Running From Pain, Searching for Light
But all that pain needs somewhere to go. I ran from it. I lost myself for years in the dark, hoping I could outrun heartbreak. I know now that I wasn’t lost—I was wounded. Even in the darkness, I was still searching for something to hold onto.
One day, I realized I wanted to live again. I chose recovery, not just for me, but for my children. Two years clean, I finally saw a glimmer of hope. Donivan was getting healthy too, and it felt like we’d both made it through the storm
But then, the world shifted again. In August 2007, Donivan relapsed, and I lost my firstborn. My heart nearly stopped beating. At his funeral, I traced the tattoo he’d drawn at fourteen—a cross, the words “Never Gave Up,” and my birthday, inked right beneath. I understood then: even when life shatters you, love leaves messages for you to find your way home.