My name is Adam, and I’m rebuilding my life from the ground up — with nothing but sobriety, faith, and the hope that people still care.

Four years ago, my entire world collapsed in a way I never saw coming.

On March 16, 2022 — just five days after my 29th birthday — I lost my mom to a surgery that should’ve saved her. She was my best friend, my anchor, my safe place. Losing her didn’t just break my heart… it broke me.

I fell into a depression so deep that I didn’t care if I woke up the next day. I was taking antidepressants like they were oxygen, hoping the pain would stop. Instead, I almost stopped.

On June 8th, I checked myself into rehab in New Hampshire — 18 hours from home — because it was the only chance I had left. I stayed inpatient and outpatient for 1 year and 10 months, then moved into sober living. I fought for my life every single day.

And this past Monday, I hit 4 years clean.

Sobriety gave me my life back…

but it didn’t give me my life back together.

I recently moved home to Tennessee to start over, but coming home after years away is harder than people realize. You don’t get everything back just because you got clean. You don’t get your family back. You don’t get your belongings back. You don’t get stability handed to you.

I’ve only spoken to one family member since returning.

My father has remarried — I haven’t seen him in 3 years.

Right now, I’m staying with my cousin while I look for work and try to rebuild from nothing.

And I mean nothing.

No apartment.

No furniture.

No clothes beyond what I traveled with.

No foundation to stand on — except the one I’m trying to build.

I’m not asking for luxury.

I’m not asking for a shortcut.

I’m asking for a chance.

A chance to get an apartment.

A chance to buy basic furniture.

A chance to have clothes that aren’t worn thin.

A chance to stand on my own two feet again.

If you choose to help, you’re not just donating money — you’re helping someone who refused to give up when life gave every reason to. You’re helping someone who fought addiction, grief, and isolation and still chose to come home and rebuild.

Every dollar gets me one step closer to stability.

One step closer to independence.

One step closer to the life my mom would want for me.

Thank you for reading my story.

Thank you for believing in second chances.

And thank you for helping me rebuild a life worth living.