It started with a simple “God is watching over you,” over an event I still can’t explain away. Then a moment of clarity in the mirror. Followed by denial breaking in front of my friends and family. Finally, the nail in the coffin. My best friend, telling me she couldn’t stand by and watch me kill myself.

I never felt more exposed.

There are moments you look back on and wish your future self could intervene and stop you. You have no idea what your “yes” is about to do.

A couple years prior, my parents were out of town. A harmless get-together.

I stepped outside to check on a friend like any good host would. He was sitting at the backyard table with his guest, getting ready to put something up his nose. He looked up and asked if I minded him doing it in my home.

“Only if you make one for me.”

No second thought. It just came out.

That was it. The moment. The clouds parted. A euphoria I had been searching for my whole life overcame me.

I was off and running.

A yes I couldn’t take back. It was fun in the beginning. I called it partying.

That’s all it was, right?

I couldn’t see the shame coming, or the condemnation, or a dark world I didn’t know existed.

My darkest days leading up to my bottom consisted of my mom locking her purse in her bedroom and me spending time in drug dens with the winners of society.

June 2003. I’m 22.

I’m jonesing. I want to use.

God, how did I get here? A plea to something or someone I was never sure existed.

Can I do this? Like really do this? I’m so tired of being sick and tired.

Leading up to the wedding, I had told my parents I needed rehab. I was finally saying it out loud.

I need help. SOS.

I couldn’t do it on my own, however hard I tried to white-knuckle it. I was weak. Too much temptation around me. I didn’t know how to say no, and I didn’t know how to stop.

That was the plan then. Get through the wedding, the bachelorette who left me on the floor, and get clean. A perfect chance to show everyone they can trust me. For real this time.

But how?

I’ll figure it out. But it’s not that day, so I’m going to party until the wheels come off.

My friend Brandon. We partied hard, but he had a genuine heart, always looking out for the people around him. His mom is sober in AA. He tells her I want to clean up. She says she knows exactly where I need to go. Monday night, an NA meeting over the hill. A safe distance from everyone I was trying to leave behind.

Things just got real.

It’s the Monday after the wedding.

We pull up.

A church? Really?

A group of people congregating outside the meeting room. Smoking.

Phew.

Ok, at least I know they’re not saints.

I’ll join them for a cigarette later. They’re probably not even clean.

No one is really clean…

I walk in. A big half-circle with rows behind it. It’s a big meeting. Men, women, young people like me. A head table up front, someone behind it leading the group.

Stomach knots. Butterflies. Gazing at the floor, no eye contact. I sit down in the back.

They’re all looking at me, aren’t they? They can see right through me, I just know it.

My heart is pounding. My arms are folded tight across my chest. I’m terrified.

The meeting is about to begin. I look up.

I scan the room and feel a stirring from within. An emotion I’m not familiar with anymore.

Joy.

People are smiling. Hugging, greeting each other as they walk in. People are smiling at me. I think I even hear a welcome from someone who can tell I’m not a regular.

Are these people actually clean and happy? Did I see light in their eyes? There’s no way they used like me and are sober now, but also full of life…

The meeting starts with a welcome and a brief message about the group.

I don’t know if I’m going to be asked to say anything. I’ve seen it in movies and TV shows. The dreaded surrender. The admission of who you really are.

Can I stand up and say it?

“If anyone is new to recovery or at their very first meeting, can you please stand and tell us your name?” the leader asks.

Dang it.

I look around quickly. I’m not standing if no one else does…

Before I can finish the thought, people get up. Brandon’s mom looks at me. I give her a smirk and a shrug and slowly get out of my seat.

Heart thumping as my turn edges closer.

“Hi, my name is Daniela. This is my first meeting ever. And I’m an addict.” My voice shakes.

People shout welcome. Clapping.

I breathe out, relieved it’s over, and sit back down. People are looking at me with big smiles.

Can they really be this happy I’m here? Are they really clean? I know someone is lying.

The shift.

They’re celebrating people staying clean. First, they’re handing out key tags. 30 days.

How does anyone not use for 30 days straight?

Now 60, 90 days, six months, nine months, a year?!

No way.

I watch the cheers, the smiles, people so happy for the ones hitting milestones I never thought I could reach. People sharing how they stay clean one day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time. Sharing the struggle, what they went through, how grateful they are to be clean. Mending relationships. Getting their lives back.

That sounds like me…

The adrenaline from standing and identifying starts to pass. I settle into my chair and let myself think about a life without using.

The meeting ends and I’m bum rushed. People hugging me, welcoming me, so excited I’m there.

It actually feels genuine…

They tell me to call if I want to use and write their numbers on a meeting list. They tell me I need to find a sponsor. They hand me pamphlets.

A glimmer of life in their eyes. I remember having that once.

I didn’t realize what I was stepping into. A promise. That I could stop. That the desire could leave. That there was a new way to live.

I smiled as tears welled up in my eyes. Maybe I can…

- No one is too lost to be saved.

It was all coming to a head. I could no longer hide my using from anyone.

A week ago, I was left crying on the floor by friends who couldn’t tolerate me anymore. They were heartbroken too.

I was invited back to the house to meet them in the garage. I knew the confrontation was coming. So, I did what any good addict does. I got high first so I could face them. I didn’t want to hear it.

I pulled up to the house, parked on the street. I threw my head back against the headrest. Deep sigh. I took a final hit to get me through it, and stepped out.

Head down.

Walk of shame.

They were all sitting in a half circle waiting for me. It was nighttime. The garage was glowing inside. I never walked in. I stayed in the dark and sat on an empty box while they all looked at me.

Crickets.

I muttered a hello.

The one who owned the house piped up first. I don't remember what she said. She was saving face. She knew what she'd done with me behind closed doors.

Eye roll inside.

My arms were crossed. Body was tight. Head still down. Heart was racing.

Was it racing because I was nervous? Or was it the hit I just took?

I stayed quiet.

Once the hypocrite spoke, everything drowned out after that. Of all people, she was the one with the audacity to speak first.

After her turn, I heard voices off to the side talking to me. I can’t recall what was said. It’s a blur.

I finally looked up. I locked eyes with the one God knew I needed to hear from. She was sitting in the center of the half circle, directly across from me. The friend I passed notes with. The one I giggled with about the boys we would marry. Thelma & Louise since 4th grade. The one I never thought would leave me.

Squirming.

“Dan. I always thought we’d grow old together.” My 4th grade friend said. “That we would be in each other’s weddings, and raise our kids together. I’m terrified when the phone rings at night that I’m going to find out you’re dead. I can no longer stand by and watch you destroy your life and kill yourself. I can’t be a part of your life anymore. I’m done.”

Gut punch.

Mic drop.

I did not expect this from my sweet friend. The one I could always count on. The one with so many shared inside jokes and memories.

How did I end up here? Sitting across from the friend I never thought twice would ever leave me. I knew I was bad, but this was next level. I did not see this coming.

I winced.

What could I say? She was right. I knew where I was headed. Jail or dead. I had hoped for the second more than once.

I nodded and muttered, “Ok, I understand.”

I didn’t want to lose my friend. I didn’t want to die. I had a brother fighting for his life due to medical neglect. I was actively pursuing to end mine.

This was the call out of Egypt. The one who loved me enough to walk away.

I got up. I held it long enough to exit. I knew where they stood. If my best friend could no longer be a part of my life, I knew the rest would follow.

I called the guy I was seeing at the time. He’d distract me.

Who needs them anyway?

I did.

Deep down I didn’t believe my own lie.

- No one is too lost to be saved

They’re finally asleep. I quietly get up from the bed. My son was in bed by 8:30 pm. My husband was usually rolled over and asleep by 9 or 9:30 pm. The earlier the better. That meant more viewer time for me.

I tiptoe. Grab my robe. Phone flashlight to guide me. I close the door. I sneak down the hall to my grail. The couch. I’d been waiting all day to get to it. I had to stay on top of the recordings so I could keep up with the culture. I couldn’t open Instagram yet. I had to watch first. No spoilers. Friends knew not to text until we confirmed all were caught up.

I grab the remote. I cozy up with my blanket. I hit play. I lean back. Deep sigh.

The moment I’d waited all day for was finally here.

My Housewives. My Bravo content. If it was on Bravo, I watched it. I called it my light-hearted guilty pleasure. A soft framing of a pop culture phenomenon that wasn’t just watching.

It was religion.

The toxic shade. The adrenaline rush. The pupil dilation. The interwoven storylines that continued through multiple seasons.

It was loyalty.

Confrontation I didn’t have in real life. Taking sides. The scene I couldn’t wait to bring to dinner. BravoCon plans. Podcast drops, to see if my takeaways aligned with the professionals.

It was an exclusive club.

If you know, you know. When the gold line dropped in pop culture, it was a connection.

“Who gon’ check me boo?”

The same way you see a stranger wearing your favorite team’s hat and feel an instant kinship. Yeah. That was real for me too.

These are my people. I knew them. I defended them. I had their back. It was real. It was more than just casual watching.

This was worship.

It was the guilty pleasure I’d speak of, but most didn’t know how deep it went.

My husband hated it. I’d remind him that this is the soap opera of my generation. His mom watched Dynasty. I watched Housewives.

He called it my wrestling.

I couldn’t have it on around him because I couldn’t stand the snicker and snide remarks he’d make about my housewives. I had to defend them.

Frustration.

I finally gave up. I had to watch alone.

He called the show Beep Beep.

He couldn’t stand every other word being beeped out due to profanity. It was like nails on a chalkboard to him. For me, I had never noticed until he pointed it out. It still didn’t bother me. That’s what subtitles were for.

At this point you might be rolling your eyes. You may be jumping ship. Housewives may not land for you. This piece may not be for everyone.

Fill in the blank. Whatever it is that gives you that fix you’re eagerly seeking. Maybe in secret. Maybe hiding in plain sight. We all have it. Or had it at one time. Do you skip church on Sunday to watch football?

This was my religion. This was my sports. My play-by-play. My BravoCon. My late night by myself. My Andy Cohen. The person I watched every night. The people I looked up to. The people I wanted to meet.

My fix. My companion. My idol. My replacement.

Summer. 2025.

Until one day it didn’t hit quite right. The normal in-scene of screaming across the dinner table was no longer giving me the thrill I so eagerly sought after.

The very thing that rewarded me after a long day of work, homework, packed lunches, and cleaning was my Bravo.

What is this? I don’t normally feel this way when I’m watching the very thing I live for.

So I pushed through. Maybe it’s just a down week. A slump in the show.

It wasn’t.

The more I chased the feeling, the worse and more disappointed I became. The fighting began to repel me. My facial expression went from satisfaction to disgust. It was no longer my escape.

Nothing. No fix. No adrenaline rush. No feeling. No content.

Ugh no.

Not my house.

So I decided to see if I could give it up for a week. I knew my husband would be happy. But what would I tell my friends next time I saw them and they couldn’t wait to catch up with me on all the storylines? Would they judge me? Get mad? Or worse, would they be disappointed?

In the back of my mind it was a real possibility. But I couldn’t ignore that this was no longer sitting right in my spirit.

Am I ready to let this go? This was a 20-year commitment.

I decided to see if I could go a week. Still recorded. But no watching.

I never went back.

I stopped the recordings. I unfollowed the podcasts and Instagram accounts. I told my friends. They loved me anyways.

I didn’t replace it with other late night TV.

I had heard of conviction for sin. I only ever considered it to be the obvious ones. Like my addictions. Recovery carried me for many years. When the Higher Power from those rooms finally had a name, I thought that was it. I didn’t know more change was coming. I had certainly never looked at my reality TV as anything but entertainment.

At the time I didn’t understand.

In the spring, I’d watched a movie trailer with my son and felt the true weight of grace. What Jesus had died for. To save an undeserving person like me. I didn’t realize that was the start of something I wouldn’t have a name for until months later.

Sanctification.

A term I didn’t know.

The four years prior, I’d stepped into the church for the first time. I was baptized. I went to church on Sunday. I showed up to weekly Bible study. I was doing everything I thought I was supposed to and doing it well. Nothing within me had really begun to change until that moment of grace.

A few months later, the slow stripping of interests began to fall away.

This was a turn in my walk I didn’t see coming. I didn’t ask for it. It just happened.

This was the first.

I’m still slipping away when the house goes quiet. But now it’s to be with Him.

From living room couch to prayer room on the floor.

Now when my husband walks past my office and the door’s closed, he asks me about it the next day. What are you doing in there with the door closed?

Praying. Duh.

The craving never left. The object changed.

From drugs to Bravo, it was Him the whole time.

- No one is too lost to be saved

Weeks after I saw what I was becoming, I showed up to my friend’s bachelorette party. I was the Maid of Honor and I hadn’t planned a single thing. I was splitting duty with my childhood friend. I put it all on her. I had been too consumed with myself, too caught up in my using, and everything I was hiding.

I walked in late. The room went still. All eyes on me as I walked into the kitchen where they all were. Something was off. The energy. The looks. The distance.

Deep down I knew. But I didn’t think they did.

I asked. I looked them in the eye, casual, like nothing was wrong. They didn’t pretend with me.

Gulp.

I felt the stomach drop. Free fall.

I looked down. I couldn’t hold eye contact anymore.

And that’s when I knew. The girl I saw in the mirror, they could see her too.

It was undeniable. The denial I had been living behind started to crack.

I felt the wave of it. What I’d been stuffing. What I hadn’t let surface that night in the mirror. The continued using days on end to mask what I could no longer deny. The broken mess and the path of destruction I had created could no longer be contained.

I excused myself with urgency and ran to the master bathroom. I closed the door just in time for the guttural cry that could no longer stay quiet. I sat on the floor and sobbed.

The shame.

The fear.

The embarrassment.

The weight of what I had been doing to myself and what it was doing to the people around me could no longer stay buried. It all came up at once.

I felt exposed.

Raw.

There was nowhere left to hide.

My body shook with the pain of the life I didn’t want to confront.

And then they left…

I don’t even remember exactly how it happened. Their frustration, their hurt, had reached a point where they couldn’t stay. They got in the limo. I wasn’t in it.

I was left there.

And as much as it hurt, something in me knew why. I had been disappearing for a while. First to myself, then right in front of everyone else.

I didn’t know yet. I was in Egypt. But God did.

I knew something had to change.

And instead of doing something different, I went back to the very thing that was destroying me.

- No one is too lost to be saved

My son and I were fighting. Dad was golfing. We were lying on my bed trying to figure out what to do with the rest of our afternoon.

I remembered the animated film King of Kings was still in theatres and thought, this is what we need to get back on track. My son was hesitant. He thought it was too “little kid” for him. I suggested we pull up the trailer and watch again. We both had seen the preview already, but this time something hit me differently.

I didn’t have a name for it then. I do now. He’d been guiding me much longer than this moment. But this moment was loud.

A flash of a cartoon depiction of Jesus being crucified was all it took.

The levee in my spirit broke. The weight of what Jesus did for me…

His sacrifice. My salvation.

It all washed over me.

My past life flashed before my eyes. The times I could have overdosed or gotten arrested. The worry and pain my family and friends felt while I was destroying my life. The sleepless nights I gave my parents. The multitude of scenarios of a darker life that could have been mine. I could have been dead.

And yet here I was.

Sitting inside my home, looking at a beautiful little human, living a life I know I didn’t earn or deserve.

Grace.

I quickly sat up and scooted myself to the edge of my bed. I turned my back towards my son and began sobbing.

I knew he could hear me. I couldn’t contain it.

I hadn’t grasped any of it until a one-second cartoon picture of Jesus on a cross took me down.

I turned around to my then 7-year-old son, who looked like a deer in headlights trying to comprehend why his mother was weeping. I told him I was ok and I just love Jesus for saving my life. I told him he’d understand one day.

We went and saw the movie that afternoon, just the two of us. And when the full scene of Jesus being crucified showed up, the tears were streaming down my face again, quietly, as I thanked Him for saving me.

My son kept looking over to make sure his mom was ok. He put his arm around me and told me he loved me.

We both really enjoyed the movie.

- No one is too lost to be saved.

I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

I’d been up for days and my mind was scrambled. I paced inside my small bedroom at my parents’ house, head down, trying to take the edge off.

A movement caught my attention and I looked up. I began staring. Who was I looking at? I didn’t recognize her. Who was that looking back at me? I stepped closer, and then another step, my eyes locked, not blinking. I came within an inch and stared deeply.

Big brown eyes once full of life were black.

Empty.

Soulless.

The reflection in the mirror staring back at me gave me a chill down my spine I will never forget. The girl who once had all the dreams was disappearing.

A flash.

The honor-roll student. The swimmer. The friend who passed notes and giggled about the boys we’d marry and how we’d raise our kids next door to each other. The one who dreamed of college.

That girl no longer existed.

Empty.

I blinked hoping it wasn’t real. But it was.

I could see it happening right in front of me. The choices I was making, the way I was living, the things I was numbing, they were slowly destroying my life. For the first time, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I was going to die. Maybe not that day, maybe not tomorrow. Death didn’t seem like the worst idea. Maybe if I just kept going as is, I would “disappear,” and life could go on without me.

I knew I needed to stop. I just didn’t know how.

But God did.

And I didn’t see it yet.

- No one is too lost to be saved

My normal was 8:30am school drop-off, home by 8:45, fresh cup of coffee, sit down, start the day. The pings from my team. The catching up. The rhythm of it.

Gone.

I sat in the quiet office in my home with no pings, no purpose, no direction. Just the question I didn’t know how to answer yet.

Who am I?

Loser is what I felt like. I couldn’t put down the reminders, the people I might never talk to again. The loyalty. The ten years. Erased. No warning. No notice.

How dare they.

Getting laid off hurts. It claws at your ego. It creates doubt. It leaves you asking, what did I do wrong?

The anger came first. Then the rejection settled in. And then the strongholds showed up, the ones that had been waiting.

My inner worst critic, gleeful, taking full advantage of the self-worth I had allowed my career to carry. That was gone now. Distant memory.

This is who you really are.

I had heard of a wilderness season. I thought I understood dying to self.

For eight months they had been falling off. One by one, the identities stripped away after I surrendered. I watched them go. But this one, the career, ten years, no notice, no warning, taken, not surrendered on my terms.

The most brutal one yet.

Just God’s timing.

Not mine.

Okay God. What now?

Trust. Wait. One foot in front of the other.

Breathe.

One of my Christian pillars told me to start dreaming again. A clean slate. An opportunity to start over.

But I didn’t feel like dreaming. I felt like hiding.

So here I sit asking my 45-year-old self… what do I want to be when I grow up?

I knew He hadn’t brought me this far to drop me. I knew it. But knowing something in your head and feeling it in your body are two different worlds. And I was living in the gap between them.

The flesh was winning. Every morning I woke up and had to choose, and most mornings, the strongholds got there first.

And underneath all of it, quieter than the anger, quieter than the rejection, was the question I was most afraid to ask out loud.

Am I worth the blessing? Would He actually use me?

I’m living in the Saturday. The in-between. Good Friday happened. The Resurrection is coming. I know that. I believe that.

But that time isn’t now.

The whisper keeps getting louder. The more I try to drown it out, the louder it gets. A pull to write about raw perseverance, the mess where He meets us, The Holy Grit. A life of bad decisions, trials, sufferings, miracles, and blessings, told with no filter. Not wrapped up in a pretty bow.

So I’m stepping out in faith.

And I wait.

Because the truth is, this isn’t the first time God showed up before I understood what He was doing.

- No one is too lost to be saved.

It was a Tuesday.

My VP added a Teams meeting to my calendar the day before. Titled “Check-In.” We were due for bonus conversations, so I assumed that’s what it was.

I could not have been more wrong.

No warning.

No signs.

The moment I joined the call and saw HR on the screen, my stomach dropped.

My heart started pounding. I still didn’t know what was coming, but I knew it wasn’t good.

She read from a script. My position was being eliminated. Whatever came after that could have been another language. Nothing was coherent after “position eliminated.” And before I could process it, she dropped off the call.

There I was. Alone with HR.

Just here today, gone tomorrow. Ten years of friendships, culture, people I managed, relationships built over eight-hour days in the trenches. The kind where people end up knowing you better than some of your own family. One breakup is hard enough. This felt like ten at once.

And before I could even register it, it was gone. Did that really just happen?

Do I call my husband?

No. I’ll fall apart.

Do I tell my team?

No. I’ll fall apart.

Breathe.

Head down. Focus. I lose network access by 6PM. It’s 10:30AM. My son’s baseball game is at 4PM. I’m already leaving early.

The clock is running.

Breathe.

Flash drive. Check. Ten years of files, pictures, folders. Comb through everything. Save what’s mine.

By 1PM, every name on my team chat had gone red except mine. They were all talking about me. And then the pings started.

Daniela, I just heard. No words.

Daniela, I’m in shock.

Yeah. Me too.

I couldn’t respond. The moment I responded, I’d fall apart. So I kept my head down.

Breathed. Kept moving.

At 2PM I sent my goodbye letter. Graceful exit while dying inside.

Then I called my husband.

He’s the head coach. First game of the season, the one that sets the tone, the one he’d been preparing for weeks. He needed a clear head. I knew that. I’d known it all morning.

I called anyway. I held it as long as I could.

And then I fell apart.

He showed up. He always does.

I got to the field and let the game hold me for 90 minutes. The dirt and the cheering and my kid rounding the bases. The noise of something that had nothing to do with any of it.

He hadn’t brought me this far to drop me now.

But I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

God, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be on my terms.

Here’s what’s true: I wasn’t growing. I was stifled. I’d already been questioning whether this was still the right place for me. Whether I could retire there, or whether I was just too scared to leave.

And somewhere underneath the shock and the rejection, I knew.

This was God’s hand.

It just hadn’t traveled from my head to my heart yet.

I’ve been a believer since 2020. I didn’t fully surrender until September 2025. And since then, everything has been shifting. There were nights I cried out and said: I want to work for You. Something meaningful. Something aligned.

Be careful what you pray for.

The rug came out. The career identity, gone. And in the silence after, something I hadn’t been able to ignore for months got louder.

Write.

A reawakening of something I loved that I had stuffed down. A passion that's lived with me since I was 8. Career. Mom. Wife. A life of drop-offs, practices, games, dinners, errands, friends, and a passion that was forgotten.

Not polished. Not pretty. Not wrapped up. Just true.

They won the game that night.

- He finds us in the mess.

But something happened that I’ve never been able to explain.

I was just trying to get home. Sixty miles from Santa Barbara to Thousand Oaks. I was tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a shower. I had been partying harder than I should have. The details of how I ended up there are still a blur.

Somewhere along the way my phone just stopped working. Not dying slowly. Just… stopped. It was 2003. I had a Sony Ericsson phone that played the Sopranos theme song anytime I received a call. A much simpler time, pre-iPhone.

I made it down to my aunt’s house in Ventura, and when I went to leave, I ended up with a flat tire. My best thought was to call a friend who knew how to change it. She helped me put on a donut, and I didn’t think twice about it. I just wanted to get home.

As I was driving on the 101 Freeway, just before the Camarillo grade, almost home, the entire wheel came off the car.

Not a blowout. Not a warning. The wheel just… came off.

I remember the sound, the sparks, the feeling of the car dragging, but somehow, I was already in the right lane. I pulled over to the side quickly and then I watched the tire roll. It crossed every lane of traffic like nothing was in its way, bounced off the center divider and flew onto the other side of the freeway and hit the side of a big rig.

It could have gone through someone’s windshield, but it didn’t. And somehow no one was hurt.

I pulled over, shaking, and reached for my phone. Ugh, I forgot it was dead. I had no choice but to start walking to a Call Box.

And that’s when I saw a car pull over to help me. I don’t remember if it was a man or a woman. It’s blurry now. Older. Calm. Not panicked like I was. They offered me their phone.

And then they said, “God is watching over you.”

I didn’t want to hear about God. I had no framework for that. I just wanted help. But as I was standing there trying to reconcile what I just heard, my dad drove by.

I was driving a red two-door Volkswagen Fox, pretty distinguishable, and only made for a few years. The moment he saw the car, he knew it was me. He happened to be on his way home from teaching in Oxnard.

Out of all places, all times. He saw me and pulled over.

And when I turned back, the person was gone. No goodbye. No explanation.

Just… gone.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I got in the car with my dad. He called AAA, handled everything, and we went home.

Twenty-two years later, I still haven’t been able to shake that encounter, the timing, the details, the way everything lined up.

I didn’t know God then. But something, or Someone, was there. And that moment was the beginning of something I didn’t have words for yet.

And not long after that, I found myself standing in front of a mirror, looking into my own eyes, realizing I was destroying my life.

- No one is too lost to be saved.