I didn’t want to talk about this past year. Shame, guilt, fear of “what will they think?” kept me quiet. But silence only locks you in. So, last November, I disappeared and told work I wasn’t coming back until January because I had nothing left in the tank. For years, I hid it well enough to blend in, doing my best to dodge the truth. But on November 4th, I hit a wall. I didn’t want to check out for good, but I couldn’t keep going. That night put me in the hospital—and then into the hardest thing I’ve ever done: rehab. That surrender was the beginning of something great.
This past year, I learned something about letting go—not just of substances but of people, too. Some relationships outgrew me, or maybe I outgrew them. The energy, the alignment, the things I once tolerated? They’ve got no place in my life anymore. And it’s complicated. There’s freedom, yes, but also a rawness to standing in your own truth and realizing some people just don’t fit. Now, I’m unapologetically picky about who gets to stay in my world—choosing depth, shared vision, and realness over comfort. It’s a hard shift but a powerful one.
And that’s what this is about: surrender, survival, and the wild gift of clarity. It’s not a sob story; it’s a look into what’s possible when you stop running from yourself. Through the fellowship, #AA, and sharing stories with strangers who know every side of me, I found a way back to who I was meant to be.
Did I lose things along the way? Absolutely. I have an estranged relationship with my brother—a reality check I own. But in the middle of this chaos, my mother and I became something we never were before: friends. She doesn’t know addiction, doesn’t understand it, and has lived a life of intense structure and ambition, always on, always serious. And yet, here we are, connecting like we never have before.
So here I am, turning 40, and I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. My creativity is on fire, my writing feels electric, and I want to capture everything through my keyboard & the click of my camera. This time, not to escape but to savor. To feel, really feel, every high and low. Honesty is my new muscle, and building it was brutal—but worth every step. Addiction teaches us to hide, but recovery shows us a different path: Don’t quit before the miracle happens.
The miracle for me? I stopped hiding. I know now that I’m more than enough, and I don’t need to apologize for it. My creativity and ideas have a place in this world, and I intend to take up that space. To anyone reading:
Don’t waste your life on “what ifs.” That’s the real trap—one drink, one pill, one numbed-out day at a time.
Here’s what I’ve learned, the wisdom I’m taking with me:
Hate no one. They might have wronged you, but hate is a poison that only harms you. Leave it behind.
Live humbly, no matter what you have. Life has a wicked sense of humor when it comes to bringing us to our knees. Today, you might have it all; tomorrow, you might have nothing.
Think like a warrior. Your mindset is your most powerful weapon, especially when the path ahead feels impossible.
Give from the heart, no matter how much or little you have. True generosity isn’t in the dollar amount; it’s in how you show up.
Forgive freely—but not for them, for you. Keep toxic people out, but don’t carry their weight on your shoulders.
And forgive yourself. Mistakes are chapters, not life sentences. We’re all doing the best we can with what we know.
The past? It’s a place I’ve been, not a place I live. Life is here, now, and I’m stepping into the light without looking back. And here’s the truth: I’m ready. Ready to share the real story—raw, hopeful, messy, and courageous. This isn’t just a chapter of healing; it’s an invitation to rise, to remind each of you reading this that you’re never too far gone to find yourself again.
To those who need it: I’m here for you, sharing the path forward. Moving to #Substack, I’ll be opening up like never before—showing up in all my layers, bringing stories of resilience and the lessons learned along the way. This is a journey of stepping into light, reclaiming joy, and finding poetry in all the little things I used to run from. This next chapter? It’s public. It’s real. It’s for anyone ready to walk with me.
So here’s to courage, to stepping fully into who we are, and to the beauty of a life reclaimed. Here’s to entering the light—together.
XOXO,
Coach Ms.K
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