Leah’s Story
I thought I had to hide my story. Now, it’s the reason I’m free.
I used to think strength meant fixing everything for everyone else.
Keeping the peace. Smiling when it hurt. Pretending I was fine. In primary school, that’s how I coped. At home, things weren’t safe. So I made myself useful. I became the fixer. I tried to carry what wasn’t mine. My family’s chaos, their choices, their pain. But I was just a kid. Eventually, I realised nothing I did could change anything. And that broke something in me.
By high school, the pressure got heavier. I watched girls around me start self-harming. I tried it too. And it made sense in a way nothing else did. All the feelings I couldn’t control? I could turn them into something physical. Something I could see. Something I could manage. For a while, it felt like relief.
Then came the drugs.
It started in Year 7. Cigarettes. Weed. Just enough to check out. But it didn’t stop there. Drugs became my escape. I wasn’t trying to have fun. I was trying to disappear. The fear of facing myself was too much. So I numbed myself. Again and again. From there, it snowballed. Pills. Gas. Acid. Coke. By the time I was 20, I tried ice. And everything unravelled fast. Ice became my new lifeline.
I got caught up in dealing. Not just using. Moving things, selling things. What shocked me most was how easy it was. Suddenly, I had access to whatever I wanted. But I was paying a different kind of price. Violence became normal. People tried to kidnap me. Others tried to kill me. I got addicted to pokies. I needed a fix every single day. Fraud felt like just another part of survival. And relationships? They weren’t about love. They were another way to run and cope with the things I didn’t want to deal with.
Eventually, I got kicked out of home. I had nowhere to go. I lived in stairwells. On the streets. Sometimes I’d stay with people who weren’t safe until they robbed me. Then I’d leave and start again. That was my life on repeat. I went from one end of society to the other. And I hated all of it.
Then I found out I was pregnant.
Part of me lit up with hope. I wanted to keep the baby. But he didn’t. And in the end, I chose not to go through with the pregnancy. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I didn’t bounce back. The grief hit hard. So did the shame. And then came the moment I tried to take my own life.
My dad knew something was wrong. But hearing me say it out loud, “I just tried to hang myself”, was one of the lowest moments I’ve ever lived through. Everything felt like it was closing in.
I had a case worker tell me about Destiny Haven. An all-women’s Christian rehab. She said it was what I needed. I brushed her off. Said no. Repeatedly. But when there were no more options left, I made the call.
I walked in expecting it to be awful. Another place that wouldn’t understand me. But I was wrong. From the start, Destiny felt different. It felt safe. I didn’t have to earn my place. I was just welcomed in. For the first time, I wasn’t being judged for what I’d done. I was being loved for who I was. Even the messy parts.
Destiny didn’t just get me off drugs. It taught me how to live. Really live. I learnt how to name my feelings instead of numbing them. How to sit with pain and not run. How to understand the trauma I’d buried deep. And how to process it in a way that brings healing, not more destruction.
I learnt to use tools. ‘Feelings journals’, independent study modules, and having hard conversations. But also slow, steady things like learning who I was beneath the wreckage. For the first time, I believed I could change. Not because someone told me I should. But because I wanted to.
“I thought Destiny was going to be the worst experience ever. But everything I was afraid of is exactly what made it work. It was the place that got me well.”
While I was at Destiny, I started studying interior design. At the time, I didn’t know where it would lead. It was just something I was drawn to. But that small decision opened up a new path. I started selling furniture. Then I got a job designing kitchens. Now, I work for a different company, in a role I love. I’ve stepped up. I work hard. I’m proud of what I do.
And life looks nothing like it used to.
I got married last year to an amazing man. We have a beautiful baby girl. We bought a home. Something I never thought would be possible for me. My relationship with my family has been restored. I wake up every day with genuine joy. Even when life is full, even when it’s hard, I’m grounded. I’m not running anymore.
There was a time I thought I’d have to lie about who I was forever. That if anyone knew the truth, they’d walk away. But Destiny Haven taught me something else. That shame only has power if you hide. And I don’t need to hide anymore. My past is part of my story. But it doesn’t get to define me. Not now. I’m living a life I never imagined. And I love it.
That’s the miracle.
“Destiny didn’t just get me clean. It taught me how to live and how to stop running and face the truth.”