Who I Am Now: The Wild, Beautiful Mess of Chasing Dreams and Breaking Free 🌪️✨

 

Who I Am Now: The Wild, Beautiful Mess of Chasing Dreams and Breaking Free 🌪️✨

If you’ve been following me, you know I left my clinical job on January 20th. That day—fuck, that day—it was a goddamn storm. 🌧️ Not just a storm, but a hurricane of grief, anger, and heartbreak. Walking away wasn’t just quitting a job; it felt like ripping off a bandage that had been stuck on way too long and finally peeling it back to raw, bleeding skin. The disrespect, the ethical fights, the endless battles with a system that seemed hell-bent on breaking me—it all came crashing down, and I was left staring at the wreckage, feeling every ounce of it in my bones. 💔

I cried more than I thought I had in me. 😢 I screamed inside, asking myself, Why the hell does it have to be this way? How can a system designed to help feel so cold, so broken, so utterly soul-crushing? ❄️💔

---

The Leap: From Loss to New Life 🚀

And then, I fucking leapt. ✊🔥

I’m starting my own recovery coaching business—Progress is Progress—right here in Wisconsin. 🇺🇸 It’s a dream I barely dared to whisper, something I thought was too big, too scary, too goddamn far out of reach. But now? It’s real. Maybe too real.

I feel like I’m living in the same disbelief that hit me when I bought my house. 🏡 Months of Is this really happening? and Who the hell is letting this happen? I’d catch myself staring at the keys, half-expecting someone to show up and say, “Oops, wrong address.” The imposter syndrome? It’s a beast that snarls in my ear every damn day. 😈 It whispers, You’re not ready. You don’t belong here.

But every day, I show up anyway. 💪

---

Grinding Harder Than Ever 💼💥

Since leaving that job, I’ve been working harder than I ever did punching a clock for 40 hours a week. I’m buried in building client forms, setting up business accounts, doing market research, and connecting with Economic Development Corps, nonprofits, small business associations, and mentoring programs. I even have a marketing intern from the local technical college helping me keep up. 🎓🤝

The support I’ve been given? It blows my mind. 🤯 People believe in me, in this mission, in the messy, beautiful work that Progress is Progress is doing. And yet, the fear doesn’t go the fuck away. The fear that I’m not enough. The fear that I’ll fail spectacularly. 😰

---

What Progress is Progress Means 💙

Progress is Progress isn’t just a business. It’s a lifeline. A promise to myself and anyone affected by addiction that every damn step forward—even the tiniest one—is worth celebrating. 🎉

I’m building a holistic recovery coaching service that blends personalized coaching, practical education, and a real online community. We’re here to break stigma, offer tools that work, and create a safe space for honest, messy progress without the bullshit. ✨🛠️

This work is deeply personal. It’s rooted in my own history—being born to young biological parents, adopted by my grandparents, carrying trauma, surviving domestic abuse, addiction, and all the chaos that comes with that story. And now, with my master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health on the horizon, I’m chasing dreams that once felt impossible. 🎓🌈

---

The Road Ahead: From Coaching to Clinical Practice 🛤️

Progress is Progress isn’t stopping at coaching. The plan is to expand into a full clinical practice. I’m starting with substance abuse recovery coaching, but with my master’s degree in sight, mental health services will follow soon behind. 🧠💪

This means offering more comprehensive support—not just peer coaching, but clinical care that integrates the hard clinical truths with the empathy and authenticity I bring. It’s about meeting people where they are, without judgment or stigma, and helping them build lives worth living. ❤️‍🩹

---

Balancing Fear, Hope, and Self-Care ☕🌿

This journey isn’t just about work. It’s about balance—finding ways to take care of myself, keep my home life intact, and still enjoy the moments that make life life. Self-care isn’t optional; it’s survival. Whether it’s a quiet cup of coffee in the morning, a long walk to clear my head, or a damn good laugh with friends, these little rituals keep me sane amidst the chaos. ☕🚶‍♀️😂

---

The First Client and the First Dollar 💵✨

I got my first paying client. At first, I didn’t want to take their money—they insisted. That dollar means everything. It’s proof that I’m creating something with my own hands, my own heart. ❤️

More client meet-and-greets are scheduled. More plans are in motion. Progress is Progress is growing, and so am I. 🌱

---

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Entrepreneurship 🎢

If you think starting a business is glamorous, think again. It’s scary as hell, exhausting as fuck, thrilling, and overwhelming all at once. The unknowns are endless. The fear tries to paralyze me some days. But then the determination kicks in—the same fierce fire that got me here. 🔥💪

---

Why This Matters: A Mission Rooted in Realness 👊

At Progress is Progress, the mission is simple but powerful: empower individuals and families affected by substance use challenges through coaching, education, and community. We meet people where they are—no judgment, no perfection, just real, raw support for real people. 🤝

My vision is to break down stigma, foster resilience, and nurture transformation. To create a world where anyone impacted by addiction can find the tools and community they need to thrive. 🌍💚

---

An Invitation 🤗

If you’re out there fighting your own battle—whether it’s addiction, fear, or chasing a dream that feels impossible—know this: you are not alone. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep moving forward. 👣✨

---

Final Thoughts 📝

This story is still unfolding. I’m scared, excited, overwhelmed, and hopeful all at once. But every day I’m choosing to show up, to lean into the fear, and to celebrate every messy, beautiful step forward. 🎉❤️

Because no matter what, we move forward. One scared, hopeful step at a time. 🌈👣

---

Keywords naturally included: recovery coaching Wisconsin, addiction recovery, overcoming imposter syndrome, substance use support, holistic recovery coaching, addiction stigma, small business recovery coaching, personal growth in recovery, mental health and addiction coaching.

 I don’t play backup for anyone—not in love, not in life. If you want me, step up. If not, step off. 🖕🔥

Here’s the truth: I spent way too long settling for scraps—waiting on texts that never came, clinging to half-assed apologies, bending over backward for people who wouldn’t even meet me halfway. I let myself become an option, a placeholder, the “just in case” for folks who didn’t have the guts to go all in. You ever been there? That shit will eat you alive. 🥀🧨

But not anymore. I’m not here to be your backup plan or your emotional safety net. I’m not sitting on the sidelines while you “figure things out.” Show up or get the hell out of my way. Because I know what I bring to the table, and I’d rather eat alone than beg for a seat. 🚫🍽️

This goes for love, friendships, family—hell, every part of my life. I’m done explaining why I deserve respect. I’m done lowering my standards just to make other people comfortable. You want in? Be real. Be present. Be ready to match my energy. Otherwise, keep walking. 👊🛣️

If you’re tired of feeling like a backup character in your own story, come find your crew. We don’t do half-measures, fake smiles, or lukewarm love. We show up. We get loud. We take up space.

Ready to stop playing backup?
https://www.skool.com/progress-is-progress-coaching-3648

Want daily reminders that you’re no one’s second choice?
https://progressisprogress.substack.com

Step up or step off. I’m here for the real ones. 🚀🦅🔥

 Progress Is Progress isn’t going to try to package shit up pretty. There will be bruises, failures and a whole lot of showing up anyway. I write this for the warriors, the wounded, the dreamers—and anyone who’s ever been made to feel they weren’t enough. I’m working to build this into a space that can help me provide for my family and be the voice I needed when I felt alone. If you want honesty, ugly victories, and a welcome community to join along for the ride; please subscribe. Help me continue doing this work. I cannot tell you how much this means. http://www.progressisprogress.substack.com http://www.progressisprogress.setmore.com Not Just Another Newsletter. Survival. Hope. Us.

Intelligents on the Rocks Podcast guest spot

I had the absolute best time being a guest on the Intelligence on the Rocks podcast! This was such a fun and meaningful experience—I got to talk about recovery, life, and everything in between.

If you have a few minutes, I’d love for you to check it out. Every conversation like this helps shine a little more light and hope on the recovery community, and that means everything to me.

Come listen, come support, and let’s keep moving forward together. Your girl’s out here sharing her story—come join me!

https://open.spotify.com/episode/1UriJ8q4pb2BMH6d4OQbnF?si=lv-hdT8zRR-FbrGmaSxslww 

 quit my clinical job to go ALL IN on real recovery, real talk, & real support for YOU. If you’re tired of surface-level advice and want something raw, honest, & actually helpful, you’re in the right place. Whether you’re just curious, feeling totally stuck, or deep in the trenches, I’m here, rooting for you & ready to help you move forward.

🖤 Honest blog posts on addiction, codependency & mental health—no fluff, just real stories, lived experience, and practical help for your journey: progressisprogress.substack.com

🌱 Skool community: private, judgment-free space packed with resources, workshops, group support, and genuine connection with people who get it and actually care.

🤝 Recovery coaching: 1:1, groups, flexible options—book a FREE 30-min intro call, no pressure, just real talk: progressisprogress.setmore.com

Why me? Lived experience + professional training. Zero BS, no perfection required. Progress is progress. You belong here, for real. Let’s do this together, 1 step at a time!

Setbacks, Cigarettes, and Starting Over: What Progress Really Looks Like

 

The Morning After

The first thing I noticed when I woke up Wednesday morning was how quiet my chest felt. Not empty, not full—just quiet, like the static had finally cleared. Sunlight started to push through the tie-dyed cotton drape my mom made for my wedding. Purple, yellow, pink, white—those colors are wild at sunrise, like hope poured out on the wall. For a minute, I just let myself stare at it, let the color settle into my bones.

The house was cold. Winter air nipped at my skin when I finally left the covers. I sat up, wrung my hands together, ran them through my hair and down my face—feeling the ache in my jaw, the leftover stress in my shoulders, the weird, half-electric hum that comes after a week like this. My body was looser than yesterday but still tight in all the places I keep my worry.

Wednesday meant freedom, but not the easy kind. I didn’t have to get up and “perform.” No clinic, no fluorescent lights, no silent hallway judgments. But I also didn’t have a script for this kind of day—no roadmap for what comes after you walk away from what’s been breaking you.

The Anatomy of a Setback

After a Monday that left me raw and a Tuesday spent pushing through the stress, you’d think I’d be out of tears. But Wednesday morning, after everything, I found myself asking my husband, “Can you pick me up a pack of cigarettes at the gas station?” He did.

There I was, sitting in my home office, staring at that pack. It felt heavier than it should—like a symbol, not just a habit. The first drag was pure relief, pleasure, almost safety. And then came the shame, sharper than any craving. My youngest son had been so proud of me for quitting. I thought of his face, his trust, and the guilt just about knocked me over.

That’s the thing about setbacks—they’re rarely just about the thing itself. For me, slips have always carried echoes of my old life: criminal behavior, theft, codependent lies, doing whatever I had to do to feel validated—even if it meant betraying myself or someone else. Even now, years into recovery, that voice in my head tries to convince me that a slip means I’m the same person I used to be. But I’m not.

The progress this time was in the pause. I didn’t spiral. I didn’t decide I’d lost everything. I let the shame and comfort coexist. I let myself be human. I watched the smoke drift in the sunlight and realized I was still here, still moving, even if it wasn’t pretty.

Fear and Freedom

Walking away from my job wasn’t just about leaving a paycheck. It was about letting go of a piece of my identity—a part of me that told myself I had to keep grinding, even when it was killing me, because that’s what strong people do. But I wasn’t strong. I was exhausted, scared, and—under all that—just a little bit free.

That first morning I didn’t have to get up and go, I felt every shade of fear: What if I can’t pay the bills? What will people say? Am I screwing up my life? And then, tucked under all that noise, I found excitement. My muscles weren’t as stiff; my shoulders dropped a little; my chest felt lighter. I started to trust myself again, in the smallest way—maybe for the first time in a long time.

Freedom isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it feels like standing outside in the cold, no coat, no plan. But it’s real. And under all the fear, I knew: I’ve survived worse. I can survive this.

The Myth of Perfection

If you’re anywhere near recovery, you know the myth: One mistake, and it’s all gone. One slip, and you’re back to zero. But that’s not how this works. Recovery, healing, change—none of it is linear. You don’t lose your progress just because you slip. You don’t get erased.

When I work with clients, I tell them: progress is progress, even if it’s by an alarm millimeter. You don’t have to leap. Sometimes all you can do is scoot forward an inch—or even just decide you’ll try again tomorrow. And that’s enough.

But let’s be real: I have to remind myself, too. The voice in my head still tries to claim I’m only worth something if I’m perfect. That’s a lie I learned young, and it’s a hard one to kill. But every time I get back up, every time I choose honesty over hiding, I chip away at it.

The truth is, none of us are perfect. We learn and grow, learn and grow, from the day we’re born to the day we die.

Progress is Progress—Even When It’s Ugly

This is the part that still blows me away. I expected judgment. Silence. What I got instead was support—so much of it that it felt like the universe was conspiring to remind me I’m not alone. Messages from people I worked with, old colleagues, friends, family, even folks I hadn’t heard from in years. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Every single message chipped away at the shame. Each text, each call, was a reminder that support isn’t something you earn by being perfect. It’s something you get when you let people see you—mess and all.

The physical feeling of reading those messages was almost medicinal. My chest loosened. My hands stopped shaking. The tightness in my shoulders eased. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

If you’re in the thick of it, please know: Needing help isn’t weakness. Letting people see you isn’t failure. The messier it is, the more you need connection, not isolation.

What’s Next?

So here’s what I’m doing now. I’m not pretending to be okay all the time. I’m still getting up early, like I would if I had to go to work. I’m keeping my routines: vitamins, breakfast, a shower, doing my hair and makeup—especially on days when I’m on video, but honestly, even when I’m not. I could sit in pajamas all day, but I don’t. Getting dressed is my way of reminding myself that I’m still moving forward, even if it’s just by an alarm millimeter.

I’m leaning hard on my support network. I’m forgiving myself for not being perfect. I’m reaching out instead of hiding. I’m taking care of my health, even when my head tells me it doesn’t matter. These are the tiniest, slowest forms of progress, but they’re real. They add up. They’re what keep me going.

Everything changes, ready or not. Sometimes it blows up in your face. Sometimes you walk away before it does. Either way, you get to decide what happens next.

For the Clinicians, the Families, the Strugglers, and the Dreamers

If you’re a clinician: You’re allowed to be a person, too. There’s no trophy for suffering in silence. Take the mask off and reach out. You can’t pour from an empty cup.

If you’re in recovery: Progress isn’t a straight line. You are not your worst moment. You are every comeback, every act of self-compassion, every time you reach out instead of isolate.

If you love someone who’s struggling: Your support matters more than you know. Reach out, check in, don’t wait for perfection.

If you’re just thinking about trying to get better: You don’t have to do it perfectly. You just have to keep going. Progress is progress—even when it’s ugly, especially then.

Call to Action

Let yourself be supported. Share your mess. Start again, as many times as you need. Progress is progress.

If you’ve had a setback, a week that blew up your plans, or you’ve found yourself right back at the beginning—tell your story in the comments. Let’s make this a place where the real stuff gets talked about. Not the highlight reel, but the real reel.

We’re all in this together. And I promise you: the universe just might have your back, too.

---

Progress is progress. Even when it comes with shaky hands, tie-dye sunlight, and a cigarette you swore you’d never touch again.

You’re still here. You’re still moving. And that counts.

---

P.S.
If you’re new here, I’m Belle—a person in long-term recovery, a clinician, a mom, and someone who screws up and keeps going. I write this because I know how lonely it feels when you think you’re the only one. You’re not.

If this hit home, hit subscribe, share this with someone who needs it, and tell your story below or by replying to this email. I read every comment and every reply. Next week: I’ll be writing about how to rebuild trust with yourself after a setback—what that actually looks like, day by day.

“Progress is progress—even if it’s just by millimeter.”

Join the Progress is Progress Facebook Group or follow along on TikTok @progress_is_progress.

Let’s make this the realest recovery community on the internet. You in?

 

Why Counselors Are Quitting: Burnout, Broken Systems, and the Mental Health Crisis Inside Federally Qualified Health Centers

 Why Counselors Are Quitting: Burnout, Broken Systems, and the Mental Health Crisis Inside Federally Qualified Health Centers

Jan 20, 2026

 

I Quit My Job Today—And It Broke Me

I quit my job today. After everything, I finally hit my limit. I wish I could say it was liberating. I wish I could say I felt proud. The truth? It felt like defeat. It felt like losing a fight I’ve been in for years—the kind of fight you take on because you believe you can make things better, and then realize the rules were never fair to begin with.

But let’s back up. This didn’t happen out of nowhere.

---

The Build-Up: When “Support” Is Just a Slogan

Some days, the exhaustion isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, bone-deep, and it follows you home.
For months, I tried to speak up. I raised concerns about moral, direction and communication. I talked about the front desk mistakes, the burnout, the ways we were being stretched thinner and that we seemed to have no real leadership. Every time, the message was the same: I will let someone know… well, that someone finally answered, and it was “It’s your job to fix it. You’re the expert. If there’s a conflict, compromise.” They then drew a fish skeleton on the board and talked about taco pizza.

There was no offer of support. No help. Just the sense that we were supposed to handle it all ourselves, while the people with the power to change things stood back and watched or told us that things don’t work that way.

I tried to be vulnerable with my new Director of Substance Abuse (poor thing) and the COO—who, by the way, comes from dental, not behavioral health. Why are we working with directors and upper management with no experience in behavioral health and SUDs?

I explained what was really happening, how it felt to see substance use services treated as an afterthought in an organization with dental and primary care that talks a big game about “community.” But I didn’t feel heard. I walked away with the sinking feeling that, to them, we’re all just replaceable. Fall in line, or move the fuck on.

---

The Breaking Point: Boundaries and Ultimatums

I volunteered for over a year to drive two hours out of town so clients could see someone in person. Monthly, I showed up for a community that had nobody else. But yesterday, after a meeting that left me sick to my stomach, I drew a line: I told my work I would no longer make that drive.

Why? Because after all that sacrifice, leadership stripped away the remote days we’d fought for, told us to fix our own problems, treated us so disrespectfully, and made it clear that our well-being was not even on their radar. When I finally said “enough,” I was told, flat out, that if I didn’t drive the two hours, I’d be voluntarily terminating my job. Even though I was willing to work in my regular office. By this time, I had to ask, are you just trying at this point to get me to cover tomorrow because it’s a shitshow for you now? What happens on Thursday when I am back at my normal office? Then I was told something about theft of time, and how all of a sudden there was some type of concerns about me wasting time at work, or doing other stuff. Mind you Before our last amazing director of substance abuse left in Oct of this year, I had NO issues with my employment at all. Now it’s attendance, theft of time, and no more remote days because we can’t trust any of you and there are too many empty spots on your calendars.… blah blah blah.

So I gave my resignation right then and there. Not because I wanted to walk away—but because I couldn’t keep betraying myself, my boundaries, and, ultimately, my clients.

---

The Ugly Truth About Stress in Recovery (and the Lies We Tell Ourselves)

There’s a myth that once you have enough time sober, enough experience, enough credentials, you’ll be bulletproof.
That you’ll have this magical shield against burnout, guilt, or the kind of stress that makes you question everything. It’s a lie. I’m living proof. Ten years sober. All the letters after my name. All the “you’re so strong” comments. And still, I found myself sitting in my car, shaking, after being told my only choices were to burn myself out further or walk away from the job—and the clients—I love.

---

The System Is Rigged Against Us

This isn’t just my story. This is the story of every clinician, front desk worker, nurse, and case manager who’s been told their boundaries are “inconvenient.”
Who’s been made to feel like caring too much is the real problem. Who’s been gaslit by leadership that talks about “community” and “resilience” while gutting every support we have.

I watched as management meetings fixated on “no-shows” and other easy targets—complaining about chaotic schedules and empty appointment slots—while ignoring the real reasons behind the mess. No-shows aren’t the core problem; they’re just a symptom of a system that’s running on fumes, chronically understaffed and under-supported. Yet every time we brought up issues, the message from leadership was always the same: “If something’s broken, it’s your job to fix it.”

And the silence. The way management pretends not to notice as another good counselor packs up, as another client loses their lifeline, as another staff member goes home sick with shame and rage because they feel guilty for not protecting their team more.

---

The Human Cost: Moral Injury and Collateral Damage

What’s happening here isn’t just burnout, it’s moral injury.
We are being forced to choose between our ethics and our survival. We’re told to “do no harm” while working in environments that guarantee we will—because there just aren’t enough hours, or staff, or support to do it right. We watch clients fall through the cracks and are told to “document it and move on.” We watch each other break, and are told to “practice self-care,” as if a bubble bath or a gratitude journal can fix what’s being done to us.

Leaving isn’t just about saving ourselves. It’s about refusing to be complicit in a system that chews up the people it claims to serve, and the people who serve them.
I feel guilty for leaving my clients behind. But I also know I can’t keep pouring from an empty cup, or keep pretending that “just trying harder” will make a difference.

---

The Evidence: Broken by the Numbers

Let’s be brutally honest: the numbers back this up.
Federally Qualified Health Centers (FQHCs)—the backbone of care for millions—are plagued by relentless turnover. In some behavioral health settings, annual turnover rates for counselors soar as high as 35–60% (Rural Health Info). This isn’t an accident. Federal funding, which is supposed to guarantee care for the underserved, comes with so many strings attached that clinics are often forced to meet impossible quotas and documentation requirements. These federal grants—like Section 330 funding—require clinics to serve everyone, regardless of ability to pay, and comply with a mountain of administrative rules (Section 330 info).

What does this mean in practice? Clinicians are run ragged, constantly asked to do more with less, and forced into one-size-fits-all models—including, sometimes, a heavy push toward 12-step recovery or manualized care, because that’s what the funding expects or will reimburse (NHCHC White Paper). While 12-step programs help many, they aren’t the answer for everyone, and this rigidity can leave both staff and clients feeling trapped.

And when counselors burn out and leave, it’s not just a staffing problem—it’s a care crisis. There’s a direct line between these funding structures, the revolving door of clinicians, and the broken relationships and missed care that follow (Commonwealth Fund).

---

What Needs to Change: Stop Letting Employers Get Away With This

We have to stop normalizing this. We have to stop pretending that martyrdom is a job requirement. Here’s what needs to happen:

• Call out the bullshit. Stop letting leadership hide behind “policy” or “budget” when they’re really just choosing not to care. Make noise. Document everything. If you’re being pushed to do harm, say so. Out loud. In writing. To anyone who will listen.
• Demand real support. Flexible schedules, real sick leave, mental health care for staff. Not as perks, but as non-negotiables. Refuse to accept “that’s just the way it is.” It doesn’t have to be.
• Insist on ethical leadership. Leaders should know our field, value our work, and put staff and clients over optics and profit. We need directors who will fight for us, not just manage us.
• Unionize, organize, mobilize. If your workplace is broken, talk to your colleagues. Organize. Push for a seat at the table, or make your own table. We are not powerless unless we act alone.
• Share your story. Stop hiding your pain to protect a system that’s hurting you. Write about it. Talk about it. Shine a light on the cracks.
• Push for systemic change. This isn’t about one bad boss. It’s about a healthcare system that’s been gutted by bureaucracy and profit motives, leaving the most vulnerable to fend for themselves. We need policy, funding, and a radical re-centering of human beings—both clients and staff.

---

To My Clients: I’m Sorry, and This Is the Truth

This is where the heartbreak lives.
If you are a client reading this—if you’re one of the people who sat across from me and trusted me with your story, your pain, your hope—I need you to hear this: I am so, so sorry. I wanted to be the steady hand, the safe space, the counselor who wouldn’t leave.

I know what it feels like to have people give up on you. I know how hard it is to trust, to start over, to believe that someone will stay. I promised myself I’d never be the one to let you down. But the truth is, this system is built on the backs of people like me and you—people who give until they’re empty and then are told to give more. I tried to make it work. I tried to fight for you. But I can’t keep pretending that my boundaries don’t matter, that my exhaustion isn’t real, that my own recovery and sanity don’t count.

Leaving doesn’t mean I don’t care. It means I care enough not to become someone who is numb, resentful, or broken.
It means I refuse to be part of a system that sets both of us up to fail. It means I believe you deserve a counselor who isn’t hanging on by a thread, who isn’t being pressured to compromise their ethics or their health.

You are not the problem. The system is. And you deserve so much more.

---

Ethics and Boundaries: Why We Have to Walk Away Sometimes

Ethically, I can’t stay in a job that forces me to betray my own values.
I can’t be the person who says “just hang in there” when I know the support you need isn’t coming. Boundaries are not abandonment—they’re survival. They are what keep us from doing harm, to you and to ourselves.

I am so protective of you all because I know how often this happens—how counselors leave, how care is interrupted, how you are left to pick up the pieces. That shouldn’t be normal. That shouldn’t be okay. I hope you know that even as I step away, I am still rooting for you. You are my heartbreak and my hope.

---

A Call to Action: Let’s Stop Accepting This

If you’re a clinician, a client, a policy maker—anyone who’s been hurt by this system—it’s time to speak up. Reach out to me. Share your story. Let’s connect and fight for something better together.

If you’re in leadership, here’s your challenge: listen to your staff. Value your clinicians. Put people before paperwork. Advocate for flexibility, for real support, for funding models that don’t burn us out or force us into one-size-fits-all care.

If you’re a client, know your worth. Demand better—not just from your counselor, but from the system itself. You deserve stability, safety, and care that doesn’t vanish every time the budget shrinks.

---

Resources & Next Steps

• National Association of Social Workers: Unionization
• Clinician Burnout Resource Hub
• National Council for Mental Wellbeing
• Rural Health Information Hub: FQHCs

---

References

• Rural Health Info: FQHCs and Staffing
• Section 330 Information
• NHCHC White Paper: 12-Step Program Funding
• Commonwealth Fund: Behavioral Health Crisis
• Original blog post context from Progress is Progress

---

**Reach out. Tell your story. Demand more.
This field is broken, but we don’t have to be. Together, we can start to change it.