‹ Back

    Y’all… I’ve struggled with suicidal ideation for a good chunk of my life.

 

    There were times it didn’t feel like I was surviving—I was just existing.

 

    There was a point where I was so deep in the dark, I truly believed I was doing more harm to my kids by being here than I would be if I were gone.

 

    Luckily, a few friends showed up when Jeff was gone on deployment. They held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. But     fast forward a few years… and the depression came     back hard.

 

    After his deployment, we weren’t okay.

    Our marriage was hanging on by threads. The end of our family felt like it was only weeks away.

 

    At that time, I had a friend who was on a bit of a spiritual journey—and part of that included mushrooms.

    But she kept sending me articles about how psilocybin can help  with depression, and something in me was desperate enough     to listen.

 

    So I sat my military husband down and pitched him the  wildest idea:

    “Can I leave for a day… and go do shrooms with my friend? Because what if it helps?”

    (📌 DISCLAIMER: I’m not saying everyone should run out and do mushrooms… but also… maybe.)

 

 

    We packed up my Jeep Renegade and headed to an Airbnb near Zion National Park. We had this beautiful, spiritual “find yourself     in nature” plan.

 

    Then we saw the size of the spiders and the weird taxidermy shed out back...
    Nature was canceled. This was an inside retreat.

 

    I can’t speak for everyone. But for me—when they kicked in, everything changed.

    I saw my kids. Like really saw them. Their personalities. Their     love languages. The different kinds of moms each of them          needed me to be.

 

    Then came the thoughts of Jeff.
    And I realized I’d been so focused on how I needed love… that I couldn’t see the way he was giving it.

    Memory after memory hit me—moments where he was trying to show me he loved me, in his way.
    And I missed it.

 

 

    From that moment on, I started valuing life in a way I hadn’t before.
    I don’t know what exactly switched in my brain—but I went from     hoping to die, to wanting to live.

    And everything since then has been about learning how to show up differently. With presence. With softness. With understanding.

 

    The last piece of the puzzle?

    Gratitude.

 

    When I’m frustrated with Jeff, I do one of two things:
    I either write down or mentally list the things I’m grateful for in our marriage.
    And I swear, just a few reasons in, everything shifts.

 

    Suddenly that petty argument or silent resentment feels so small.

    Because gratitude makes you zoom out—and realize you’re still standing in the middle of everything you once prayed for.

 

    This journey isn’t linear.

    There are still days. But now I stop and look at things through a different lens.