This is the story of my religious upbringing and decision to leave my community, my ongoing battle with mental illness, eating disorders, substance abuse, addiction, broken dreams, a failed marriage - all things which led me to rehab, recovery, remembering who I am, launching my music career and building a life better than I ever could have imagined.

(10 minute read.)

My first words were “Fun mommy? Fun?” but it wasn’t even a question because my life WAS fun! I was born singing and dancing and started formal training at a young age. I had countless performance opportunities including touring across the United States and leading roles in musical theater productions. The spotlight shined upon me; I was told I was beautiful, talented, smart, and was deeply loved by my family. I can’t think of a greater gift. My dream was to be on Broadway.

Simultaneously, I was shaped by (what some would call) childhood traumas / experiences that were a source of shame and fear. I battled big feelings as an adolescent. Anxiety plagued me and I was in therapy before puberty. I showed signs of ADHD and was medicated by age 15. I was raised in a religious household where rules had significant weight, up to and including what my salvation and after-life would be like. (PLEASE note: I only speak from own my experience and don’t harbor any resentment or ill will toward any religion or religious people. My upbringing has led me to who I am today.)

Being a kid with a blossoming mental health disorder in a sheltered, religious community made things confusing for me. My brain didn’t seem to work like everyone else’s and the feeling of being different from my peers was sometimes excruciating. I was told to find comfort in religious resources but it didn’t come. I blamed myself and my inadequacy. I didn’t understand the rules in place - only to obey them. The feeling that I was “bad” and the fear of getting in trouble played a major role in my decision-making and led me to keep secrets rather than express myself.

I began to live a double life in my community. On the outside I was devout and faithful, praying hard, singing for church and participating. On the inside I feared punishment from church leaders and god.

Why was there an exclusive route to heaven and why did I have to do certain things to get there? Over time I experienced an emotional separation from the god of my upbringing and left the religion altogether.

I also lived a double life in the performance world. On the outside I was a musical theater star in school and in the community. Being a character onstage was a thrilling escape and I was applauded for this. On the inside I hated myself - my body especially. I visciously compared myself to others and felt intense jealousy. I secretly punished myself by abstaining from food or binge eating. Each show, even a standing ovation, was followed by an emotional collapse and feelings of worthlessness.

This behavior continued even into college where I studied classical voice. By my junior year I was also studying drinking and drugging. I would either elevate or dull my senses depending on my mood. Even though I laughed, had friendships, dominated leadership roles and the world of music school, there was duality. I remember days I felt so sad I couldn’t get out of bed or shower. Then there were days of euphoria, abusing my ADHD medication, acting out financially or sexually, and my eating disorder worsened. I was a revolving door of toxic relationships searching madly for my worth.

These experiences swung back and forth like a pendulum. I abused substances, cried in therapy, went to support groups and learned transcendental meditation - all band-aids.

Still, I proclaimed New York and Broadway my final destination and took steps to get there. The summer of my junior year I auditioned along with hundreds of other actors for 20 spots in a summer musical theater workshop in New York. I was chosen. That summer was the height of my artistic passion and I saw myself living my dream in that magical city; however, my fear of not making it intensified and I drowned it out with budding alcoholism. That fall I went back to school, hell-bent on graduating and getting back to New York for the school’s two-year certificate program. I auditioned again and achieved my ultimate goal: I was accepted to the program and my dream could start once I graduated.

I never graduated. I slept through my finals due to a hangover. I got to walk at graduation regardless, with the promise of doing summer school. I lied to everyone about this. I then failed the summer school classes required and never fully got my degree. And although graduating wasn’t a requirement for the school in New York, I also had no financial plan in place to support myself and all outside financial resources vanished. I blamed everyone else. I held these as excuses and didn’t go to New York. I didn’t even try.

I hated myself for not fighting for my dream. I escaped to California to live with my sister and lick my wounds, saying I would try for New York again but inside felt it was over. It was too late. I coped with drugs, alcohol and another codependent relationship. The undercurrent of unbearable self loathing and depression was somehow always countered by an equally painful mania and extreme acting out. I wanted to die but didn’t want to kill myself.

My sister, a true angel on earth, held my hand in the psychiatrist’s office where I recounted my lifetime of this pattern. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder II and faced a choice: take medication and give up the drinking and drugging, or continue to self medicate and walk the tight-rope of suicidal tendencies. Miraculously, I chose the medication and it immediately regulated my brain chemistry. I stopped substances cold turkey. I started to get out of bed everyday. I went to the gym. I got a job and rose the ladder. I auditioned for a show and got a lead role. I felt the joy of living again.

It was at this time I met someone and we stayed together for a decade. I’m not going into detail because there are two sides to every story and that isn’t the focal point. Ultimately this was not my person and eventually I made the impossible decision to end our marriage. I admit that I was not an easy person to be with but the circumstances were not always easy either. During that relationship we moved away from my family and I went into a dark depression. I was heavily medicated and did not take care of myself. I picked up drugs again and counteracted the benefits of my prescribed medication. But through all this I kept singing and performing. I even learned guitar and started writing my own songs. I auditioned for and held leading roles in the available regional theater for several seasons. I started painting and selling my art. Along the way, I started drinking again in secret and asked others to keep my secret so my then-husband wouldn’t know. My alcoholism progressed rapidly. I risked the side effects of combining medication and alcohol because I stopped caring if it harmed me.

At one point I auditioned for a show and felt positive I would get the role but I didn’t. It sent me into another depression. I saw a doctor, had bloodwork done and discovered my body couldn’t support a particular medication anymore and, instead of finding an alternative, I declared a new plan to go off medication. Right before the pandemic hit I started drinking openly because I was no longer on a med that would interfere with alcohol. It also meant I could drink openly in my home because bars were closed and I couldn’t do so in secret.

With the pandemic theaters closed too, and I completely hit a wall. My relationship was failing despite rigorous couple’s therapy. We relocated again (back to California) and being by the ocean and my family again was nectar to my soul. But I was still unhappy in my relationship so I tried one last thing - to quit all substances - in case that was the root of the problem. Was it? No. It was a symptom. The problem was within myself.

The day came that I would either hurt myself by living inauthentically or risk hurting a good man by asking for divorce. They seemed equally terrible to me. We separated around Christmas and said goodbye through COVID masks at the airport, which is a heavy memory. But I remember feeling peace and self-compassion.

I started to unearth my true identity. I HAD to keep creating despite the pandemic. I finally opened the box of songs I had buried and started singing my own music again. I stepped onto a new stage - streaming music - and released my first single, The Mountain, about my ex. I had written the song years prior and the message had remained the same. “I’ve been out of reach. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t listening. I think it’s time to mean it when you say it.”

Ending my marriage and going into the world alone opened the door that later led me to recovery - but not yet. I had to walk through hell before I walked into rehab. Having stopped my medications, I went into an acute manic episode as I white-knuckled my way through life, acting out in all the same old ways. In the end I was drinking on the kitchen floor, totally defeated.

Again, I turned to my sister and was gently guided to a doctor. I told the doctor everything about my mental anguish as well as my substance use. She prescribed me new medication and again, urged me to not combine it with substances. She referred me to a rehab facility so I would stop drinking while the meds regulated.

In that treatment facility, the meds did kick in. But something else happened to me when I was given a book of Alcoholics Anonymous and taken to AA meetings for the first time. Although I was full of pride and refused to believe I was an alcoholic, I did open that book and found myself in it. I read the stories of these alcoholics and realized that I am one of them. I met with an AA sponsor who had done the twelve-step program and I observed that she didn’t struggle against her life. I didn’t want to struggle anymore, either. She told me to see what would happen if I took the steps, as I had nothing to lose at this point.

I concluded I would perform the greatest experiment of my life and do the twelve step program. First, I had to admit that I am an alcoholic and that I can’t control my life. Even my best attempts had failed. Then I had to take the steps of the program. Three miraculous things happened:

1. I decided to be completely honest moving forward

2. I chose a version of “god” that I had always wanted to believe in and let it into my life

3. I learned how to help other people and expect nothing in return

While doing that twelve step program, I was gathering data to prove that the steps either worked or they didn’t. It turns out, they did, because my life got better and my desire to drink diminished. I had a HUGE attitude shift. My my opinion of myself changed - it ELEVATED. I stayed sober for a while and consistently took the medication that regulates my brain. Music flowed back into me. I terminated my final codependent relationship. I got a handle on my finances. I kept going through hard things and not drinking or drugging over them. My life turned technicolor.

I stayed in a sober living, removed all distractions and made space to spend time helping other women. I was learning how to trust my god and myself. I released more music. I made music videos. I found a community of people who love and trust me. I found the man of my dreams and fell in love with him. I bought a condo near my family and secured an amazing, stable job that takes care of me. None of this would have been possible if I had remained drinking on my kitchen floor.

By continually remembering I am an alcoholic who needs all kinds of help - and by changing my way of life - I have stayed sober through financial terrors, the baggage left from my divorce and the deaths of dear friends.

The data is clear: when I took the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, I stopped struggling against life. Those results are good enough for me to continue living this way. STRUGGLES HAPPEN, SUFFERING HAPPENS, FEAR HAPPENS, but I’m not ruled by those realities. When I am in a dark place I do not pick up a drink or a drug, I am cradled by my community, I make music, I am set back on my feet.

Because I understand the dark side of so many things and I have walked through them, I truly hope that I can help other people. This is what I feel I can offer the world through my music. I write about my experiences because it is cathartic. I then share those experiences because I have nothing to hide and somehow it seems to resonate with others which is more than I ever dreamed possible. I’ll stay vulnerable for that reason.

I can now look myself in the mirror and be grateful that although I’m not perfect, I am whole.