Covered In Love~The Journey to 100 Blankets

Covered In Love~The Journey to 100 Blankets

It all started with one Facebook post Christmas 2018. I make hand tied fleece blankets for extra money during the holiday season but my heart was calling me to give back. So I created a post that said, "Do you know someone battling cancer? I would love to give back and donate a blanket to someone."


The response was overwhelming. I was only going to make one but ended making three. I wanted to be able to make more but I myself live on Social Security. But God kept putting this idea on my heart.

I wanted my blankets to reach more people.

I wanted to offer some comfort during a very difficult time.

So, Covered In Love~A Journey to 100 Blankets was created. This fundraiser was created to help us purchase materials and supplies to make and send 100 blankets to people battling cancer.

So far, the community has raised enough to make 22 blankets! Some have already been sent out to loved ones around the country.

One blanket was sent to Texas while others have been donated to St. Al's Cancer Center here in Boise in memory of my ex mother in law who we lost to cancer in 2014.

We still have 88 blankets to make and 5 months to hit the goal of 100!

You can donate by making a donation to

~ Cover In Love ~

Or click the photo!

“I wrote a show!” Michael Roth Presents Sound of Recovery Music

Something I’d been wanting to do my whole lifetime, and now I’d done it. Of course, since graduating from college as a music major, I’d written a few touring shows for children at one of the local theaters in my hometown of Indianapolis, and I was grateful I’d done that. But they seemed like “kiddie shows.”

I wanted to write a “real” show, a show for adults, but could never seem to find the confidence, or the discipline, to do it. Instead, I would indulge in my addiction every day after I finished my job as a pianist at a high school for performing arts. I knew it was my dream to be a writer, but instead of coming home after work, and tackling a writing project, I would get intimidated, and end up at a bathhouse, or a public park, cruising for sex, for hours, which turned into a pattern for years.

The writing came to a standstill. I was a sex addict. And on top of it I was a binge alcoholic. Finally, I moved to NYC after being accepted into a wonderful writing program, but my addictions continued. After the first year I dropped out because I wasn’t “feeling it”. I wasn’t feeling anything, and all I was inspired to do at that time was party and have sex. Eventually, I found a fellowship for my problem, Sexual Compulsives Anonymous, and my healing began. I learned that part of the recovery process was doing, what they called in the program, “third column activities” – enjoyable, meaningful activities we could use in place of our addiction.

Every year they did a variety show in the fellowship, sometimes a scripted show. I was into musicals, so I decided to write a musical spoof of The Lion King, using a recovery theme. It was a hit! Yes, I finally wrote a show! And then for the next ten or so years I continued the tradition. It seemed, when my creativity was channeled toward doing service for others, as well as myself, it didn’t feel like such a selfish endeavor – which is what I came realize I believed any kind of artistic pursuit was. No wonder I didn’t want to write!

So now we come to 2019. For years a good friend of mine from the fellowship, and collaborator on the shows, had suggested we do a project outside SCA – a show we could bring to all the fellowships – a show that was written to include all addictions, not just sex. And, in the process, feel good that we were doing service, bringing the message of recovery to other fellow struggling addicts, and their friends and families. And, of course, to anyone else who was interested. And now we are doing it! Yes, it is stressful doing it without the support of the fellowship, financial and otherwise. But I have friends who believe in me who are funding the project this time around, after seeing and believing in my previous work, and well – being fantastic friends, they came aboard for the ride.

And together we are putting on this great show. And that takes a lot for me to say “great”. But I truly believe it is, when I let go of all that “artistic pursuits are selfish” crap. It’s called “The Sound of Recovery Music” – a musical spoof of “The Sound of Music. But now all the characters are addicts recovering from addictions. Of course, I had to turn Maria, the heroine of the story, into a sex addict, which I thought would be very comical considering she was an aspiring nun. And in her job as a governess she takes care of, and basically sponsors. seven children addicted to everything! During this whole process, it was suggested to me to send my story into this blog, to promote the show, of course, but also to hopefully help anyone else who has a creative endeavor they dream of pursuing – and to inspire them to get out there and do it. Don’t let this addiction and the voices in your head stop you, like I did years ago.

So, if you’re interested in seeing the show, (Her comes the shameless plug part) click on and buy a ticket. It’s a hoot. Come up and say “hi”. I would love to know my story reached my fellows in recovery! In Gratitude, Michael Roth

Addicts poem-Vanessa Cannella

 I seen the Light 🙏

Let me take you back,
to when I was a little Girl
I was happy, I was free,
I was on top of the World
Then a couple years later,
Lost my Spirit, Turned to Anger
I wanna block it out,
I don't want to Remember,
But that's not how it works,
And it ate me inside
I want that little girl back
but, she's dead, Not Alive
Something take the Pain,
I wanna numb myself Out
I hate my Thoughts,
It ain't nothing but Doubts
I found my true Love,
And it started with Pills
I thought I was set,
Til I started getting Chills
Then, it became,
A life of Destruction
But let me get high First,
Before I think of Repercussions
Now my life's going,
Ina spiraling Downfall
I put my Hope in Dope,
I got no one to Call
I can't look in the Mirror,
I hate Myself
I wanna get Help,
But my brain says Numb Itself
So, when I say I been through Hell and back,
It really ain't a Metaphor
I been arrested, I been raped,
And I even O.D'd Before
I was Killing my Family,
I was Killing Myself
But, then the little girl inside me said, you need to Get OUT
Thought I'd be 6 feet Under,
Now I'm 6 feet Tall
I will only Rise Up!
I will never let me Fall!
God let me see the world Differently
You gave me Blessings,
You Loved me Unconditionally,
Now my Family can sleep Peacfully!
You came with open Arms,
You showed me how to Love
And how to Love Myself
So Listen,
If your Struggling,
Don't have self doubt,
I really Understand,
I will show you a way out, Just come take my Hand!
At the end of the Tunnel,
There is a Bright Light
We can get through this,
We Will Win this Fight!
I Promise You,
You'll have another chance at
Just Look at Me,
I turned out just Alright ❤️🙏

-Vanessa Cannella (addict)

Haley Kamilla- We change. We grow. We become.

Michele Filgate writes, "Our mothers are our first homes...Where we fit." The first place I felt at home was in the rooms of AA. At 16 years old I started to attend Al Anon meetings. As a part of that program, my sponsor asked me to sit in at open AA meetings once a week. Though I forget the reasoning she had, I came to enjoy 6:00pm on Saturday nights. That dark, hot basement felt like home. The people I heard speak had me laughing and crying in turn. I finally felt like a fit in. And then, I didn't. 

I worked the steps until I returned back to a blistering Boston and went with my rapist to my first Boston AA meeting. It was large, hot, and all I remember is a man covered in tattoos knitting throughout the entirety of the hour. I was hooked.
Until, I wasn't.

I found AA to be an incredibly beautiful experience, but also one that made me feel like a liar, a ghost, a fake, and ultimately questioning round and a round again, should I be here? Was I an alcoholic?

Fast forward, to now. I am sufficiently stuffed with knowledge: past (I come from three generations of drinkers), a present (returning to my sober blog, living inside the grey, and thus embracing the more comfortable space for me of grey area drinking), and the future (hopefully clear, always full of questions). I know my journey is not for everyone. I know my story is unique to me. But that, after all, is exactly how it should be. I am not a round peg in a square hole, I am entirely my own shape and size, a big, queer, sober (right now), body. I ask questions. I teach myself from readings, conversations, engaging in discussion. I go to therapy. I use my hands to make art, pet my dog, hold my almost-wife's hand. I choose sobriety more than I don't because it's where I find the most freedom. 

Check out & to see more of what I am doing! I would love to hear from you!

AUK Apparel

At the young age of 20 years old I was incarcerated. I was released at age of 26 (July 2018).

While incarcerated I had plenty of time to reflect on the decisions I had previously made and the lifestyle I was living.

I chose to embrace the incarceration as a blessing in disguise and better myself and better educate myself. Throughout the 6 years of my incarceration I attended many classes, read books, and even some dictionaries.

During this time is where I first learned of The Great Auk. A bird that went extinct in 1844, due to being clubbed to death for its fur and eggs which was auctioned off for money.


After further research about this bird I decided that this bird would be a great representation of myself and the rebirth of this bird would represent my rebirth into society.

After coming home in July I struggled daily with adjustment to society, all the changes, and how to survive while continuing to find myself.


Auk Apparel has been in my mind as my personal mission. I worked hard to find a job and to be able to support my day to day life. Also to continue on a path of good, new, reborn and better than before.

Now I have come to a point where I am able to begin the launch of AUK apparel and can’t even begin to explain the excitement that overcomes me. This dream is becoming reality, and is still hard for me to grasp it is actually happening.

There have been so many rough times from my past, from childhood, and then my incarceration, that not even in my wildest dreams could I have imagined being who I am today. I never could have imagined being someone that I was proud of.


I want this clothing line to not only represent my rebirth, but to show everyone no matter your past and no matter your mistakes you can always create a successful future. Your past does not define who you are today,. You decide who you want to be tomorrow.

I would love to connect with you! Check out my Instagram @AUKAPPAREL and message me to find out more ways to support our mission and to purchase your new AUK Apparel!

Erin Riley- Liberated from our fears

Follow me on instagram  @thelifeoferinriley

Follow me on instagram @thelifeoferinriley

I was awkward growing up; seriously, I was much taller than everyone else. After my baby teeth fell out and my teeth grew back in, there was a serious buck teeth situation happening, mainly, because I didn’t stop sucking my thumb the summer before 6th grade. My hair was constant source of contention between my mother and I. I wouldn’t brush it, maybe I just wanted to sport those adorable wild curls. My mom said it looked like a rat’s nest, which I refused to let her brush before leaving the house. Her solution, which came in a threat, was that she would get my hair cut short like a boy. I accepted that challenge and so from the age of 7 to 11, I would get a bowl cut, but at least she let me get my ears pierced so no one would mistake me as a boy. 

When we moved from Ft. Collins, Colorado to Boise, Idaho, it was in the middle of third grade, and around Valentine’s Day. And because I didn’t want anyone to mistake me for a boy, being that my name was ambiguous and I was five feet tall at the age of nine, I set out my favorite outfit. An over-sized pink Mickey and Minnie kissing sweatshirt and matching stirrup pants, and on that first day a smiling boy walked up to me and asked in that bratty voice, “Are you a boy or a girl?” My heart sank, and that was the moment that I knew that I needed to get out of Idaho the first chance that I could get. 

I first started to go to counseling when I was very young. I believe my parent's felt like I had issues making friends, and I won't lie growing up I did have a hard time making friends. I was rough around the edges, I didn't know how to interact with the other kids, and I so desperately just wanted to fit in. Middle school wasn't much better, and it got so bad that my group of "friends" turned against me and I spent a good part of the 7th grade sitting alone and eating lunch by myself. I had girls write me letters, as if they were my boyfriend at the time, saying that I was awful, ugly and he wanted to breakup, and there was the time a girl wrote "I'm gay" on the hood of my jacket, so everyone could point and laugh as I walked down the halls. 

This sadness, the longing to belong, just hung with me. I made it through high school, but I was sad all the time, and it got worse the first semester of college. I didn't show up to classes, I drank too much, I slept around, tried to self harm and had a quick overnight at a behavioral health rehab center. It was when my parent's got word that I had driven drunk up to the foothills that they decided that I would move to Seattle with them, because I couldn't be trusted. 

This might be where you think it got better, but it did not. I was even more lonely, and upset that I couldn't even make it through one semester of university. My parent's were hounding me to figure out what I was going to do. Was I going to go back to school, would I learn a trade, because I couldn't sell wedding dresses for the rest of my life. I had a nervous breakdown, and this time I spent two whole weeks in the hospital. In fact, I did not want to be released, and when my parent's came to pick me up we had a huge fight and I just wanted to be back in the same cocoon of working on myself. Again, this feeling of running away was all I could think about, so I decided to join the Navy. 

Boot camp was amazing. I met some really cool people, lost a bunch of weight, went to school, and ended up meeting a very cool dude from Chicago. We were at boot camp at the same time, and we passed letters back and forth. This shit was right out of a romantic movie. 

I arrived in Norfolk in January, in the middle of the night. Got to the destroyer that I was assigned to, and quickly escorted to the small women’s berthing area, where the sailor on duty shined a flashlight to the top bunk. I was to put my gear and sheets down, and unpack in the morning. What had I gotten myself into?

The same feeling washed over me that I had when I called my mom from SeaTac before boarding the plane to boot camp. Fear gripping my whole body, and I wanted to go back to my comfortable life. This was way outside my comfort zone, but I have made an agreement with the government, and I couldn’t go back on that agreement. 
Every chance I had, I was off the ship, and over weekends I would try and stay with friends, either in hotel rooms or someone who had off base housing. One night, I had found myself in the company of some guys that I had met through my boyfriend. We had all hung out together back in Illinois, so what would be different here in Virginia. When I first walked in, nothing was out of the ordinary, just some dudes getting drunk on a Saturday night. We talked, but all of a sudden, I found myself in the room alone with them. The door was closed, and the atmosphere changed. It wasn’t lighthearted, and one of the guys had his hand on my breast. I laughed it off, and swatted his hand away, like I had done numerous times before with other so called friends. But when I sat down on the edge of one of the beds, the other guy came and sat down next to me and grabbed my crouch. Again, I swatted his hand away, but I wasn’t laughing. I said, what would your friend think of you doing this to his girlfriend? They made their way to the back of the room, and started to whisper. My blood ran cold, I knew that if I stayed that something very bad was going to happen. These men were not my friend, and they didn’t view me that way. I quietly grabbed my things, and ran to the lobby of the building, and called my boyfriend. The first thing he said was, “well what did you think was going to happen? Why did you put yourself in that situation?” I ended up calling someone to pick me up, and staying with them on an air mattress on the floor of what was supposed to be a dining room area. 

Surprisingly, my command was very accommodating, and helpful when I reported to them what had happened. I never felt shame from them, and the two men ended up getting in trouble. But where I didn’t feel judged or shamed by my employer, it was a whole different story with my boyfriend, who ended up becoming my fiance pretty quickly. 

After my assault, he made his way to Virginia, moving in together and getting married after only 6 months of being together and in the Navy. He took it upon himself to show me how very naive and stupid I was, that I couldn’t trust be trusted, and that I needed his help to get myself through this world. I had a protector that was also my abuser. 

I had lost sight of what I had planned for myself. There was no traveling around the world. The ship I was on had just gotten back from a long mission, so the farthest we went out was off the coast of North Carolina. But it was pretty amazing that I as a 20 year old was in charge of driving a multi-million dollar vessel, and had the privilege to sit on the back of the ship one warm spring night. The sky filled millions of bright stars, and the smooth water we easily glided through was churning up phosphorescence. Sadly, that was my best memory of my time in the Navy.

My wise husband had introduced me to cocaine, right before we were married, and it had turned into our therapy drug. It was wonderful to be able to talk through our issues while high, there was no judgment, until the drug started to wear off and when we were sober, things would turn pretty ugly. This habit ended both our careers in the Navy, just shy of reaching the three year mark. 
One night, after we had both been kicked out, my husband and I got into an argument. He pushed my head into the sofa I was sitting on. I called the police, he ran away, and came back with a huge gash on the side of his head. Turns out he hit himself with his cell phone to make it look like I had beaten him. The police arrested me, and when he saw me in hand cuffs, he got himself arrested as well. We ended up having to find money, which we didn’t have, to bail him out and pay for the lawyer, because he had an arrest record for assault and battery of his father that I didn’t know about. Just a month later, we moved to St. John, USVI.

We left for this island adventure convinced that this was just the thing to turn our marriage around. Islands are expensive, and small, and there is not much to do, but fall back into old habits. After a bender my husband, quite literally, head butted the sense back into me. I fled to a neighbor’s house, called my parents, who purchased a ticket to Oregon, where they were now living. I finally saw that my life was not supposed to end at the hands of a person who claimed to love and protect me. 

I want to say that the next six years were easy, but sadly I ended up doing a lot of self medicating and emotional binge eating. I was searching for someone to come and save me. I had this thought that I was the beautiful troubled girl and that soon some dude would fall in love with my damage. 

During this time, I was able to finish my bachelors degree, moved back to Idaho, and started my new life back in Boise. I had a couple rocky relationships. The last one actually lived me with for a year. The first guy that I opened up to having in my life after my ex-husband. But after the one year mark of us living together, we got into an argument, he let me know he was unhappy and moved out two days later. The next week, a letter arrived that he had left town, told no one, and that maybe someday in the future he will reconnect. The letter also went on to say that the job I was doing at the time wasn't where my heart was, and that he hoped soon I would lead others to better days, like him. I was so angry. I thought, again, that I was destroyed. This time, though, I recognized that I needed help. I started to see a counselor, I left my job, I was standing up for myself and starting to look at people and situations as whether they added or took away value from my life. 

This time, I decided that self-medication wasn't the way. I started to really focus on my goals in life. I found my passion to get up on stage and tell my story, whether that be through storytelling or comedy. I do a lot of self-reflecting, evaluation...where do I want to be, where do I want to go? I've realized that no one is coming to save me, no one wants to fall in love with the damaged parts, and that I want to be strong, independent and love myself over anything in this world. It's not easy, I have times when I really struggle, but I have found an amazing group of friends and it's those moments when I feel on top of the world that i remember and that carry me through the times that I feel like I'm in a dark place. 


Dani Ciesielski - "My Recovery Without AA"

When you go through recovery, a lot of people think of the typical AA meetings, having sponsors, and the 12 steps; but that is far from the only way to recover.

Recover Urself - Dani Ciesielski

Recover Urself - Dani Ciesielski

Take it from me; at 18 months sober as of yesterday, October 20th . The only AA meetings I’ve been to /were way before I took my recovery seriously, and even then I knew they weren’t for me.

So when I opted for the non-traditional route, almost everyone was skeptical. My liver specialist urged and pleaded with me to find an AA program that fit my lifestyle, even suggesting some online programs, communities, and forums. All of that was very welcome and heavily considered over weeks and months of time.

Remember, your life is an art, not a science.

Here are some of the top things that keep me sober without the 12 steps:

  • Be honest; especially when it comes to triggers and desires

  • Sober/Postive Community

  • Remembering why I’m doing this

I’ll go in depth a little about each one, and there are plenty of outside ways to get help from addiction that I will go into at later dates. These things might be hiring a recovery coach, individual therapy visits, or a non 12 treatment center but there are also more options if none of those suit you.


Be honest – this one comes in waves of difficulty; some days the waves are small and some days the waves are violent and terrifying. It’s still best, to be honest. Being honest about your feelings were happy or sad, and talking through them can help you understand more about yourself.  Especially when you are faced with a trigger or sudden urge to use again, that’s when honesty is at the utmost importance. Don’t be afraid to say, “man, I really feel like drinking right now because I feel so stressed out. I feel stressed out because…” and take it from there. Admitting that you want to drink is not having a drink, and admitting that you are thinking about a drink does not mean you are drinking it. Talk about it with someone you trust, and leave it there when you are done talking.


Positive/Sober Community – Instagram quickly became my favorite social media platform for this reason entirely. There are people on there, serious and real people who are focused on bettering their life, as well as cheering you on too!

These people provide love and support in ways you will never get from the people you see every day. I’m not trying to knock your loved ones at all, but these online communities are filled with other people who understand it firsthand, in a way that many of your loved ones couldn’t approach unless they too have experienced it.

As much as they love you and it hurt them to see you addicted, they were not the ones waking up in jail cells, getting in fights after day drinking, or bringing home random drunk purchases -in one instance I bought pet rats…yes you read that right…dumb drunk purchase no. 857.

Why am I doing this? -If I ever think about drinking, and I have to be honest, it’s not that often, I remember those nights I laid awake in the hospital, and I picture the doctor walking away from my parents as my mom sobs uncontrollably. I can see them standing at the foot of my bed looking at each other in desperation as their only child lays in a hospital bed, the same hospital she was born in, and taking her last few breaths with the assistance of monitors, wires, and hoses. That’s a pretty sobering thought if I do say so myself; one that keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Everyone has their own reason for quitting and if you can really hold onto that, hold fast to that reason and remain committed, you will find sobriety comes easier and easier after every trigger.

Come Check out my Blog!

Recover Urself

The “Bad” The “Good” The “Bad” that is in the “Good” The “Good” that is in the “Bad” “LIFE”

The “Bad” The “Good” The “Bad” that is in the “Good” The “Good” that is in the “Bad” “LIFE”

My name is Gina Magnani


Hi my name is Gina Magnani I’m 21 years old and I’m from Springfield Massachusetts.

I started growing up with my 3 brothers and my parents, they divorced when I was 4 years old so I was very much used to separation, as we got a bit older we noticed we only were able to see our mother 1 day a week, it felt like years too me.

Fast forward a bit older to when I’m able to really recall memories I’m growing into myself, my body, figuring out things I like and all I can remember is this pit, this raging pit in my stomach constantly, these thoughts running through my head that I wasn’t good enough my parents don’t like me, my brothers get more attention, I’m fat, I’m ugly, it was never ending. I started to indulge myself in online things, tumblr Facebook etc, to hide my true self, to communicate in a world where no one saw me or knew me, I could be anyone I wanted and that was everything too me. I would stay up hours on end doing that.

I would have these outbursts of panic attacks and rages at my fathers house, he got re married, I hated IT, I did NOT want a different mother, my dad told us why we were only seeing our mother, he said “Your mother has a problem with drinking’” I didn’t understand too much but we knew it was bad!

My mom would plan to come see us and never show, we’d all be looking out the window waiting, I was always the last one up waiting, and I never lost hope with her. My tantrums turned bad and it brought my dad to an idea of therapy. I hated it. I thought he was attacking me telling me something was wrong with me. I was defiant. I wouldn’t go. I’d cry and cry. All I ever wanted was to be around my mother.

Fast forward. My dad gave up, he told me to go live with her then. I briefly remember him and I sitting in therapy and the therapist saying to my father “ You cannot stop her from wanting to be with her mother or being exposed to those things no matter how hard you try. “

I was so closed off and it did not make sense till now. I saw things at my mothers NO thirteen year old girl should see, men in and out of the house, drinking, drugs, my mother in oblivion, dumping out bottles, having to stopping her from suicide. It became my whole life, I became the caretaker.

I remember sitting down one day saying to myself, “ I just want to feel better “ and I noticed every time she drank, she did. My life got worse, I was sexually abused, physically and emotionally, by men and women in my life. It destroyed me, I cracked, I wasn’t the same again. I started to dissociate from my body and not have normal reactions to things.

I smoked weed and that was it, the beautiful smiley spunky girl came out and that was it for me - my first time doing drugs was with my mother. I am not saying that she is to blame. I took off, anything I could do I did do, to absolute and utter excess, I’d leave school, never show up to school, not show up at home for days on end, hang out with the older kids because I got what I wanted.

I was put into foster care for over 6 months due to my mom getting caught with me in the car. I don’t really remember much, I dissociated myself from a lot those months and next thing you know I was back with her. She met a man. I really liked him. I shut my father out, so him being in my life didn’t bother me much.

Highschool, oooh highschool, the perfect opportunity, I finally got prettier, my body was nicer, people started to like me, I was funny, but I never stopped drugging. I met this girl and we started dating and it took off into a 3 year relationship of drugs and abuse. That’s where I found opiates. I decided to drop out. I never went anyways why not?.

That was it for me, I never felt anything like it and I’d be damned if I would lose that feeling. It turned into utter destruction of me, selling my body, robbing my friends and family, selling everything I could, just to feel that way. My whole life became that. I got sectioned, sent to detox, treatment, all starting at 16 years old.

Fast forward again. Portland Maine, I followed the girl up there. She left, and she called me one day telling me to come up here, so I did. My codependency was no joke. I’ve been in Portland Maine for the past 2 1/2 years and I was introduced to a 12 step program. I couldn’t understand the god concept, the amend making, the mediation, none of it I just couldn’t grasp it. I was in and out of houses for awhile, parents wasting first months rent after first months rent, begging me to get my shit together.

My relapse almost over a year ago brought me to death, I had a staph and MRSE infection in my body, abscess in my hand that blew my hand up so bad my finger tips were blue, I still did NOT stop, I was using in the hospital. They told me I could die during surgery and I still went forth with it. I got sober a couple weeks after my surgery, on drug probation, I was a mess, I detoxed cold turkey and haven’t looked back.

My first year looked something like this. Losing my stepdad and facing that sober. Making an amends to him in front of the whole entire funeral home. Making enough money just to pay rent at my sober house. Losing friends. Losing relationships. Dealing with my mothers still active addiction. Finally speaking to my father again. My family not willing to help me with ANYTHING. Making amends. Being asked to speak at meetings, and to sponsoring women. Volunteering at our local recovery center. Getting certified as a recovery coach. Leaving jobs, getting new jobs, changing houses. I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.

What led me to write this blog and to outreach was that someone gave me the opportunity to use one of their beautiful apartments as a sober house. It was a dream come true. It was everything I’ve ever wanted. I always wanted to be that girl. My house owners, and house mangers were saints to me. They were everything I could ask for about myself. 

Due to some unforeseen circumstances it fell through. I have wrote a mission statement, put it on Facebook, was able to recruit a lot of women, get many donations from our community ( furniture, beds linen etc ), we had a date of lease signing, which had me in shambles and then women ready to move in.

I have not used this particular circumstance to give up. I have been reaching out to people in the community and on social media platforms. This is one of the resources that I have. readily available to me. And I will be working on more ways. I am asking anyone out there to please recognize this as an opportunity to freely give what has freely been given to us and to HELP in anyway you can. We are not wanting a hand out we are just hoping for a hand up.

The Portland community needs you! ️