A Life I Never Imagined

July 2026

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A Life I Never Imagined

July 2026

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A Life I Never Imagined

July 2026

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A Life I Never Imagined


“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” – Isaiah 43:19


This July, I celebrate two remarkable gifts: another birthday and forty years of recovery. There was a time when I could not imagine living a life free from the habits and patterns that kept me spiritually and emotionally stuck. Like many people, I searched for relief in places that ultimately could not heal what was hurting within. What seemed to offer comfort gradually became another burden to carry.


Then, through the grace of God and the fellowship of a twelve-step recovery program, a different path opened before me.


Recovery entered my life like a door opening into a dark room.


Walking through that door did not erase my past. It did not restore the years I had lost or remove the consequences of my choices. Instead, it gave me something infinitely more valuable: the opportunity to become the woman God had intended me to be all along.


The Twelve-Steps taught me honesty where I had hidden behind masks. They taught me humility instead of pride, courage instead of fear, and forgiveness instead of self-centeredness.


Most importantly, recovery led me into a deeper relationship with God, who has faithfully carried me through unexpected joys and profound sorrows. That relationship has become the foundation upon which I continue to build my life, one day at a time.


Forty years later, I have learned that recovery is about far more than giving something up. It is about receiving a new life. Whatever burden you carry today, I hope you will remember Isaiah’s promise: God is still doing new things. Sometimes the first sign of that new thing is simply the willingness to take the next step.


Over these forty years, life has not spared me.


I have buried two daughters, walked beside my husband through terminal brain cancer, and accompanied hundreds of grieving families as a bereavement counselor, endured serious health challenges, navigated family estrangement, and continued to uncover the lingering effects of growing up with a father living with schizophrenia in a family shaped by silence.


Recovery did not shield me from life’s sorrows.


It gave me the strength and spiritual foundation to walk through them with faith, honesty, and hope.


Today I understand that recovery is far more than leaving an old way of living behind. It is the daily practice of choosing hope over despair, truth over denial, and faith over fear. Healing does not erase our wounds, but it transforms the way we carry them.


One of recovery’s greatest gifts has been finding my voice.


For years, silence felt safer than speaking. In my family, painful truths were often hidden. We survived by keeping secrets, recovery invited me to live differently. Little by little, I found the courage to tell my story, not because it is extraordinary, but because honest stories remind me that none of us walks alone.


That voice now finds expression in my work as a bereavement counselor, in mentoring women seeking recovery, in my memoir writing, and in the quiet conversations where one person can simply say to another, “You’re not alone.”


As I enter my next birthday as an octogenarian, I am mindful of the many dear friends who were not given the privilege of growing old. I carry their memories with me. Their absence reminds me that each ordinary day is an extraordinary gift.


Forty years ago, I hoped only to remain free one day at a time.


God has given me far more than freedom.


God has given me a life of purpose.


Not a perfect life.


A meaningful one.


If you are facing a difficult season, whether it is grief, loss, addiction, illness, or uncertainty, I offer this simple encouragement: do not give up. Trust that healing often unfolds quietly, one day at a time. Sometimes we do not recognize how much we have changed until we pause and look back.


I remain profoundly grateful to God, to the fellowship that welcomed me, to the women and men who walked beside me, and to every opportunity to pass along the hope that was so freely given to me.


Forty years later, I celebrate more than freedom.


I celebrate the grace that taught me how to live.

A Life I Never Imagined


“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” – Isaiah 43:19


This July, I celebrate two remarkable gifts: another birthday and forty years of recovery. There was a time when I could not imagine living a life free from the habits and patterns that kept me spiritually and emotionally stuck. Like many people, I searched for relief in places that ultimately could not heal what was hurting within. What seemed to offer comfort gradually became another burden to carry.


Then, through the grace of God and the fellowship of a twelve-step recovery program, a different path opened before me.


Recovery entered my life like a door opening into a dark room.


Walking through that door did not erase my past. It did not restore the years I had lost or remove the consequences of my choices. Instead, it gave me something infinitely more valuable: the opportunity to become the woman God had intended me to be all along.


The Twelve-Steps taught me honesty where I had hidden behind masks. They taught me humility instead of pride, courage instead of fear, and forgiveness instead of self-centeredness.


Most importantly, recovery led me into a deeper relationship with God, who has faithfully carried me through unexpected joys and profound sorrows. That relationship has become the foundation upon which I continue to build my life, one day at a time.


Forty years later, I have learned that recovery is about far more than giving something up. It is about receiving a new life. Whatever burden you carry today, I hope you will remember Isaiah’s promise: God is still doing new things. Sometimes the first sign of that new thing is simply the willingness to take the next step.


Over these forty years, life has not spared me.


I have buried two daughters, walked beside my husband through terminal brain cancer, and accompanied hundreds of grieving families as a bereavement counselor, endured serious health challenges, navigated family estrangement, and continued to uncover the lingering effects of growing up with a father living with schizophrenia in a family shaped by silence.


Recovery did not shield me from life’s sorrows.


It gave me the strength and spiritual foundation to walk through them with faith, honesty, and hope.


Today I understand that recovery is far more than leaving an old way of living behind. It is the daily practice of choosing hope over despair, truth over denial, and faith over fear. Healing does not erase our wounds, but it transforms the way we carry them.


One of recovery’s greatest gifts has been finding my voice.


For years, silence felt safer than speaking. In my family, painful truths were often hidden. We survived by keeping secrets, recovery invited me to live differently. Little by little, I found the courage to tell my story, not because it is extraordinary, but because honest stories remind me that none of us walks alone.


That voice now finds expression in my work as a bereavement counselor, in mentoring women seeking recovery, in my memoir writing, and in the quiet conversations where one person can simply say to another, “You’re not alone.”


As I enter my next birthday as an octogenarian, I am mindful of the many dear friends who were not given the privilege of growing old. I carry their memories with me. Their absence reminds me that each ordinary day is an extraordinary gift.


Forty years ago, I hoped only to remain free one day at a time.


God has given me far more than freedom.


God has given me a life of purpose.


Not a perfect life.


A meaningful one.


If you are facing a difficult season, whether it is grief, loss, addiction, illness, or uncertainty, I offer this simple encouragement: do not give up. Trust that healing often unfolds quietly, one day at a time. Sometimes we do not recognize how much we have changed until we pause and look back.


I remain profoundly grateful to God, to the fellowship that welcomed me, to the women and men who walked beside me, and to every opportunity to pass along the hope that was so freely given to me.


Forty years later, I celebrate more than freedom.


I celebrate the grace that taught me how to live.

A Life I Never Imagined


“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” – Isaiah 43:19


This July, I celebrate two remarkable gifts: another birthday and forty years of recovery. There was a time when I could not imagine living a life free from the habits and patterns that kept me spiritually and emotionally stuck. Like many people, I searched for relief in places that ultimately could not heal what was hurting within. What seemed to offer comfort gradually became another burden to carry.


Then, through the grace of God and the fellowship of a twelve-step recovery program, a different path opened before me.


Recovery entered my life like a door opening into a dark room.


Walking through that door did not erase my past. It did not restore the years I had lost or remove the consequences of my choices. Instead, it gave me something infinitely more valuable: the opportunity to become the woman God had intended me to be all along.


The Twelve-Steps taught me honesty where I had hidden behind masks. They taught me humility instead of pride, courage instead of fear, and forgiveness instead of self-centeredness.


Most importantly, recovery led me into a deeper relationship with God, who has faithfully carried me through unexpected joys and profound sorrows. That relationship has become the foundation upon which I continue to build my life, one day at a time.


Forty years later, I have learned that recovery is about far more than giving something up. It is about receiving a new life. Whatever burden you carry today, I hope you will remember Isaiah’s promise: God is still doing new things. Sometimes the first sign of that new thing is simply the willingness to take the next step.


Over these forty years, life has not spared me.


I have buried two daughters, walked beside my husband through terminal brain cancer, and accompanied hundreds of grieving families as a bereavement counselor, endured serious health challenges, navigated family estrangement, and continued to uncover the lingering effects of growing up with a father living with schizophrenia in a family shaped by silence.


Recovery did not shield me from life’s sorrows.


It gave me the strength and spiritual foundation to walk through them with faith, honesty, and hope.


Today I understand that recovery is far more than leaving an old way of living behind. It is the daily practice of choosing hope over despair, truth over denial, and faith over fear. Healing does not erase our wounds, but it transforms the way we carry them.


One of recovery’s greatest gifts has been finding my voice.


For years, silence felt safer than speaking. In my family, painful truths were often hidden. We survived by keeping secrets, recovery invited me to live differently. Little by little, I found the courage to tell my story, not because it is extraordinary, but because honest stories remind me that none of us walks alone.


That voice now finds expression in my work as a bereavement counselor, in mentoring women seeking recovery, in my memoir writing, and in the quiet conversations where one person can simply say to another, “You’re not alone.”


As I enter my next birthday as an octogenarian, I am mindful of the many dear friends who were not given the privilege of growing old. I carry their memories with me. Their absence reminds me that each ordinary day is an extraordinary gift.


Forty years ago, I hoped only to remain free one day at a time.


God has given me far more than freedom.


God has given me a life of purpose.


Not a perfect life.


A meaningful one.


If you are facing a difficult season, whether it is grief, loss, addiction, illness, or uncertainty, I offer this simple encouragement: do not give up. Trust that healing often unfolds quietly, one day at a time. Sometimes we do not recognize how much we have changed until we pause and look back.


I remain profoundly grateful to God, to the fellowship that welcomed me, to the women and men who walked beside me, and to every opportunity to pass along the hope that was so freely given to me.


Forty years later, I celebrate more than freedom.


I celebrate the grace that taught me how to live.