Reinvention, Recovery, and the Courage to Begin Again

Life is made up of phases. And for those of us in recovery, reinvention isn’t just inevitable, it’s essential.

I’m currently in the middle of a huge transition: stepping away from a full-time corporate role in marketing and communications at a local hospital system to build my coaching business full time.

It’s bold. It’s scary. It’s courageous.
But this time, it’s grounded in recovery.

I want to be clear—this isn’t about being unhappy. Stressed, maybe, but that’s from navigating a complicated schedule of one full time job and two part time jobs. In actuality, I’ve genuinely enjoyed my time in this job. I’ve told meaningful stories in healthcare and worked alongside dedicated professionals. I’ve learned and grown in ways I never imagined, starting out unsure of the language in healthcare meetings, and eventually finding myself confidently contributing to leadership conversations.

I will deeply miss my team, the leaders who supported me, and the connections I’ve made. But now, I get to make meaningful impact in healthcare in another way—one that’s more personal, more purpose-driven, and directly rooted in my own lived experience.

My background is eclectic. I started out in music. I trained as a classical musician, poured myself into theory, technique, (eight hours/day) practicing, and performance, and we all know how that turned out. Devastated and my body broken. Failing me in multiple ways. When I could no longer sustain a musical career due to both physical and mental health challenges, my world was shattered. Music was my identity. Playing felt transcendent. Without it, I felt I had no direction, no real life skills, no future. That kind of loss leaves a mark, one I’m still grieving today.

I never planned to go into marketing. I had no degree in it, no training. But after music fell apart, I needed something—anything—that made me feel useful. I said yes to a part-time box office job at a local theatre company, where a conversation with the head of the company led to him creating a job for me in the marketing department. I learned as I went, and due to success with everything I took on, I eventually grew into a leadership role as director of the department. But through it all, I was active in my disorders. I wasn’t eating, was severely depressed and drinking nightly. I lost jobs. I left jobs. I lost friends. I went to treatment more times than I can count, stuck in the treatment cycle for over a decade. I engaged in life-threatening behaviors on a nightly basis. I was barely surviving.

After a decade in nonprofit arts, I moved into healthcare communications, a completely different world with a steep learning curve. It was a big step forward in both my career and my recovery. New to recovery, I was finally stable enough to hold down a demanding, full-time position. The job required multitasking, strategic thinking, detail management, and the kind of emotional regulation I simply didn’t have when I was sick. There were late-night crisis calls, complex press situations and grand openings, and constant shifting priorities. And every time that phone rang at 8:30 or 10pm, I was reminded: I couldn’t do this job if I wasn’t sober or healthy. My stability gave me a life I never thought I’d get to live.

About a year and a half ago, a new spark lit up inside me: an interest in recovery work and a drive to help others avoid the long road I had traveled. I had made significant progress in my recovery, and I knew I wanted more. I got certified as both an eating disorder recovery coach and a substance use peer specialist. I started We Do RecoverED Coaching, a peer-based support service that offers 1:1 coaching, meal support, group session, and real-life tools for navigating the practical side of recovery from both eating disorders and substance use. My goal was to create something accessible, compassionate, individualized, and rooted in lived experience.

Around the same time, I also began working part-time at McCallum Place, a nationally recognized eating disorder treatment center located right here in St. Louis, where I was a patient no less than three times. I now lead recovery-focused groups there, sharing my story and offering support to clients in the same rooms where I once sat in the foldable lawn chairs, hopeless and sick. Returning as a professional has been surreal, humbling, and deeply meaningful. It's living proof that recovery is real and that healing can come full circle.

Coaching didn’t exist when I was going through treatment, not in the way it does now. I often relapsed with drinking and restricting literally the same day I discharged, losing structure, support, and accountability in an instant. That’s why I started We Do RecoverED Coaching: to fill the gap I desperately needed back then. I built the kind of support system I wish I had.

Coaching looks different for everyone. It is very individualized. For one client, it might mean texting me to avoid a distressing behavior, like purging. In those moments, we talk about the uncomfortable feelings, the discomfort of sitting with them, and come up with alternative coping skills to ride out the urge and get them back to their window of tolerance. For another, it’s three 30-minute meal support sessions a week adding support to complete their meal plan. For many, it's the in-between moments: when therapy is days away, but something hard is happening right now: confronting the fear of weight gain while eating a meal, challenging a fear food, or adding extra accountability to complete the goal of the week or the meal plan. That's where I come in—steady, grounded, and committed to walking alongside you.

These days, I’m feeling both older and younger than my age. Chronic health issues, many a result of my eating disorder, have taken a toll, but in other ways, I’m just now experiencing milestones I missed while I was so sick. I lost all my 20s and 30s to illness. I’m grieving that time and trying to make meaning from it. I missed out on so much. I wasn’t growing, I was just trying to stay alive.

Now, I’m grieving that time. I’m processing the trauma of having been that sick. And I’m trying, more than anything, to make meaning from the pain. That’s why I’ve shifted my career into the mental health space. Something good needs to come from struggling for two decades. Surviving gave me perspective. Turning that experience into purpose is what fuels me now.

Maybe you’re reading this and feeling behind in life. I get it. I missed out on so many things while I was just trying to survive. But healing doesn’t run on a schedule. There’s no age limit on growth, joy, or beginning again. The version of me that exists today, the one building a business, helping others, dating again, laughing, dreaming, is proof that life can begin at 41. Or 51. Or anytime you choose to fight for it. As people remind me, there is still so much life left.

I’ve experienced every side of this illness: patient, peer, provider. I know what it’s like to feel lost in the system, to have the system fail you, and still find a way forward. That perspective doesn’t just inform my coaching, it anchors it. I’m not here to offer quick fixes or generic advice. I bring lived experience, clinical collaboration, and a deep understanding of what real recovery takes because I’ve walked the long road myself.

I don’t know exactly what the next phase will hold. I’m not going to lie, the unknown is scary. With someone who has a lot of debt from treatment and a real fear of financial instability, leaving a guaranteed paycheck is terrifying. But for the first time since I pursued music, I feel purpose. A calling. Coaching, public speaking, and showing up in the recovery space—this feels like the work I was meant to do. It lights me up in a way no job has in years. And after losing so much of my life to survival mode, I’m finally choosing something that makes me happy.

Not every day is easy. Not every moment is certain. But this path is mine and I am proud to be walking it with integrity, compassion, and a whole lot of gratitude.

Recovery gave me a life worth living. Now I want to spend it helping others find theirs.

If you’re struggling right now, please know this:
Recovery is possible no matter how long you’ve suffered.
You are not too far gone.
You are not too old or too broken.

It takes work. It takes support. But with the right tools, change is possible.

If you’re looking for support, coaching was a game changer in my own recovery and I’d be honored to walk alongside you. Let’s talk. You don’t have to do this alone.
→ www.wedorecoveredcoaching.com

Follow me on Instagram - @Wedorecoveredcoaching