I am doing my best -

⚠️ Content Warning: This post contains raw and honest reflections about mental health, burnout, and suicidal thoughts.If you are in a dark place, please know you are not alone.

• In the U.S., you can call or text 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline)

• Text HOME to 741741 (Crisis Text Line)

• If you work in the music/live events community, visit backline.care for free support.

If this feels too heavy for where you are mentally today, I encourage you to come back when or if it feels safe. Taking care of yourself matters most.

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Now to the HEART of it------------

This has been one of the hardest years of my life — personally, professionally, and emotionally. And let’s be real: life is so freaking hard all the damn time. Especially with how the world feels right now — heavy, tense, chaotic, like everyone’s carrying too much and lashing out at whoever is closest. Everything is heavy. It feels like we’re all walking around raw and frayed, and too often it turns into people being wild for no reason. Running Punk Rock Saves Lives has never been easy. I knew that going in. But this year has felt like a fight I didn’t know I’d have to keep fighting — against burnout, against bureaucracy, and lately, against people who seem determined to tear me apart online.

I’ve made mistakes. Things have slipped through the cracks. I’m human. But watching people weaponize those mistakes — digging through our filings, our volunteer lists, even my personal life — just to paint me as a villain has been devastating. I have not felt this torn down in a very long time. This week was the first time in years that I felt genuinely unsafe in my own head. I started making plans — the kind of plans that scare you because they feel quiet and final.

That night was the lowest I’ve been in a decade. I was sitting with the weight of everything — the loneliness, the exhaustion, the constant fighting to keep this thing alive — and it crushed me in the parking lot of a LOVE's somewhere in the midwest.

And if I know anything about me, it’s this: I am a people pleaser to my core.

The thought of disappointing people has always held incredible weight in my chest. So when I felt myself slipping into that dark, quiet place — the place where I started making plans — I made a decision: I told the world I wasn’t okay.

Not because it was brave. Not because I wanted attention. But because if I said it out loud, if people knew, then I wouldn’t be able to disappear quietly. People would be impacted. And that was enough to keep me here.

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Today alone, I received what can only be seen as a direct threat. And I don’t know if everyone understands what that does to a person, but I’ll say it: it’s making me spiral. I truly do not feel safe. Their exact words were - "Things are about to get very uncomfortable for you." Honestly, jokes on them since my life at any given point is pretty damn UNCOMFORTABLE.

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This Life Is Not Glamorous

I’ve been on the road more this year than ever before. I’ve slept at truck stops, rest areas, KOAs, and random Harvest Hosts farms. Sometimes I have someone to help me drive; more often than not, I’m alone. Sometimes I get a Hampton Inn or something but typically that is because it is too hot for the dogs and my AC doesn't last multiple days on the batteries I have.

There have been weeks where my car was signed to be repossessed — multiple times — because of how tight things have been. We lost our health insurance over a technicality and have had to fight tooth and nail to keep getting my meds. There’s no glam in this. There’s no “living the dream.” This is a grind. It’s exhaustion wrapped in exhaustion. It’s crying behind the merch table between swabs.

But it’s also the sound of someone saying “thank you” after getting Narcan in their hand for the first time. It’s a kid telling me they registered because their best friend has cancer. It’s hugs from strangers who turn into family.

This life isn’t shiny. It’s gritty. It’s hard. But it’s real. It looks COOL AF from the outside — I know that. From the outside, it’s the tour photos, the stages, the passes, the road. It’s easy to make it look like some wild adventure.

But behind every “cool” shot is exhaustion. Behind the smiles are truck stops, late nights alone, bills stacked up, and the quiet weight of responsibility. Behind the crowd shots is me trying to hold it together.

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The One Thing That’s Kept Me Here

If there’s been one saving grace this year, it’s the people. The bands who’ve shown me kindness when I was falling apart. The crews who made me laugh when I didn’t think I could. The shows that reminded me there’s still good in the world, even when everything feels like it’s burning.

I’ve spent this year on the road with some truly good humans. Watching their sets night after night has never felt repetitive — because it’s not cookie-cutter. It’s raw. It’s alive. It’s exactly the kind of chaos that reminds me why I fell in love with community in the first place.

This is easily my shameless plug to check out Wheatus, who I’m on tour with right now. I can honestly say every single set brings me joy and makes me go, “What is happening right now?” in the best way. It’s authentic. It’s unpredictable. It’s different every single time. And that kind of magic has kept me breathing on the hard days.

Before Punk Rock Saves Lives, I wasn’t even a punk fan. I’m a musical theatre girl. I love showtunes and pop songs and happy endings. But punk gave me something I didn’t know I needed — a community that picks each other up when we fall. A place that says, “You belong here, even when you’re broken.” Even now, when parts of that same community are trying to rip me apart, I still love what it can be. I love the people who do show up. I love the idea of grace. And grace is something we are desperately missing right now.

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Transparency Doesn’t Mean I Deserve To Be Destroyed

Here’s the reality: when I filed Punk Rock Saves Lives as a 501(c)(3), I also registered us as a business in Colorado. I didn’t realize there was a separate nonprofit registration for the state. I thought I had it covered. When someone pointed it out, I fixed it — with their help.

We are now properly registered and active in multiple states. Recently, an IRS extension issue caused our Colorado state listing to lapse again. The extension was approved federally, but it didn’t update in the state system. Someone signed up for alerts and — instead of reaching out — decided to go on a warpath. They blasted it everywhere. They contacted volunteers. Bands. Anyone they could. They made it their personal mission to tear me down. I am actively working on getting it caught up so it can be rectified. It is hard to work so hard when I am constantly being hit by more things since they have made it their entire job. Every day there are more people saying they are being reached out to by them...I am drowning in threats from this person. DROWNING.

And it worked. I broke.

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The Truth

I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I am human. I wish I could just sleep and have a moment to breathe. I wish I wasn't scared to exist because it is becoming A LOT.

But I am also still here. Still fighting. Still swabbing people for the bone marrow registry. Still handing out Narcan. Still talking about mental health. Still showing up at venues, in parking lots, at festivals — not because this is easy, but because I still believe in it.

What most people don’t see is that I’m working on everything in between every show, every drive, every Planet Fitness shower, every gas station parking lot. I’m answering emails half asleep. Filling out paperwork at midnight. Trying to keep this mission alive from the front seat of a van, Wi-Fi spotty, eyes burning.

I would do this legit for free if I could — and honestly, I try all the time. The reality is, a huge chunk of every dollar raised goes right back into harm reduction supplies, gas, travel, and survival. Not some glam life. Not some cushy tour. Just me trying to make this thing work.

Punk Rock Saves Lives isn’t about me. It’s about us. It’s about the people who show up for each other in the mess, not the ones throwing stones from the sidelines.

I know some people will read this and still want to see the worst. But I also know some of you will understand. You’ll feel the cracks in this story because you’ve lived your own.

So here it is — my ugly, exhausted, unfiltered truth: I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m hurting. But I’m not done.

Because even when the world wants to tear me down, I still believe in saving lives one concert at a time.

I’m still doing my fucking best.

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We Need Your Voices

Right now, it’s loud out there. And not the good kind of loud — the kind that tries to drown out the good we’re fighting for.

If Punk Rock Saves Lives has ever shown up for you — at a show, online, with a Narcan kit, a mental health resource, a swab, or just a safe space to breathe — we’d be deeply grateful if you’d share that story.

We don’t need polished statements. We need real, messy, honest words from the people who know what this community actually means.

If we’ve made you feel seen.If we’ve helped in some way.If you believe in what we’re doing.Please — speak up. Post it. Comment it. Send it. Tag us.

When people try to tear down what we’re building, your voices are what keep the truth standing.

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#PunkRockSavesLives #CommunityIsStronger #PUNKEthos #ShowUpForEachOther