Our Story
In my previous role in healthcare, I witnessed death on a daily basis. It was a reality I learned to approach with compassion, professionalism, and perspective in a way many people may never fully understand. While difficult at times, I came to view death as a natural part of life’s cycle, and I often found peace in knowing that dignity and compassion matter deeply during life’s final moments.
I had been in that role for a little over a year when the month of June changed me permanently.
I was working a case as I normally would, but something about this one felt different from the moment I arrived. The atmosphere surrounding the patient was heavy. The grief felt sharper, deeper, almost unbearable. I quickly realized why.
The patient was only 18 years old.
Still a baby in many ways, with an entire life ahead of them, their life had come to an abrupt end due to a drug overdose.
That moment stayed with me long after the case was over. It forced me to confront the devastating reality of addiction, mental health struggles, and the lack of accessible support systems for so many young people and families in our communities.
A few days later, during Bible study, a friend shared heartbreaking news about her nephew. He was 19 years old and had struggled with drugs and alcohol for several years. We had been praying for him and for his family, holding on to hope that things would turn around.
That night, we learned that he had passed away from a drug overdose.
I was heartbroken. Another young life lost too soon. Another family left grieving. Another reminder of how deeply addiction and mental health struggles continue to impact our communities, often without the support, resources, or safe spaces people need to truly heal.
When I returned to work, I found myself once again standing face to face with loss, this time, a 25-year-old young man whose life ended as a result of his struggles with substance use and mental health.
He had family. Friends. A life that, from the outside, appeared full of promise and connection. But internally, he was carrying battles that those around him could not fully see.
His death deeply impacted me.
By then, the ages 18, 19, and 25 had become more than numbers to me. They represented lives with potential, families left grieving, and the painful reality that too many people are suffering in silence without access to the support, community, and healing resources they need.
That night, I came home and finally let go of everything I had been carrying. I cried, I prayed, and I asked God what I was supposed to do with the grief, the heartbreak, and the weight of watching so many young lives be lost.
I asked, “How do we stop this from continuing to destroy our communities?”
It was in that moment that the vision for 181925 was placed on my heart.
The numbers 18, 19, and 25 represent the ages of the three young people whose lives were lost far too soon to addiction, mental health struggles, and a lack of
support.
Their stories became the foundation for something greater than grief alone.
181925 was created to honor those we have lost while helping heal the minds and hearts of those who are still fighting to survive.
I may not be able to save everyone, but I am committed to doing everything within my power to create spaces where people feel supported, seen, and connected before it is too late. If this work can help prevent even one more loss, then it is worth every effort.
I believe healing happens in community. Through 181925, we aim to support those currently struggling, educate and empower our peers, and create safe, culturally grounded spaces for healing, recovery, and restoration.
Through peer support initiatives, wellness programming, community partnerships, and future recovery housing, 181925 seeks to provide compassionate, culturally responsive resources for individuals and families impacted by addiction, trauma, grief, and mental health challenges throughout the Dallas–Fort Worth community.
Our goal is to create environments where healing is accessible, conversations are honest, and no one feels forgotten in their struggle.