In 2007, I was diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder. I didn’t know then that this would be the first of many labels I’d carry—some helpful, some harmful, all trying to explain why my mind didn’t work the way other people’s seemed to. What I did know was that I was already at war with myself, and I hadn’t even realized I was on a battlefield.
I was born into a volatile, high-stress environment—a home where emotional safety was rare, and where fear often arrived before love. I grew up hypervigilant, constantly scanning for danger, learning to stay small and quiet to survive. I experienced emotional abuse, neglect, and physical trauma that shaped my developing brain, body, and sense of worth. By the time I left home, I had already learned to expect abandonment and blame myself for everything I couldn’t control.
As an adult, I joined the military, hoping for structure, purpose, and a chance to become someone stronger. In some ways, I did. But I also experienced traumatic exposure to burn pits while deployed in Qatar. I didn’t know I was breathing toxins—I thought it was just sand and heat. That exposure would show up later in my brain scans, in my immune system, and in the inflammation that would ripple through my body and mood for years.
But the trauma didn’t stop with childhood or service.
I endured emotional and psychological abuse in many relationships. I was manipulated, shamed, and gaslit until I no longer trusted myself. I struggled with custody of my daughters. I was forced out of jobs. I watched my identity unravel.
In 2021, I was fired from a role I had worked hard to earn—while I was in the middle of a psychiatric spiral. I had a Vagus Nerve Stimulator implanted just months earlier. I was barely sleeping. I was hallucinating.
I was also going through a high-conflict divorce, navigating homelessness, and cycling between alcohol, nicotine, cannabis, and kratom to try to survive what felt like an unbearable collapse.
I lost almost everything.
And still, somehow, I didn’t give up.
In 2021, I chose to have the Vagus Nerve Stimulator (VNS) surgically implanted to help with treatment-resistant depression. That was the start of something different. Not easy. Not magic. But different.
In 2023, I began Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy, and I finally started meeting the parts of myself I had buried, exiled, or punished for decades. I met the inner child. The protector. The wounded adult. I began to understand what had happened to me—not just in my brain, but in my nervous system and my soul.
I took back control of my health records. I compiled my entire history. I tracked my labs. I understood my genetics. I stopped expecting doctors to save me and started saving myself—with support, community, and fierce honesty.
Sobriety & Rebuilding
Then, I got sober.
- I gave up alcohol in January 2024.
- I quit smoking cigarettes just a few days later.
- I stopped using nicotine entirely in February 2025.
- I discontinued kratom.
- I now approach cannabis with mindfulness, intention, and accountability.
Each substance I let go of left a raw, aching space. And in that space, I found my actual self—hurting, yes—but finally awake.
Recovery in Action
Today, I lead Operation Water Drop, a grassroots project I created to provide water to unhoused people in my community. I do it with love, dignity, and respect—because I know what it feels like to be discarded, overlooked, and barely surviving.
I also work in tech.
I write.
I advocate for trauma-informed care and integrated mental health.
I manage a complex treatment plan with intention and care.
I’ve gone from being unmedicated and unstable to being present, engaged, and compassionate with myself.
Who I Am Now
Recovery didn’t come all at once. It came slowly, painfully, and through a thousand moments of choosing not to give up. It came through reconnecting with my body, my values, and my name.
I’m not just a diagnosis or a survivor.
I am an IT Pro – Creator – Facilitator – Philanthropist – and USAF Veteran.
I am Tukayote.
And this is what recovery looks like—raw, real, and still unfolding.