I believe with my whole ass chest that every trauma has one thing in common. The shitty coffee. Jail came with shitty coffee. Hospitals and waiting rooms came with shitty coffee. Hospice. Shelters. Courtrooms. Every chapter of survival handed me that same bitter cup.

If you are a survivor of anything, then you already know the truth. We have all held that same cup of shitty coffee. It’s the one universal thing in a life that tried to break us.

I survived a gunshot to the face while holding my baby. I survived addiction, poverty, violence, and a childhood that taught me how to endure everything except stability. I spent years breaking my own life apart before I learned how to rebuild it piece by piece. Fourteen years on my recovery journey and still climbing, I’m choosing my kids, my community, and a future that looks nothing like the one I came from.

If you want the polished version of someone’s journey, this isn’t it. What I share is raw, unfiltered, and real. From the bullet still lodged in my neck to the daughter still missing from my life, my story isn’t wrapped in a bow. But it is proof that survival can turn into purpose. If you want the whole truth, the long version is waiting for you.