Where did you grow up, and what shaped who you are today?
I grew up as the middle child of three daughters, both of whom were immigrants from Zimbabwe and Zambia. My parents came to the United States in 1978 with “$4 in their pocket” as the story goes, and built what they still proudly call the American dream. My father attended BYU, earned a full ride to MIT, and then took us wherever his career led. Because of that, I did not grow up in one particular place. We moved often, following opportunity as my father climbed the corporate ladder.
I was raised in a deeply loving household, but also a very structured one. My parents were converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and all three of us were raised in the church. For much of my childhood, that framework simply existed, until I reached middle school and began to question it.
That period marked the first time I truly examined what I had been taught and whether it aligned with what I felt and believed. I had questions about doctrine, identity, and belonging that no one seemed able or willing to answer. When I stopped wanting to attend church, it created significant friction at home. The tension between honoring my parents, respecting their sacrifices, and trusting my own instincts became a defining emotional struggle.
That season shaped me profoundly. It taught me that love and conflict can coexist, that security does not always equal safety, and that questioning, even when uncomfortable, can be both isolating and formative. In many ways, that friction marked the beginning of a deeper internal unraveling that later showed up in how I tried to cope, numb, and survive.
What was your life like before you got sober?
Like many people who eventually find sobriety, there was a long stretch where my substance use did not feel dangerous. At times, it even felt functional, social, and normal. Also, like many people who eventually find sobriety, it worked until it did not.
Because I grew up in a strict religious environment, rebellion felt almost inevitable. The moment I had freedom from that structure, I ran toward the opposite extreme. My high school years marked the first clear signs of my bipolar depression. When I was fifteen, I experienced a severe depressive episode that made it clear to my parents that something was deeply wrong. They did the best they could with the understanding they had at the time and tried to get me help, even if none of us fully understood what was happening yet.
Around that same time, I discovered alcohol and marijuana. At first, they served two purposes. They allowed rebellion, and they offered relief. They helped me push against the rules I felt trapped by, and they numbed emotions that felt overwhelming and unmanageable. What began as experimentation quickly became a coping mechanism.
When I left home for college, my consumption escalated dramatically. There were no rules, no limits, and no guardrails. I built an identity around being reckless, carefree, and still somehow functional. I did not see a problem because everyone around me behaved the same way I did.
That pattern followed me into adulthood. As long as my environment normalized my behavior, there was no reason to question it. From the outside, I appeared to be managing. From the inside, I was slowly unraveling long before I realized I needed to stop.
When did you first realize you had a problem, and what finally led you to seek help?
I began to seriously question my drinking around 2020 and 2021, but the real turning point started in 2018, when I met my husband.
He barely drank, and being with him held up a mirror I had never seen before. For the first time, my habits became visible. What followed was not immediate change, but resistance and secrecy.
When we moved in together in 2019, I began hiding my drinking. I snuck drinks, hid bottles, and consumed far more than I admitted to. Then the pandemic hit in 2020. Travel stopped, work slowed, and time stretched endlessly. What had once been emotional numbing became physical dependence.
I tried moderation through rules, limits, and promises, but none of them worked. Every night, I woke around three in the morning with my head pounding, heart racing in a body desperate for relief. Every morning, staring in the mirrior I made promises that I would negotiate my way out by lunchtime. What finally led me to seek help was not a single dramatic moment. It was the repetition and the exhausting realization that I could not stop on my own.
How did you get sober?
In early 2021, I committed to Dry January and felt incredible. Then I started drinking again. At the same time, I was deeply immersed in personal development and knew I wanted more from my life. I wanted more presence, more purpose, and more alignment. This personal journey was critical to me ultimately finding sobriety.
On May 15, 2021, after a night of drinking, I took one sip of a beer at my kitchen sink and immediately spat it out. It tasted like poison. I poured it down the drain and knew instantly it was my last sip.
The next morning, May 16, 2021, in a Tony-Award-winning performance, I declared my sobriety for good.
From that day forward, I drowned myself in sobriety. I read every book, listened to every podcast, and immersed myself fully. I expanded beyond sobriety into personal growth, public speaking, and coaching. I earned my life-coaching certification, shared my story publicly, and built a community of thousands.
Sobriety became something I lived into, not something I gave up.
What do you consider your sobriety date? Have you experienced any relapses, and what does maintaining your recovery look like day-to-day now?
My sobriety date is May 16, 2021. I have not experienced any relapses.
Recovery today is intentional and holistic. I live with bipolar disorder, and managing my mental health is central to my sobriety. When my mood is regulated, my addiction remains in check.
I work with a therapist and psychiatrist, participate in neurofeedback, have undergone ketamine treatments, take medication, and stay connected to people who know and love me. Cravings still arise at times, and I acknowledge them without shame and allow them to pass.
Sobriety is not something I maintain through force. It is something I live by, choosing a life that supports my nervous system, my mental health, and my growth.
What has surprised you most about recovery?
What has surprised me most is how long it takes.
Nearly five years in, this is the first year I truly feel good in my body and confident in who I am. Recovery is not just about removing a substance. It is about rebuilding everything underneath it, and that work takes time.
Growth is slow, quiet, and layered. Recovery taught me patience and respect for the process.
Who are the most important people in your recovery journey?
The most important people in my recovery journey are my husband and my daughter.
They love me unconditionally through the ups, downs, meltdowns, and growth. Being able to recover out loud with them has been a gift. Addiction thrives in secrecy, and recovery thrives in honesty. Their support has been foundational.
What have you accomplished in sobriety that wouldn’t have been possible before, and how do you feel about your life today?
I spent fifteen years in corporate America and felt deeply disconnected from meaning. In sobriety, I have built a life that feels abundant and balanced.
I earned my coaching certification, coached hundreds of people, host a podcast now ranked 2.5% globally in its fourth season, and spent more than two years writing my memoir, Tainted Love: A Bipolar Memoir, set for release in fall 2026.
More importantly, I have become the mother and partner I want to be. I have reconnected with my family and found peace.
I still have goals and things I am working toward, but I feel grounded, present, and at peace with my life.
What advice would you give someone starting this journey to recovery?
Recovery is not linear.
There will be hard days, disappointing days, and surprising days. All of it belongs. Getting sober is only the beginning, and lasting recovery requires looking beneath the surface.
I think of recovery like a garden. You can pull a weed from the top, which stops the growth, but unless you dig out the roots, it will keep growing back. The roots are the pain, patterns, nervous system, mental health, and traumas beneath the surface.
Treat yourself like a beautiful garden. Be patient. Be curious. Dig when you are ready. That is how lasting sobriety and real healing grow.
