My Breakthrough Story · New Earth University

My Breakthrough Story

Growing up in America, I had a relatively normal childhood. I was the oldest child, born into a loving Christian family, and we lived out in the country in western Colorado. Everything was peaceful and perfect until I was six years old.

At that time, my mom was pregnant with her fourth child, and there was a problem with the pregnancy. The doctors said my brother would be born with Vacterl, a rare condition involving multiple complications. He had a hole in his heart, was missing his right thumb and ulna, his esophagus was disconnected from his stomach, he had dumping syndrome (a metabolic disorder similar to diabetes), and he suffered frequent seizures.

He was born eight days after my sixth birthday, and from that day on, my life changed completely. Because he was so high-risk, he spent his entire first year in the children’s hospital undergoing multiple surgeries. He was a warrior baby and the happiest little boy you could ever meet.

My mom stayed with him at the hospital for the whole year, while my dad worked 80-hour weeks in the mines to pay off medical bills. My younger siblings and I were passed around between family members to live with. For a six-year-old, that caused a lot of emotional instability. I taught myself that I was the only person I could rely on because that critical bonding time with my parents was disrupted.

Things got somewhat back on track after my brother came home, but he still needed to be fed through a G-tube morning and night and had frequent medical checkups. Even though we were together again as a family, there wasn’t much space for emotional recovery or connection.

I was raised evangelical Christian, and around the age of nine, my parents began exploring Messianic Judaism. When I was eleven, we left our church and joined a home fellowship. That was when my world really started to fall apart.

My dad had to leave his mining and mechanic job and moved into farming (unsafe working conditions in the mines), which only paid $2,000 a month. My mom had another child by then, whom I was largely responsible for caring for since she was so preoccupied with my special-needs brother. So now we were a family of seven, with one special-needs child and barely enough income to survive.

Finances strained my parents’ already fragile marriage. On top of that, when they left the church, we lost all our friends and extended family connections. It became very isolating and dark.

I was homeschooled (which I’m now grateful for), but at the time it made me feel even more alone. The Messianic group my parents joined was deeply misogynistic and controlling. We were only allowed to wear skirts and dresses, and everything I had believed up to age nine was suddenly said to be a lie. We stopped celebrating Christmas and Easter and began observing Passover and Hanukkah.

My parents’ marriage worsened. I remember physical fights — one where my mom was slammed against a wall and another where she jumped out of a moving car to escape my dad’s yelling. She later said she forgot her kids were in the backseat. The group glorified men and silenced women. We weren’t allowed to ask questions or speak up.

We’d been in that group for about two years when I turned eleven. About a month after my birthday, my mom noticed my special-needs brother was acting off. He was five years old and doing so well — nearly off the G-tube, walking, talking, and always smiling. But he started stumbling, bumping into walls, and slurring his words. My mom took him to the hospital for an MRI.

I’ll never forget that call. I answered the home phone, and my mom said, “Your brother has a brain tumor. They’re flying us out to Children’s Hospital tonight.” That night was the last time my brother was ever “normal.”

The doctors told my parents he had an inoperable brain tumor at the base of his brain and that he had no chance of survival — chemo might prolong his life six months, but that was it. My parents chose to take him home so his last days wouldn’t be spent in a hospital.

An aunt drove us to Denver to see him. He was unconscious, but Make-A-Wish gave him a final trip to the aquarium and zoo so everyone could say goodbye. The next day we flew home on a mercy flight. I remember how terrifying it was — he would stop breathing for minutes at a time and turn purple.

When we got home, my dad organized an all-night prayer vigil. People anointed him with oil and prayed over him. For six months, he seemed to improve — doctors were shocked. But on August 15, he suddenly took a turn. We think he had a stroke. My mom was holding him in her arms, singing Jesus Loves Me, when he told her he was scared to go alone. She told him it wasn’t her time yet so she couldn’t go with him, but that Jesus would be with him and he would see us all agin. That night, he passed away.

I didn’t shed a single tear — not that night or for years. Something inside me locked away. My family fell apart. My mom became even more religious and strict, my dad shut down into depression, and laughter disappeared from our home.

I had no one to talk to and nowhere to put my grief, so I turned to piano. I taught myself for a year, then started taking lessons. Music became my escape — the one place my mind could rest. I also began drawing, but my art was dark and mostly black and white. My sketchbook became a silent scream for help.

I fell into deep depression and rejected anything to do with God. How could a loving God take away a five-year-old — our ray of sunshine — from a family already suffering so much?

By that time, our Messianic group had become my only time to socialize. They used shame to control and fear to manipulate. I was told that how men looked at me was my responsibility, and that dressing “immodestly” could send them to hell. At one point, I was even blamed for my brother’s porn addiction.

As I got older, I grew more and more angry, especially around 15, when I got my first job and started seeing the outside world. Until then, I had no phone, no TV, and wasn’t allowed to own one until I was 17. My first job was in interior design; my second was as a barista, cook, and Spanish translator all in one.

I hit puberty early and hid my period for six months before working up the courage to ask for supplies. I developed an eating disorder and started an extreme workout routine at 14 — three hours every morning on just 500 calories a day. I became obsessed with staying under 100 pounds, tracking every bite, even the calories in a piece of gum. My hair fell out, I was weak and pale, but I couldn’t stop.

Because my parents struggled financially, we were responsible for anything beyond food — clothes, shoes, even underwear. That taught me to work hard and manage money well. Despite the poverty mindset I had to unlearn, I’ve never been in debt — and I’m proud of that.

When I was 15, my dad went on a trip to Israel and had a mental psych episode. We got a 4 a.m. call saying he’d been admitted to a psychiatric hospital and couldn’t return to the U.S. without medication. My mom burst into our room, screaming for us to pray. I wanted nothing to do with it. I immediately pictured myself sitting in front of another grave and I couldn't do it. I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door screaming at God and then something just clicked inside my brain…I didn't have to sit through another funeral if I wasn’t here…. Nothing held me to this life, I was miserable and depressed, I had nothing to live for. So I walked into the next room to get the weapon that would finally end the misery I was in. As I was about five steps across the room unseen angels turned me around and pushed me back out the door. I went back into my room and went to bed. My dad eventually returned home, and though that episode never happened again, it left scars.

At 15, I joined an orchestra and met my first boyfriend. That relationship opened a door to seeking love and validation through men — a pattern that would follow me for years. Because I grew up so controlled — no sleepovers, no outings, no freedom — I became good at hiding things. But the double life ate away at me, and my health started to collapse.

I developed severe gut issues — random bouts of diarrhea that grew worse until I couldn’t leave the house. Doctors wanted to put me on birth control, which infuriated me. I turned to natural healing and became a certified nutrition coach at 16. A chiropractor diagnosed me with parasites, candida, and a hiatal hernia, and I began to heal–however I would still have random episodes of sickness that couldn't be explained.

It was August when I was 16, I was having one of those episodes again and I was in absolute tears. I didn't know what was going on in my life. Things were just ok–not great, not unbearable–just ok. Everything was numb; there wasn’t really a point to life just moving through the motions. I asked my mom if I could stay home from their group meeting that day and surprisingly she agreed. I walked out into the middle of the field, sobbing I didn't even know why I was crying. I was just crying. I was at rock bottom in my life and I was just done. I sat in the field and looked up at the sky, audibly I just started speaking to God. I told him I was done, I couldn’t do it on my own any more, I needed him to take control of my life. Immediately as soon as I finished saying those words, what felt like liquid fire poured on the top of my head and ran all the way through my body. It was like an electrical bolt of lightning hit me. When I opened my eyes a second later the entire world had changed colors. I was brighter and alive and beautiful. I was also healed instantly that day and never had a gut episode since then.

That was the beginning of a new chapter. I left the Messianic group, joined a Pentecostal church, and finally felt free. I worked as a social media manager and salesman at a furniture store, got my first car, and was thriving.

But my family life was still difficult. I dated again and then I found out he had been cheating on me with his cousin, and was told by church members that my brother died because our family “lacked faith.” I spiraled again — living double lives, drinking, smoking, pretending to be okay.

I’m a firm believer that you attract the kind of people who are on the same vibrational energy level as you. I fell hard core for my coworker who was six years older than me. This man's life was a colossal mess. He was the youngest of eleven, grew up in a drug home and in and out of foster care. Him and his previous gf (who he had actually tried to cheat on with me about a year prior) had tried for kids and he was told he was unable to have children. He was extremely manipulative and psychotic and I fell right into the trap. He told me I saved him and taught him how to love again. That I was the reason he wanted to live and I was the light and sunshine in his life. But he was slowly sucking the light out of me. I turned extremely emo, wore only black and fell back into severe depression.

Life went on until one day, I was contacted by a woman I had met about a year earlier at a missions event I’d hosted. She had started several schools in India and Nepal, and they were looking for foreign teachers to bring things like music and art to the children as outside electives.

I had dreamed of going to India since I was 13 years old, so when the opportunity came, I was ecstatic. At 18, I packed my bags and flew across the world to teach music in Nepal and India—completely unaware that this trip would become the biggest test of my life.

My documents were incorrect, and I arrived alone, unsure of where I was even supposed to go. The school was deep in the jungle, and when I finally made it to the village, I was picked up by a host family I didn’t know. Later, I found out they had switched my assigned family at the last minute because of my height and age. My main contact ended up being their 18-year-old son—the one I had to go to for everything, including food. Obviously for a specific reason.

The whole village began calling me “sister-in-law” in their native tongue, though I had no idea at the time. They had also never hosted an American before and served me tap water, which I mistook for bottled. Within 24 hours, I was violently ill with parasites, vomiting, and fever for days. My phone plan didn’t switch over, and because it was the rainy season, the Wi-Fi was down. I was completely cut off—alone in a foreign country, sick, and terrified.

Back home, everything started to crumble. My partner at the time—who I thought I would marry—began sending photos of himself drinking, saying he needed to because I wasn’t there to comfort him. Then, within 48 hours, I got two devastating calls: a friend sobbing that her house had burned down, my sister crying that my brother had attacked my mom and disappeared.

The darkness in my mind grew heavy. I was sleeping on a concrete floor, sharing a bed with one of the daughters, no fan, soaked in humidity. Most nights, I lay awake under the mosquito net, staring up and wondering how I’d survive another day. I became suicidal again—sneaking out onto the balcony, staring over the edge, trying to will myself to jump. Every time, a child’s face would flash in my mind—smiling, grateful that I was there—and I would climb back down.

After a month, I left for India. I was weak, sick, and had lost most of my supplies—the humidity had even destroyed all the violins I brought. Still, I pushed on. In India, things were slightly better. I could teach again, but the woman I was supposed to stay with had to leave suddenly for Turkey, and I ended up alone in a house full of men.

Because of cultural traditions, I wasn’t allowed to spend time with them, so I was confined to my room any time I wasn’t teaching. I taught five kids per period, eight periods a day, six days a week. By Sundays, I would just sit in silence, staring at the wall, completely empty.

That’s when I started scrolling on Instagram. I stumbled across a woman living in Costa Rica who radiated freedom, light, and joy—everything I was craving. Through her, I found a retreat happening in February. I didn’t know it then, but that moment was the spark that would change everything.

After a month in India, I knew I needed to return home. My body was failing — I had lost 30 pounds, weighed only 110, and was so weak I could barely move. I’d also signed a contract to move in with my cousin when I got back and had already paid rent, but after breaking up with my boyfriend — who I’d also worked with — I no longer had a job.

That first month at home was all about survival. I focused on healing from the parasites and regaining my strength. Even through all of that, I still felt called to go back to India — but this time, I wanted to do it in a way that supported my physical health and safety. My goal was to work for six months to a year, build some kind of online income, and then move back long-term.

That’s when I discovered a low-ticket affiliate marketing company. I joined, moved in with my cousin, and lived off savings while cleaning houses to get by. Eventually, I got a job waitressing at a Mexican restaurant — ironically, right across the street from the furniture store where I used to work. (Small-town problems, right?)

Of course, being that close to my ex meant we crossed paths often. He told me he’d changed, said all the right things… and I believed him. We decided to give things another try — but just three weeks later, the day after my 19th birthday, I found out I was pregnant.

It was a total shock. I was terrified of how my parents would react — they didn’t even know him. Two weeks later, I went on the Costa Rica retreat I’d booked months earlier. It was nonrefundable, and I thought maybe I’d find clarity there.

But morning sickness hit hard. I was in the middle of a jungle, living in a tent with no phone service, throwing up constantly. It was their first retreat at that location, and everything that could go wrong did — it was disorganized, food ran short, and a third of the group left early. I couldn’t. I had no money, no phone, no way out.

Spiritually, that place was dark. And when you’re pregnant, you’re so much more sensitive to the spiritual realm — I started seeing things, demons, shadows. When I came home, it didn’t stop. I’d see shapes crawling across my bed, night after night.

I was exhausted, sick, working nonstop, and hiding my pregnancy. My partner accused me of cheating, and I felt trapped. The breaking point came one night after watching a movie — I don’t even remember which one — but I had a clear vision of what my future would look like if I stayed on the same path. It was dark, gray, and lifeless.

I drove home in tears, grabbed a trash bag, and started gutting my house. I threw away thousands of dollars’ worth of crystals, sound bowls, incense — anything that felt spiritually tainted. I prayed the blood of Jesus over myself and my baby, and from that night on, I never saw another demon again.

But the tests weren’t over. I was still incredibly sick, and when I finally went to the doctor, they discovered my house was full of black mold. I left immediately. I refused to move in with my partner — he lived in a one-bedroom meth apartment — so I started house-sitting for people instead.

I worked from 6 a.m. to noon cleaning houses, then waitressed from noon until 10 p.m., six days a week. I moved every few weeks. During that time, I went deep within myself. I looked at my shadows, the pain, and the broken pieces. I had a little life growing inside me now, and I refused to let her be born into chaos.

I wrote letters to people in my past including my parents, journaled, prayed, and spoke scripture over myself and my baby every day. I got clear on what I believed and who I was — even as I kept trying to hold onto a relationship I knew was ending.

One night, eight months pregnant, I woke up to a little girl’s voice calling out, “Haven.” I knew instantly — I was having a daughter (although we hadn’t found out the gender).

On September 30th, Ameta Haven Joy was born. “Ameta” means limitless, so her name means limitless joy. Her father was at the birth but refused to hold her. Three weeks later, the relationship officially ended — and I went no contact.

I was a single mom, healing, working, and unsure how I’d pay the bills. One day, scrolling on Instagram, I came across the same girl I’d followed in India — and saw she worked with Kangen Water. Something in me sparked. I decided my daughter would never be raised in daycare and that I would never return to a 9-to-5 life.

So, on the 11/11 portal of 2024, at 19 years old, I signed the papers to start my Kangen business.

The next six months were a whirlwind of growth, grief, and healing. I funneled every ounce of pain into purpose. Since then, I’ve grown my following from 124 to over 4,000, built a water team, launched my own brand and website, and come fully alive.

Now, I’m part of New Earth University — and I know this is just the beginning.God has given me visions and dreams beyond anything I could imagine. I’ve been tested deeply because the devil knows the power of my calling. But I’m done backing down.

I am a warrior. I have God on my side.

The devil doesn’t win this story.

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