Real Talk…
I had a really bad manic episode after my grandma passed away in May. I remember lying on my floor, completely broken, thinking about ending my life again. I’d already tried several times, and I didn’t want to add another. My life felt like it was falling apart I wasn’t functioning, I was drinking and using anything I could do to escape. My relationships were unstable, I couldn’t eat, and I was done pretending I was okay.
In that moment of complete surrender, I picked up my phone and called a help line. Two weeks later, with my mom’s help, I checked myself into a mental health hospital. That’s where I found out I had a substance abuse diagnosis on top of my mental health struggles. It was the first time I realized I couldn’t keep living like this and that maybe, just maybe, there was another way. When I first decided to get sober, I was terrified. I thought no one would accept me. I was scared I wouldn’t have friends or a social life anymore. I didn’t think it was possible to live a “normal” life as a 23-year-old alcoholic who would have to go to meetings for the rest of my life. It felt unfair. I remember asking God, “Why me?” But that question eventually became “Why not me?” Because maybe being chosen for this path meant I could help someone else find it, too.
I started Young & Sober because I wanted to create something I didn’t have, a space where people could see that there’s life beyond alcohol. A place that shows you can date, go out, and have real friendships without needing to drink. Society has normalized drinking and numbing, but I want to normalize healing. For me, Young & Sober isn’t just a podcast it’s a movement. It’s about ending generational trauma, learning to feel emotions without running from them, and building a community of young, badass people who want to grow. Because hurt people hurt people, but healed people heal others.
Getting sober young hasn’t been easy. Finding accepting, nonjudgmental people is hard. There are always those who say, “One drink won’t kill you,” or “Maybe one day you can drink again.” But the truth is, sobriety is about so much more than not drinking.
In the horse world especially, drinking and drugs are everywhere. Learning how to fail and not drink, how to succeed and not drink, and how to actually feel every emotion without letting it control me, that’s been the real work. Sobriety taught me surrender. It taught me to be okay with people leaving. Some saw me as weak, and that’s okay, because others saw me as strong. Some of my closest friends drifted away, and it hurt deeply, but I’ve learned to trust that when God closes doors, He’s protecting me not punishing me.
Sobriety has almost nothing to do with alcohol. Using was just a bandage for deeper issues, being selfish, self-seeking, dishonest, and afraid. It’s about healing trauma, forgiving resentments, and realizing that everyone’s fighting their own battles. Most importantly, it’s about understanding that there’s a Power greater than myself, and that I am no longer the director of the show. Sobriety is surrender.
Young & Sober is a safe space rooted in progress, not perfection. It’s a place where you can show up exactly as you are, messy, unsure, in-between, and still belong. It’s where you can ask questions, find resources, connect with people who get it, and realize that you don’t have to do this alone. The conversations I want to have and the ones that inspire me the most are real recovery stories. Stories from people in 12-step programs, people outside of them, and everyone in between. Because there’s no one way to get sober. It’s all experience, strength, and hope from one month sober to many years. I want people to read, listen, and walk away feeling seen. To know that while your story is unique, your pain isn’t. And that’s the beauty of it none of us have to fight this alone.
Since getting sober, one of my biggest surprises has been how many people actually understand. The love, the kindness, and the support within the recovery community is overwhelming in the best way. If I could say one thing to someone who’s still in the darkness I was in, it would be this:
You will be okay. Please, just keep trying. You’re not alone. Because real strength isn’t pretending you’re fine. It’s being honest, and asking for help.
