On the surface, my life may look otherwise perfect.

Like MTV Diaries used to famously state (I know, dating myself here!): You think you know, but you have no idea……

I know what people think they see. The adoption story perfectly set. The family photos. The faith. The blog. The life that, by most measures, looks like one of those stories where everything came together exactly as it was supposed to.

And in many ways, it did. I believe that deeply. Not just deeply, but fully and with my whole existence.

But there is a road that runs underneath all of it….a road most people never see. And it is long, hard, and some nights it feels like it has no end.

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Note: Because I am a mama bear through and through, I will PROTECT my children at all costs. I refuse to mention any specific child by writing this. In that absence, I’m going to refer to all via “children” so that no names or personalities are shared to leave open for “guessing which one(s).”

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The Road Nobody Sees

My children struggle. Not in the ways that are visible to the outside world. They don’t look like they’re struggling. They look “normal,” and that word is its own particular kind of loneliness because it means the world keeps moving along as if everything is fine, while inside our home, we’re navigating something that most people don’t have language for.

Mental health. In children. Young children.

I didn’t know it could start this early. I didn’t know that a child could carry that weight. And I certainly didn’t know how few resources exist for families who are trying. Like really, desperately trying to get their kids the help they need.

If you’ve ever called a mental health crisis hotline late at night, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, I hope you never have to.

But if you have, you understand the particular despair of that moment. The one where there is a phone in your hand, your child’s pain in front of you, and a system that was not built to hold either of you.

While other kids are getting invited to birthday parties and sleepovers, mine are wondering when their turn will come. That’s the truth I carry. That’s the road I, we, walk every single day.

It’s a special kind of pain, one that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

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And then there’s my cousin Jason.

Jason is one of those people who, once he walks into a room, you don’t forget.

He has this energy that’s full of presence, and that you understand better when you know what he’s been through to get there.

Jason grew up navigating his own mental health and addiction. Again, a road he didn’t ask to be on, but one he walked mostly alone until hitting rock bottom.

He was one of the “lucky” ones, coming out the other side. Years later he would write about it through A Perfect Tragedy: Finding Purpose in Addiction — not because the world asked him to, but because he knew that someone, somewhere, needed to read it.

That is who Jason is. He couldn’t keep the road to himself.

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So he built something.

One Arrow Foundation exists because every person deserves access to the tools, community, and hope that changed Jason’s life. It exists because the mental health crisis in this country — especially for youth — is real, and underfunded, and in far too many places, invisible.

And this summer, Jason is going to make it visible.

He is walking 1,776 miles around the perimeter of the state of Minnesota.

Let that number sit for a moment.

1,776 miles. One for each of America’s 250th birthday years, yes, but also one for the people who are still here, still fighting, still needing someone to show up and say:

I see you. This matters. You matter.

The movement is called The Recovery Road, and it is more than a walk. As Jason moves through all 87 Minnesota counties, the One Arrow team will be collecting real data: standardized, on the record, and building a gap report, policy brief > a case file to bring to St. Paul and to Washington D.C.

The walk isn’t just symbolic.

It is evidence and advocacy. It is showing up to every corner of this state and saying: we counted. We came. Now what are you going to do about it?

Seventy percent of every dollar raised goes directly to community grants and program funding for the organizations already filling the gaps. You know them….the navigators, counselors, crisis workers, the people who answer the phone all hours of the day and night when a family like mine calls.

The other thirty percent funds the road itself…..the logistics, the safety, the storytelling that makes sure no county gets left out of this map.

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I think about what this could and will mean to have more resources in place for families like mine. To have the gap acknowledged, mapped, and funded. To have a system that meets children where they are, not where it’s convenient.

I think about the parents who are on the road I’m on, doing this quietly, alone, without anyone walking beside them.

And I think about Jason….once a child, who knows what it is to walk a hard road alone, and who decided, because of that, to never let anyone else have to.

Listen, there’s a verse I come back to every single day:

He has made everything beautiful in its time.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

I don’t always understand the timing of hard things. And I certainly don’t understand why the road is as long as it is. Truth be told, I’m frustrated with it.

But I believe because I have to believe that the people who come through the hard things and turn around to light the way for others are part of something bigger than any of us can see.

Jason is one of those people. I’m striving to be the same.

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If This Hits Home…..

You’re NOT alone.

You don’t have to walk 1,776 miles. But you can choose to show up in whatever way you can.

The most immediate way right now is to donate to the One Arrow Foundation — a 501(c)3 organization whose funds go directly to behavioral health programs in high-need, under-resourced communities across Minnesota:

• Prevention
• Treatment
• Crisis intervention
• Suicide prevention
• Recovery support

The things that families everywhere need. And the things that people like Jason, like myself, and like thousands of others didn’t and don’t always have.

You can learn more and donate at onearrowfoundation.org.

And if this story moved you, share it. Because the first step to fixing a crisis is making sure people know it exists.

Every mile a memory. Every dollar a lifeline. Every share a hand extended to someone who is walking a road you might not be able to see.

Let’s walk it together.

Join the magic and chaos.

Xox,

SKH

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The Recovery Road walks Summer–Fall 2026.