Road to Recovery (Part I)

My healing journey began 15 years ago—right when I hit rock bottom.

I had a full-blown mental breakdown. Life felt impossible as I tried to juggle the stress of work and raising two young kids. I was falling apart inside, even though on the outside I was trying so hard to keep it together.

Thankfully, one of my closest friends—someone I deeply trusted—referred me to a psychologist. That introduction changed my life. That psychologist has been my therapist ever since.

She suggested I go for an evaluation at a mental health and addiction assistance facility. I went in for an interview. At the end, they gently asked if I was willing to be admitted. I said yes—because deep down, I knew I couldn’t do this alone anymore. I needed help.

So I checked in.

And honestly? It was one of the most transformative experiences of my life.

Each day during my stay, I met with a psychiatrist. On our very first meeting, he suspected that my struggles might be rooted in unresolved childhood trauma. That insight led him to prescribe Lithium and a few other medications to help stabilize me.

I also participated in nightly group therapy sessions. These weren’t just therapy—they were soul-healing moments. We sat in a circle with a facilitator and other patients. We took turns sharing our stories, our feelings, and words of encouragement. One of the most powerful things we learned was to really listen—without interrupting—so each person felt free to speak their truth.

There was one girl I’ll never forget. She was young—maybe 16—and absolutely radiant. Sweet, talented, full of hope. Her dream was to perform on Broadway someday. One night, the two of us sat quietly in the courtyard under the stars. I remember thinking, with all my heart, “I hope she makes it. I hope she shines one day on that big stage.” Because even if we’re broken, even if the world calls us crazy, our dreams still matter. We still matter.

I stayed at the facility for five days. It was just the beginning—but those five days gave me something I hadn’t felt in a long time: peace.

There was a little garden there, called Serenity Garden. I used to sit there often. That’s where I first learned the Serenity Prayer. It stayed with me long after I left. It grounded me. It taught me to let go and accept the things I couldn’t control. That mindset became the foundation of my recovery.

Letting go. Accepting. That’s where my healing truly began.

Here’s the prayer that guided me:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

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