Shea McGee

On October 31st, I’ll celebrate 11 years free from heroin, something I once couldn’t even imagine. I started using drugs at a young age, long before I ever really knew who I was or how to handle life. By the time I reached adulthood, addiction had taken everything from me. Before recovery, my life was chaotic. I was homeless, jumping from couch to couch, stealing from family, and losing every bit of trust and love I had left. I had completely lost myself. I had hurt people I loved and completely lost myself in the process. I remember feeling hopeless, convinced that this was all life would ever be for me.

When I finally got into the MAT (Medication-Assisted Treatment) program, I was at rock bottom with nothing but a small spark of hope. Those first four years on methadone were full of ups and downs. I stumbled, I relapsed, and I questioned if I could really do this. But I kept fighting. I’m forever thankful for Joy and my ex-husband's family, who opened their home to me when we had nowhere to go. The MAT program gave me the stability to start facing my demons, to work through the mental health struggles I didn’t even understand back then, and to finally start growing into the woman I was meant to be.

Today, my life is proof that recovery is possible. I’ve been off of methadone since December 3rd, 2017, and I’ve built a life I’m proud of. I’m a wife to a wonderful husband, a mom to a beautiful two-year-old boy, and an Operations Instructor at the Food Bank of Delaware, where I get to help others rebuild their confidence and discover that they are capable of more than their past. Recovery didn’t come easy; it came with hard lessons, tears, and setbacks, but every one of those moments shaped me into who I am today. I’m living proof that you can start over, no matter how far gone you think you are.

Kristen

When I look back at the girl I was at 18, it’s almost hard to believe she was me. I was lost, not just in addiction, but in spirit. I started smoking crack at an age when most people are just beginning to dream about their futures. For me, the future didn’t exist. Every day was about surviving, the next high, the next moment of escape, anything to quiet the pain that lived inside me. That world was dark. I saw people die. I watched lives end over nothing. I was shot at. I was raped. I was treated like I was worthless, and for a long time, I believed I was. Drugs took me to places I never thought I’d go, and I became someone I didn’t recognize. There were times I should have died. But I didn’t. And I don’t believe that was luck, I believe Hashem kept me alive for a reason, even back when I didn’t know His name. Recovery wasn’t instant. It was slow, painful, and full of setbacks. I had to face everything I ran from - the trauma, the shame, the memories that haunted me. I had to learn how to live without numbing myself. That meant crying, praying, falling apart, and getting back up, again and again. But somewhere in all that brokenness, light started to break through. I began to rebuild my life, not the life I thought I’d have, but one rooted in peace and truth. I found love. I became a mother. I found purpose in caring for my family, in being present, in giving my children the stability and faith I never had. And then, I found Judaism. Or maybe, Judaism found me. The more I learned, the more I felt like my soul had been searching for this all along - the structure, the holiness, the sense of belonging. Converting to Orthodox Judaism isn’t just a spiritual journey for me; it’s the final piece of my healing. It’s how I return to Hashem, not just as a survivor, but as someone who’s been transformed. When I light Shabbat candles, I think of that lost 18-year-old girl. I think of all the nights she thought she wouldn’t make it to morning. And I whisper to her - we made it. We’re here. We’re alive. We’re building something beautiful. My story isn’t about shame; it’s about redemption. It’s about how God can take the most shattered life and turn it into something holy. It’s proof that we do recover - not just from addiction, but from the deepest wounds of the soul. If you’re reading this and you’re still in that darkness, please know - you’re not too far gone. You’re not forgotten. Hashem never stopped loving you, even in your lowest moment. I know, because He never stopped loving me.