Shoutout to every single badass who’s joined this tribe. 68 people, 68 stories, 68 warriors showing up raw, real, and unfiltered. This isn’t some cookie-cutter recovery group — this is your no-BS zone. Where progress is progress, no matter how messy. We’re here to break down walls, shatter shame, and lift each other up when the world tries to knock us down. Whether you’re fighting your own battles, supporting someone else, or just hungry for honest connection—this is where you belong. And hey, don’t forget about the FREE 7-Day Messy Progress Challenge! It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s designed to kickstart your comeback with zero judgment. If you haven’t jumped in yet, what are you waiting for? So, what’s next? More real talk, more wins (even the ugly ones), and more community that actually gets it. Drop a comment and let us know what YOU want to see more of. More tough love? More celebrations? More tools? This is our space — let’s build it loud and proud. If you’re still on the fence, this is your sign: come kick it with us. No judgment. All heart. All hustle. Here’s to the 68 and counting. Let’s keep this fire burning. 🔥🔥🔥 ProgressIsProgress #SkoolCommunity #NoBSRecovery #WeGotThis

From Progress is Progress on Substack..... I get a really "cool" new scar! Belinda (Belle) Morey Feb 17, 2026 Nobody puts “12 hours in the ER, transfer by ambulance, and emergency hernia surgery” on their Sunday bucket list. But life isn’t interested in your plans. Instead, it tosses you into the fluorescent, sterile world of the hospital, shoves you into a paper gown, and strips you of every illusion of control you thought you had. The Hospital: Cold Floors, Grippy Socks, and the Smell of Disinfectant Let’s get real about the hospital. The air tastes like bleach and plastic. The floor is so cold your toes curl, but you’re issued those ridiculous grippy socks—bright yellow, like a warning sign for “fall risk.” Every surface is hard or sticky or both. The bed is supposed to help you heal, but no matter how you mash the buttons, you can’t get comfortable. You ask for more pillows, which helps for about 20 minutes. The sheets are scratchy. There’s always a faint beeping somewhere, and the hallway light slices under the door even when you try to cocoon. And the indignity. The hospital gown hangs off you like a surrender flag. More people saw my ass in 36 hours than in the last 15 years—maybe in my whole adult life. If you need to pee, you have to call someone, and then they stand there like a prison guard while you try to pretend this is normal. There are straws in weird little cups that taste faintly of sanitizer, and every time you move, an IV line tugs at your arm. The silence is loud, and the noise is even louder. The scariest part? The back-and-forth in your head. What if this is something worse? What if they missed something? What if my body never feels normal again? The ambulance ride is a bouncing, uncertain blur, every pothole a reminder that you’re not in control—of the ride, of your body, of anything. When Your Body Puts on the Brakes (and Why It Does) Here’s the truth nobody wants to hear: if you run yourself ragged long enough, your body will stop you. I’m always the one in motion—work, family, projects, helping others. I don’t just dislike slowing down; I resent it. But the human body isn’t built for endless hustle. Stress, lack of rest, pushing through warning signs—your nervous system keeps the score. Cortisol goes up. Your immune system tanks. Inflammation builds. Old injuries flare. New ones sneak in. Eventually, something breaks: your mind, your gut, your heart, or in my case, a chunk of muscle wall that decided it was done holding up the show.

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. 😰

For too damn long, I tried to make myself smaller—quieter, softer, easier to swallow. I let people squeeze me into their boxes, tell me who I should be, how I should act, what’s “acceptable.” I twisted myself into knots just to keep the peace, keep the friends, keep the job, keep the love. All it did? Kill my fire and choke out my voice. 🥀🤐 Not anymore. I’m done shrinking so other people can feel comfortable in their skin. I’m not shaving off my edges or biting my tongue just to blend in with a crowd that never really saw me anyway. I’m breaking the mold—hell, I’m smashing it to pieces and building a life that fits me, not their expectations. You don’t like it? Look away. I didn’t come this far to disappear now. 🔥🦅 You want to know what happens when you stop trying to fit in? You find your people—the real ones, the ones who love your mess, your volume, your scars, your weirdness. You start breathing again. You get to take up space, speak your truth, and finally, finally, feel alive. If you’re tired of shrinking, tired of pretending, tired of suffocating just to keep the peace—this is your sign. The mold was never made for you. Smash it. Build your own damn space. Take up room. Don’t shrink for anyone. Let them adjust to you for once. 🚀🔥🖤🦾

Hi everyone, it’s Belle (Belinda Mory) with an exciting update. I’ve officially filed for my LLC—so we are now Progress is Progress LLC! Our tax EIN is in, which means we’re a real, legitimate business. I still can’t quite believe I’m saying that. Starting a business always felt like something other people did, not someone like me. But here we are. Last week, I sat down with three different professionals in our northern Wisconsin area—people from economic development corporations, small business associations, and folks who help startups get off the ground. I got so much advice and direction, but the thing that really stuck with me? Every single person told me how powerful my story is, and how much this mission matters. That means more than I can explain. There are a thousand businesses in the world, but this one is different. I’m building something real out of my own experience—something that’s honest, practical, and desperately needed. I’m so grateful for every bit of support and encouragement, especially from this community. Truly, thank you. For those who are new here, a little about why I started this: I’m Belle, a clinical substance use counselor, a person in long-term recovery, a mom, and an advocate. I built my life on one core belief: nobody should have to fight for recovery alone, or feel ashamed to ask for help. After years in traditional treatment centers, I saw too many people slip through the cracks—lost in the system, or pushed aside because they didn’t fit the “one-size-fits-all” model. So, I left my job to create a different kind of recovery space—one that’s private, honest, and for real people. My mission is to offer support that actually works: raw stories, real experience, and practical tools. I want to make sure nobody has to choose between getting help and paying their bills—or stay silent out of shame. Opening a practice takes more than passion. That’s why I’m turning to my community. Every dollar goes to licensing, office space, insurance, outreach, and technology. I’m committed to always reserving free spots in every group, and I offer scholarships for individual sessions—so nobody is turned away for lack of funds.