The first time I smoked meth, it was with my mom. I was ten years old.
I grew up in a small town in California’s Central Valley. My mom was in and out of my life, so my grandparents mostly raised me.
My uncle lived with us. He had two daughters. We were all close in age. I was the oldest. When their mother moved with the girls across the country, it crushed him. He took his own life in the bedroom next to mine. I was 12. Before he was gone, he told me it was my job to look after those girls.
My grandparents were my stability, but my mom still came and went. She’d show up and then disappear again, and sometimes when she left there was nothing in the kitchen. I’d have to figure out how me and my little brother were going to survive. She gave me drugs more than she gave me food.
Where I grew up, every boy had to pick a color. If you didn’t pick one, you got beaten. If you did, you got beaten. There were six boys in the group of kids I ran around with growing up. Only one of them is still alive.
My first boyfriend was someone I was almost destined to know. Our moms had been best friends. They gave birth to us two days apart. We had baby pictures together. We found each other again in middle school, and we were together on and off till the time he was murdered.
My mom introduced me to Jose when I was 15. She just showed up one day and said she wanted me to meet this guy. We already knew each other from running in the same circles. His dad had kicked him out and he didn’t have anywhere to go. I moved him into my grandma’s house and she didn’t notice for a month. When she figured it out she just said, thanks for letting me know.
Jose had grown up bouncing back and forth between California and Mexico. In and out of trouble, in and out of jail.
I used all through high school. I was a cheerleader. I went to class every day. Nobody knew. Every time I got pregnant I stopped. But when the baby was born I’d start using again.
I was 17 when my first child was born. I graduated shortly after. My brother went to prison right before all that. Drugs, gang enhancement, guns, attempted murder. He’s still there. He’s never met any of my kids. And probably never will.
I was pregnant again when I turned 18 and Jose was facing prison in California. I had my toddler son in my arms when we walked into that jail visiting room. It was maybe two minutes. Do you agree? Yes. Do you agree? Yes. Sign the paper. We weren’t allowed to touch each other. That was our wedding.
I had watched enough people I loved disappear into that place. Dead or in prison. Those were the options. My son wasn’t going to be next. I told Jose we were leaving. You can come or you can stay, I’m still going. So we left California.
My uncle’s daughters had ended up in Missouri. I had made him a promise. That’s where we headed.
We moved in 2020. I had my fourth baby not long after we arrived. We looked like regular people. Jose and my dad both worked. I stayed home with the kids. The house was clean. Parents as Teachers came through regularly. I was high every time they came. They’d walk through and say the house was so nice, so clean. I had everyone fooled, or so I thought.
Then Jose started gambling. Leaving at night, coming home with excuses. It’s Friday, I know you got paid, where are you. The bills stopped getting paid and we got evicted. I had a six month old and three other kids. We lived in a van for close to 2 years.
I had three totes. One had food. One was empty. One had towels and toiletries. I’d drive to rest areas, heat up water, and give the kids baths. They were always fed. Always clean. Always at school. My kids thought we were camping. To them it was fun. For me not so much. I knew I was failing them.
Eventually my dad saved enough money to get a place and I moved in with him. He’d watch the kids while I was out. Until he’d have one of his drunken spells and the sheriffs would call me to come home and calm him down. But my kids were indoors.
One night I made a decision that landed me in handcuffs. When the police came I told them exactly what happened. They gave me an hour to find someone for my kids. I texted my cousins from the police station. I signed the papers and I watched the van drive away.
I got out in less than two weeks. One time in jail for me was one time too many. I couldn’t go to my dad’s. I couldn’t go to my cousin’s. Jose had just gotten out of prison and we weren’t allowed to contact each other. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t use drugs. I had nowhere to go and no one to call.
For two months I did everything I thought I was supposed to do. I went to court. I went to my visits. But I knew that showing up and looking right wasn’t going to be enough this time.
I walked to my counselor and told her I needed to get into rehab. She said, you want to do what? I said I need to do something different. She got me in the next day. I didn’t have a car so I walked from office to office to get all the paperwork together. Then I left to get clean. 30 days in rehab was the longest I have ever been away from my children.
But, I’ve been clean ever since.
Jose heard I went to rehab. He cried. We were working our cases separately and weren’t allowed to be in contact. He had been doing everything right. He’d earned his way to unsupervised visits, taking the kids to parks, doing it on his own. He could have kept going. Instead he chose to go back to supervised so we could move forward together. He gave up ground he had already earned because he wanted his family back whole, not just his kids.
When Jose and I were allowed to be in contact again, I moved in with him. We didn’t just do what we were asked to do. We took every class we could find. We wanted to be better. Not only for them but for us. It wasn’t easy. But I wouldn’t do anything different, because everything I went through made me who I am today.
Our children eventually returned home and our case got closed.
A few months ago Jose asked me how I’d feel about marrying him. I said what are you talking about, we’re already married. He said with a dress and a church and all the things.
I cried.
Our son was his best man. Our oldest daughter was my maid of honor. And our two youngest were our flower girls.
Today, I serve as a Peer Support Specialist at Lane Change, and with Laclede County Family Treatment Court starting this July. I have the privilege of walking alongside people who are facing many of the same challenges I once faced.
My lived experience allows me to connect with people in a way that goes beyond professional training. I understand the fear, confusion, and uncertainty that can come with being in the juvenile court system.
I know what it feels like to feel alone, overwhelmed, and convinced that there is no path forward. I remember what it was like to believe that no one truly understood my situation or was advocating for my success.
Today, I have the opportunity to be the person I needed. I get to sit beside someone during some of the most difficult moments of their lives, offering support, encouragement, and hope. I help them navigate systems that can feel intimidating, while reminding them that their circumstances do not define their future. Being able to use my own journey to empower others is one of the most meaningful aspects of the work I do.
Everything I have accomplished and every opportunity I have been given is a reflection of God’s faithfulness. While my story includes hard work and perseverance, I know that none of it would have been possible without God’s guidance, provision, and grace. He took what was once broken and used it to create purpose, and for that I am forever grateful.
Natalie Torres
Reunified parent and peer support specialist, Lane Change and Laclede County Family Treatment Court, Lebanon, Missouri
Voices of Hope
Every person in this community carries a story worth telling. Voices of Hope features the real people of the Missouri Ozarks who show up for children and families — foster parents, caseworkers, volunteers, survivors, and neighbors who simply refused to look away.
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