s place. I would promise a man the world and then rob him of everything.

That’s what addiction taught me. And at one point, I desperately needed better teachers—ones who could open my eyes and set my soul free. It is only by God’s grace that I am here today.

I still remember my last days of freedom. My past is filled with a lot of unwanted, unloved, hard-knock living. But God did for me what I couldn’t do for myself—He put me in prison. Now, I have 22 months sober, and I’ve found the courage to keep going. Every experience I’ve had—every time I’ve had to look fear in the face—has given me strength and confidence. Without those experiences, I wouldn’t be the beautiful person I am today.

So, if you’re wondering why I want to share my story, why I want to make a difference, the answer is simple: I do it for those still stuck in that ditch.

Yes, people say it’s hard. They say it could be risky for my mental health. But to me, it’s about helping others climb out of the same darkness I once lived in.