Finding Purpose After Addiction: From Broken to BOLD

I used to think my story ended in a dope house. MY dope house. That’s how I preferred. Just another lost cause, another statistic. I spent 13 years in addiction, hooked on meth, trapped in a cycle I couldn’t break. My arms told stories of desperation, and needles became my escape, my comfort, my destruction. I was convinced that I was beyond saving. Truthfully, I didn’t want to quit. Ever. I was fine at the bottom, as far as I was concerned- it’s where I belonged.
But here’s the thing about rock bottom: it’s the best place to rebuild.

The Loneliness of Recovery

When I first got sober, I thought the hardest part would be the cravings. But it wasn’t. The hardest part was figuring out who I was without the high. I had spent over a decade defining myself by my addiction- who was I without it? How could I get people to like me if I didn’t have anything more than myself to offer? Where would I find the self-confidence if I couldn’t have drug induced courage? Who was I without my flaws? I had no idea.

I felt like an outcast in recovery. Everywhere I went, I saw people who seemed like they had it together. Women who didn’t have track marks. Moms who hadn’t lost custody of their kids. Christians who never questioned God’s existence. And then there was me- a broken mess, trying to believe that life could be different.

I remember sitting in church one Sunday, early in my recovery, feeling like a fraud. It was a rule that I had to go to church because of the treatment program I was in. I bounced from church to church for those first few months, not listening, not understanding, just doing it because I had to.
I heard people say, “Jesus loves you.” But did He love someone like me? Someone who had done the things I’d done? Someone who had been consumed by addiction for more than half her life?

I wrestled with doubt. Faith didn’t come easy for me. I wasn’t the girl who grew up in church with a perfect family. I was the girl who bounced from home to home, the girl who learned survival before she learned love. Trusting God wasn’t just hard- it felt impossible.

One night, early in my recovery, I hit a breaking point. I had been doing everything “right”- attending meetings, avoiding triggers, staying clean—but I still felt empty. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like I had just traded one form of misery for another. At least before, I could fix my mood and get high, and have fun. Right? Oh, I had no idea just how wrong I was.

But there was a moment where I broke. I whispered something that didn’t even feel like a prayer: God, please help me.

That was it. No fancy words, no big emotional moment. Just desperation.

And somehow, in that moment, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate. I didn’t wake up the next day with unshakable faith. But for the first time in my life, I felt something I couldn’t explain- hope. And that hope became the foundation for everything that came next. It was no coincidence that the same morning I prayed for the first time in my life, I was also released to a faith based treatment program.

The Road to Purpose

Recovery isn’t just about getting clean. It’s about finding purpose. It’s about taking all the wreckage from your past and turning it into something meaningful.

For me, that meant using my story to help others. It meant stepping into my calling, even when I didn’t feel qualified. It meant believing that my pain wasn’t wasted- that God could use even the ugliest parts of my past for something good.

I started sharing my story, not just in meetings, but online, with people who needed to hear it. Women who felt like they were too far gone. Moms who thought they’d never get their kids back. People who had given up on faith because they thought they’d messed up too much.

And that’s when I realized- my purpose wasn’t just about staying sober. It was about helping others do the same.

It doesn’t seem very profound most days. But then, every now and then, I will get a message or a phone call from a woman- whether it’s a friend or a stranger- and I realize that God has put me in the path of those who need it. That’s crazy to think, right? But it’s true. Sharing about things like the loss of my child, the pain and trauma of addiction and domestic abuse…all those terrible things- both self-inflicted and not- actually HELP others.

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me

If you’re in recovery, feeling like an outcast, feeling like you don’t belong- listen to me: you do. Stick it out. That first year is hard and you will experience so many feelings and trials, you just have to keep going!

You are not too broken. You are not too lost. You are not too messed up for God to use you.

Your past doesn’t disqualify you- it equips you. The things you thought would destroy you? They’re the very things that will help someone else heal.

Faith isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, even when you’re scared. It’s about believing- little by little- that there’s more for you. That you are more.

I’m not the same person I was at 13, or 23, or even yesterday. Recovery is a constant process of becoming. And if you’re on that journey, let me tell you: you are not alone.

You were made for more. You have a purpose. And no matter how messy your past is, God isn’t done with your story yet.

So keep going. You’re closer than you think.