A letter, a confession, and an invitation to heal.

I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor. I spent decades helping children, families, and fellow professionals navigate trauma and loss. I trained in EMDR, clinical hypnosis, and the science of healing. I taught emotional regulation to teenagers while holding space for teachers burned out beyond recognition.

And for years, I was quietly drinking myself to death.

Not all at once. Not publicly. Not in a way that made headlines or lost licenses. Just in the slow, socially sanctioned, shame-soaked way that far too many helping professionals do: silently, in plain sight.

We don’t talk about that kind of shame.
The kind that says:
You should know better.
You’re the therapist. You teach people how to cope.
You don’t get to fall apart—you’re the strong one.