I grew up in a home where mental health simply wasn’t discussed. Our world was shaped by faith, resilience, and the unwavering strength of my single mother, who worked tirelessly to provide for us. In our strict Pentecostal household, prayer was the answer to all struggles—including those of the mind and heart. Therapy wasn’t an option, and words like “depression” or “anxiety” were foreign concepts. If you were struggling, you prayed harder.
At 12 years old, my world changed forever. I experienced a traumatic assault, and while I didn’t have the words for it then, I now recognize the deep anxiety and depression that followed. I felt lost in a storm of emotions I couldn’t name. Without an outlet or guidance, I turned to food for comfort, trying to quiet the pain. I kept pushing forward, hoping that if I was a “good girl” and followed the rules, the chaos in my mind would settle.
As I grew older, I continued to search for ways to cope. In college, away from home and the structure I had always known, I threw myself into partying. I drank. I smoked. I did everything I could to escape the emptiness inside me. From the outside, I looked like I had it all together—I was smart, I was achieving—but inside, I was struggling more than ever. The weight of my unresolved pain became unbearable, but in my family, we never spoke about things like suicide. So instead, I kept running.
Life kept moving. I became a mother, and for the first time, I felt like I had a purpose beyond myself. But even as I embraced this new chapter, the waves of anxiety and depression never fully left me. I tried to manage it all on my own—until one day, I collapsed in the shower, unable to breathe. Paramedics rushed me to the hospital, and that was the first time I heard the words “panic disorder.” That moment was a wake-up call: my struggles weren’t just in my head—they were real, and they needed attention.
For the first time, I sat with a therapist and shared the things I had buried for so long. I learned that healing wasn’t about being “fixed” but about taking small, intentional steps toward wellness. Therapy, medication, and support groups helped me begin a journey I never thought possible—one of self-awareness, healing, and hope.
Inspired by my own transformation, I went back to school and earned my master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling. I wanted to be the person for others that I so desperately needed growing up. I joined Stop Stigma Sacramento in 2017 to share my story, hoping that by speaking openly, I could help others take that first brave step toward healing.
But healing is not a straight path. Even after years in the mental health field, I still struggled. I turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms—overworking, emotional eating, and drinking. I reassured myself that as long as I was functional, it wasn’t a problem. Until, one day, it was.
In 2018, I hit rock bottom. A toxic relationship ended, and I spiraled fast. My reckless behavior led to a night that changed everything: I drove under the influence and was involved in an accident. I woke up in a hospital, confused and terrified. That moment forced me to confront the truth—I needed real change. Not just for others. For myself.
Since then, my journey has been one of accountability, resilience, and growth. I got married. I became a mother again. I faced new battles with postpartum depression and the mental health challenges brought on by the pandemic. But through it all, I chose to keep going.
Today, I live with intention. I prioritize my mental health. I attend therapy, participate in support groups, and work a recovery program. I no longer hide my struggles, because I know that being honest about them is the key to staying well. My path hasn’t been perfect—relapse, setbacks, and tough days are part of the process—but I keep showing up for myself.
If you take anything from my story, let it be this: You are not alone. Healing isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about taking that first step and then another. There’s no shame in asking for help, and there is no one-size-fits-all approach to mental health. Whether it’s therapy, support groups, faith, or community, find what works for you.
Above all, know this—there is hope. There are brighter days ahead. And you are worthy of every single one of them.
-La Viola