My parents were sixteen when I was born.

I grew up in a small Midwestern town where drinking wasn’t just common—it was part of the culture. It was simply what people did to have fun, unwind, and connect.

So I learned early on how normal it all was.

And I carried that into adulthood.

For years, I functioned well on the outside. I kept life moving. I was the life of the party, played sports, earned a Master’s degree by twenty-two, became a credentialed teacher in California, and later an entrepreneur. I went on to earn additional certifications in psychology and helping others.

I built a life that looked solid: two healthy kids, a home I took pride in, financial stability, loyal friendships, and a strong work ethic.

But underneath it all, I had quietly leaned on alcohol more than I wanted to admit.

It was my off switch. My escape. My reward. My coping mechanism.

And over time, it started to take more than it gave back.

Hangovers got heavier. The rules I set for myself stopped working. One glass became a bottle more often than I wanted to admit.

And I kept finding myself saying, “I’m never doing this again.”

But nothing really changed—until one phone call did.

A close friend of mine had died in her sleep from alcoholism.

That moment stopped everything.

I decided I didn’t want to wait for my life to get louder before I listened.

In her honor—and for my own health—I stopped drinking.

That decision became a turning point.

Since then, I’ve made my physical, mental, and emotional well-being a priority, and I’ve dedicated my work to helping others take an honest look at their own relationship with alcohol.

Not from a place of shame or extremes—but from clarity, choice, and self-respect.