The Raw Truth I Carry – Diagnoses, Shattered Family, and the God Who Sees It All

I’m not going to clean this up. Not today. Day 2 is for facing what actually is.

I live with ADHD that scatters my thoughts like wind through dry Kansas fields, Complex PTSD that wakes me with memories I’d rather bury, and Bipolar that swings harder than I want to admit. These aren’t trendy labels — they’re my daily reality. I attend outpatient therapy once a week for two hours focused on C-PTSD and addiction, plus monthly deep sessions with a Christian therapist. We dig into God’s truth even when I’m shaking.

After twelve years clean from crack cocaine, I relapsed on methamphetamine. That choice cost me everything. I’ve stayed clean from crack since October 4, 2003 — on October 4 I’ll mark 23 years.

My story is painful. I had my first baby at 12 and gave her up for adoption. At 14 I started methamphetamine, had a miscarriage, and ended up on the streets of Kansas City. I had daughters at 16 and 17. The state took them when I was 18 or 19. After that I started smoking crack and spiraled — down to 79 pounds, beaten and raped regularly by a violent pimp.

In October 2001, I had a baby boy named Oliver. He suffered terrible withdrawals from crack. I’ll never forget rocking him, begging them not to take him, promising I’d do anything. They saw only a crackhead prostitute.

Then came October 4, 2003. Seven months pregnant with my now 22-year-old, I hit my knees and begged God to let me keep this baby. I went to jail, then treatment. My son was born January 14, 2004, completely clean — the cutest baby in the world by God’s grace. That marked the beginning of my long season of sobriety.

The state took my three boys too. They all carry real trauma I caused. I love them with every broken piece of me. But love without repentance is just noise.So here I am, trying to rebuild what the locusts ate.

The guilt still sits like a stone in my chest. Some days it’s hard to breathe. My twins are 18 now and both want to graduate high school, but the family the state placed them with kicked them out. My 22-year-old carries scars from the boy he was. They are strong young men despite everything. The rejection still feels impossible some mornings.

But here’s the faith that refuses to let me stay in the dirt.

Today I have 61 days clean and sober. God is not shocked by any of this. Psalm 34:18 says He is close to the brokenhearted. I am crushed, and He is close. Lamentations 3:22-23 — His mercies are new every morning.

Grace doesn’t erase consequences, but it gives me strength to keep standing. 2 Corinthians 12:9 — “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

To my boys: I love you. I’m sorry. I was sick and I made choices that hurt you deeply. I can’t undo the trauma, but I can keep choosing recovery every day. You are good young men. God sees you and He is fighting for you.

This Day 2 isn’t pretty. It’s raw and heavy — mentally ill, a mother who failed, a daughter of the King still being restored, with 61 days sober. All of it true at once.

Jesus, hold my boys. Provide for their needs. Heal what I broke. Give me endurance for this road.

If you’re in a similar valley, you’re not alone. The God who sees is with you too.

— Still Standing, By His Grace