Jon had called on me that first day, and for some reason, that little thing stuck with me. At that time in my life, being seen meant something. I had spent so many years feeling like I was less than everybody else. Like people could look at me and already know my mistakes before I even opened my mouth.
For once, I wasn’t being looked at like the girl who messed up again. I wasn’t just somebody on probation. I wasn’t just somebody who could not get it together.
I was Tiffany.
My name is Tiffany Lizarraga. I was born in Long Beach, California, and raised in a family with four siblings. Growing up, there was a lot of love, but there was also instability. We moved around, struggled financially, and over time I watched my parents' relationship become more chaotic. Looking back now, I can see things I didn’t understand as a child.
I also carried wounds that stayed with me for years. I spent a lot of my life feeling like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t as important as everyone else. I wanted to belong somewhere. I wanted to feel seen.
When my family moved to Las Vegas, I was drawn to the crowd that seemed to offer exactly that. I started hanging around with gang members and people living fast lives. I was 15 years old when I tried meth for the first time.
That choice changed the course of my life.
What started as experimentation became addiction. Years passed in a blur of bad decisions, unhealthy relationships, gambling, stealing, and constantly chasing the next high. I still graduated high school. I worked. From the outside, I looked functional. Inside, I was exhausted, angry, and completely lost.
At 21, I became a mother to my son, Isaiah.
I loved him deeply, but addiction was still running my life. I worked hard and tried to provide for him, but he didn’t always get the best version of me. That truth still hurts. I never brought him into drug houses or exposed him to that world directly, but addiction steals more than money or time. It steals your presence. It steals parts of you that the people you love deserve.
As the years went on, my life became smaller and smaller. My standards disappeared. My self-worth disappeared. I found myself doing things I never imagined I would do just to support my addiction.
Eventually, it caught up with me.
After a felony arrest, I was given probation instead of prison. Looking back, I knew how to work the system. I would clean up just enough to pass. I would tell people what they wanted to hear. Then I would go right back to doing the same things.
Finally, my probation officer told me the truth.
One more mistake and I was going to prison.
I knew he meant it.
At that point, I was tired. Tired of living the way I was living. Tired of disappointing people. Tired of disappointing myself.
Around that same time, I met the man who would become my husband, Juan.
The truth is, we met at the lowest point in both of our lives. We were both struggling with addiction. We were both losing everything. We were both stuck.
Then came the moment that changed the direction of my life.
After another violation, my probation officer told me to report to HOPE for Prisoners.
I walked into that workshop carrying years of shame, fear, and self-doubt.
What I found there was something I had never experienced before.
People believed in me.
The mentors, the stories, the accountability, the encouragement - all of it started breaking through walls I had built over decades. For the first time, I felt like people saw more than my mistakes.
I remember listening to others share their stories and realizing I wasn’t alone. I remember being challenged to think differently about myself. I remember hearing people tell me I still had value, even after everything I had done.
Something finally clicked.
My clean date is March 26, 2018.
Recovery was not easy. There was no magical moment where all our problems disappeared. Juan and I had to learn how to live life without drugs. We had to learn how to communicate, trust each other, manage money, be responsible adults, and become the parents our children deserved.
But for the first time in my life, I had HOPE.
Not hope as an idea.
Real HOPE.
The kind that makes you believe tomorrow can look different than today.
Slowly, things started changing.
We moved into a small mobile home with almost nothing. We had very few possessions, but I remember being happier than I had ever been. We were clean. We had a roof over our heads. We were building something together.
Then came another blessing.
After experiencing the loss of a pregnancy and being told my chances were uncertain, I became pregnant with our son, LJ.
He was born in March 2020, right as the world shut down during COVID.
There are fifteen years between Isaiah and LJ. Becoming a mother again while sober was a gift I never take for granted. I got to experience all the moments I had missed before. I got to be present.
Around that same time, I found my calling.
A friend connected me with an opportunity at Crossroads, and I entered the treatment field for the first time. I started working with people facing the same struggles I had faced.
It never felt like a job.
I was talking to people who understood pain. People who felt trapped. People who thought their lives would never get better.
I understood that feeling because I had lived it.
Since then, I have continued working in recovery and peer support. Every day I have the privilege of walking alongside people as they rebuild their lives. I get to remind them that where they are today does not have to be where they stay.
Today, my life looks nothing like the one I used to live.
Juan and I are married. Together we have built a beautiful, blended family with our children, Isaiah, Larissa, and LJ.
We bought our first home, a brand-new home that we are proud to call ours.
For many people, buying a house may seem ordinary.
For us, it is extraordinary.
There was a time when neither of us could have imagined having stability, careers, healthy relationships, and a future we were excited about. We spent years surviving. Today, we GET to live.
One of the things I am most proud of is my involvement with Central Little League.
For the past four years, I have coached T-Ball. In 2026, I was invited to join the Board of Directors, where I now serve as Sponsorship Coordinator and Concession Stands Manager.
Little League has become a huge part of my life. It allows me to be present for children and families, including my own. Every season reminds me how much life can change when people simply show up for one another.
Serving on the Board has also allowed me to help secure sponsors and community support for the league. One of the first organizations I reached out to was HOPE for Prisoners.
That moment meant a lot to me.
Years earlier, I had walked through HOPE's doors looking for help, guidance, and a chance to rebuild my life. Now, I was sitting on the other side of the table, representing an organization that serves local families and children, asking HOPE to partner with us.
They said yes.
There was something special about seeing the organization that helped me when I had almost nothing now standing beside me as a community partner. It reminded me how far life had come. HOPE invested in me when I needed it most, and now they are helping support a league where I get to invest in others.
For me, that is what a full-circle moment looks like.
Sometimes I look around at my life and think about the woman I used to be.
The woman who believed addiction would always be her future.
The woman who thought prison was probably next.
The woman who could not see anything beyond the next day.
I barely recognize her now.
That doesn’t mean life is perfect. I still have things I work through. I still carry regrets. I still wish my oldest son had received more of the woman I am today.
But I also know that growth means being honest about the past while continuing to move forward.
When people ask what role HOPE for Prisoners played in my life, my answer is simple.
It changed the direction of everything.
I had opportunities before. I had people tell me to do better before. But HOPE came into my life at a moment when I was completely out of options and helped me see myself differently.
I truly do not know where I would be today without that program.
I do not know if I would have gotten clean.
I do not know if I would have stayed out of prison.
I do not know if I would be married, raising my children, working in recovery, coaching Little League, or serving on a Board of Directors.
HOPE gave me direction when I had none. It gave me people who believed in me before I believed in myself.
They opened a door.
I had to walk through it.
And I will always be grateful they were there when I was finally ready.
Today, I have a family. I have a home. I have work that matters. I have children who know they are loved. I have a community that trusts me.
Most importantly, I have peace.
And if there is one thing I would want someone reading this to know, it is that no matter how far gone you think you are, your story is not finished.
I know that because I once believed mine was.
I was wrong.
