The Road We Travel: Building Hope for Teens in Recovery

When I began writing these reflections, I didn't have a plan. No title. No roadmap. Just a quiet pull to capture what was unfolding around us, within me. I wrote in the early hours of the morning, before the house stirred, when I could hear my thoughts and feel my way through the messy, the beautiful, and the unknown.

Fifty entries later, what started as a way to track the fragile beginning of something new slowly became a space for reflection, for honesty, for holding grief and hope in the same breath, for noticing who we're becoming.

In the fall of 2023, Mark, Mike, and I made a decision we couldn't ignore. We saw clearly what was missing for adolescents in early recovery, and we believed that they deserved better. They needed more than a place to get well. They needed a place to grow.

A place where healing could take root over time. Where school and sobriety didn't cancel each other out. Where families were included, not just informed. Where the future wasn't something to fear but something they could start to imagine.

That belief became Woodhaven.

It didn't happen all at once. There were setbacks and redirections, late nights and early mornings. But piece by piece, and with the help of extraordinary people, it began to take shape.

That same September, unexpectedly and outside our initial plan, we needed to create a safe space at Woodhaven on Mulberry for five teenage boys who needed both a home and a place to continue their recovery and education. Our very first classroom was a patchwork of mismatched chairs and big hopes. We didn't have a permanent space, just a few boys who needed a school that could hold both algebra and addiction. With Joe's dedicated collaboration, we built curriculum one day at a time (I created it, he implemented it), relying on care, creativity, and a belief in what might be possible. All of them graduated high school that year, a milestone that affirmed our mission.

Today, just one year later, we have a peaceful, light-filled classroom on the hillside of New Hope Lane. Mountains outside the windows. Structure and laughter inside. And a gifted teacher who brings thoughtfulness and flexibility to every lesson. The academics are rigorous but also human. Personal. Grounded in what recovery actually needs.

That thread, recovery at the center, runs through everything.

We didn't want a program made of parts. We wanted something whole. An experience where school and sobriety walk side by side, where therapeutic support lives not just in formal sessions but in conversations on walks, in car rides, during chats on the deck. Where joy is invited in through recreation, and family work honors both heartbreak and hope. Where the future isn't just planned for, it's practiced, gently and with encouragement.

We've learned a lot by doing.

Before opening, we visited respected programs across the country, Hazelden Betty Ford, Caron, Turnbridge, and more, listening, learning, and feeling both humbled and affirmed. We wrote and rewrote policies. Built and rebuilt websites. We established Woodhaven Foundation as a non-profit organization. And we started writing grants, each one carrying that burst of hope that maybe this would be the one to help us provide broader access. So far, only one grant has come through, modest though it is. Still, we keep writing because we believe in this mission, and because these boys deserve the very best, no matter the financial barriers.

And we've learned how to grow personally, too.

Mark and I have discovered what it means to carry multiple roles. We're partners in life. Parents. And now partners in this vision. That isn't always seamless. When he wakes up in the morning, I've often already been working on Woodhaven for hours, and I'm still learning not to greet him with ten new ideas before his coffee. We've had to make space to still be us inside of all this. And as our family navigates its own recent challenges, I've felt the power of grace, not only within our home, but from other parents who are carrying their own pain and have still offered me compassion.

Our boys continue to be our greatest teachers. Their courage. Their resistance. Their breakthroughs. Their moments of honesty, when they speak in group about shame, fear, or hope. These moments stay with me.

There are seasons in a child's life when growth is fast and obvious, like the early years. At other times, it's quieter, harder to measure. Since Woodhaven's inception, the learning for all of us has felt like that early kind, rapid, humbling, and constant.

Along the way, we’ve stayed connected by sharing stories that hold both the struggle and the strength, reminding families that this path, though hard, is not one they walk alone. We’re deeply grateful for the trust you’ve placed in us, for the conversations, the quiet encouragement, and the shared hope that continues to guide us all forward.

For families walking this difficult road, know that sustained recovery is possible. It takes time, care, and a community that holds hope alongside the hard moments. You are not alone.

This journey has been about all of us growing, learning, and doing the hard work, often behind the scenes, that makes Woodhaven what it is today.

We're still becoming. And we move forward with open hearts, embracing the journey ahead.