Kaylee Randolph

There are people who inspire us because of what they accomplish, and then there are people who inspire us because of who they are.

For me, that woman is Tabitha Groce.

Tabitha was one of the women who helped set the path for me when I first got clean. She didn’t just support my recovery—she helped shape the woman I was becoming. She influenced the mother I am today, the way I show up for other people, and even the way I learned to believe in myself. She became an important mentor in my life, but the word mentor almost feels too small for the influence she had on me.

There were times in my life when I was still figuring out who I was, what I was capable of, and where I belonged. Tabitha saw something in me during those moments. Sometimes, having just one person believe in you before you completely believe in yourself can change the entire direction of your life.

She was that person for me.

No matter what dream I came up with, what goal I wanted to chase, or what kind of future I imagined for myself and my children, Tabitha never made me feel like it was too much or too far out of reach. She supported me, motivated me, and constantly reminded me to keep going, keep growing, and keep making a better life for myself.

There were probably times when she believed in my future more than I did.

What I admired most about Tabitha was not simply what she said, but the way she lived. She showed me that strength and compassion can exist together. That you can hold people accountable while still loving them. That helping someone does not mean carrying them, but sometimes standing beside them long enough for them to realize they are capable of standing on their own.

Those lessons have followed me throughout my own life and career.

Today, I work with individuals who are often walking through some of the most difficult periods of their lives. Many are rebuilding after addiction, trying to repair relationships, address legal or financial problems, find stable housing, return to work, and figure out who they are outside of the life they once knew.

In those moments, I often think about the kind of person Tabitha was for me.

I try to be someone who sees the person beyond their circumstances. I try to remind people that where they are today does not determine where they will be forever. I try to recognize potential even when the person sitting across from me cannot see it yet.

And much of that comes from what Tabitha showed me.

One of the greatest things another person can give you is not an answer to every problem. It is the belief that you are capable of finding your own way through it.

That kind of belief stays with you.

Tabitha also taught me something about influence that I understand much more deeply today: you may never fully know how much your presence changes another person’s life.

The conversations you think are small may be the ones someone remembers for years. The encouragement you give casually may become the sentence someone repeats to themselves when they want to give up. The way you treat another person may change the way they learn to see themselves.

That is influence.

And that is the kind of influence Tabitha had on me.

“You may never fully know how much your presence changes another person’s life.”

As I have grown into a wife, a mother, a woman in long-term recovery, and a professional working in the recovery field, I have carried pieces of what she taught me into each part of my life.

Her influence can be found in the way I advocate for the people I serve. It is there when I remind someone that a setback does not erase their progress. It is there when I encourage another woman to recognize her own strength. It is there when I try to lead with honesty, compassion, boundaries, and the belief that people are capable of change.

Sometimes, we think honoring someone means doing something enormous in their name. I think there is another way.

We honor the people who changed our lives by carrying forward what they gave us.

We take the patience they showed us and give it to someone else. We take the encouragement they gave us and speak it into another person. We take the belief they had in us and use it to believe in somebody who hasn’t learned to believe in themselves yet.

That is how influence becomes a legacy.

Tabitha Groce inspired me not simply because she was an amazing woman, but because she helped me recognize the woman I was capable of becoming.

There are parts of my story that may look like my accomplishments from the outside, but I know that behind every person who grows, succeeds, or finds their purpose are often people who helped them along the way.

Tabitha is part of mine.

Even now, I can still hear her voice in my head telling me, “Make good choices.”

It was such a simple thing she would say, but those words have stayed with me. Today, “make good choices” means so much more than just choosing right from wrong. It reminds me to think about the life I worked for, the mother I want to be, the wife I want to be, the people I serve, and the woman I continue to become.

Tabitha didn’t just help me get through one chapter of my life. She helped give me tools I would carry into every chapter after it.

And now, when I encourage another woman to keep going, when I remind someone that their past does not determine their future, or when I push someone to see more in themselves than they can see in that moment, I realize that a little piece of Tabitha is still showing up through me.

That may be one of the greatest gifts one woman can ever give another.

I will always be grateful that my path crossed with hers. She helped shape the woman, mother, and human being I am today, and her influence will continue to live through the people whose lives I am fortunate enough to touch.

And when life gets complicated, when I am unsure of myself, or when I need that little reminder to stay on the path I worked so hard to build, I can still hear Tabitha:

“Make good choices.”

I’m still trying, Tabitha. And I hope I’m making you proud.

— Kaylee Randolph

In tribute to Tabitha Groce

Rebuilding a Life I’m Proud Of

Five years ago, I could not have imagined the life I am living today.

Recovery didn’t magically make everything easy. It didn’t erase my past, remove every struggle, or suddenly give me all the answers. What it did give me was the opportunity to start again—and eventually, the chance to turn some of the hardest parts of my life into something meaningful.

Today, I am a wife, a mother of five, a woman in long-term recovery, and the Residential Case Management Coordinator at Project Chesapeake, a residential recovery center in Hurlock, Maryland. Before joining Project Chesapeake, I spent approximately four years at Avenues Recovery Center at Eastern Shore, where I grew into the role of Lead Case Manager.

When I look at those titles on paper, I’m proud of them. But what means the most to me isn’t the title beside my name. It’s knowing that I get to sit across from people who may be experiencing one of the hardest chapters of their lives and remind them that their current circumstances do not have to be the ending of their story.

I understand what it feels like to have to rebuild.

That lived experience has shaped the way I approach my work. Case management is not simply handing someone a list of phone numbers or telling them what appointment they need to make next. Behind every barrier is a person. Housing, employment, healthcare, benefits, legal responsibilities, family relationships, and aftercare can feel overwhelming when someone is also trying to build a new life in recovery.

Sometimes, helping someone move forward begins with something as simple as making them feel heard.

I have learned that you can support people without doing everything for them. You can advocate for someone while still encouraging them to advocate for themselves. You can recognize someone’s potential even when they are not able to recognize it yet.

That is one of the greatest lessons recovery has taught me: people are capable of becoming so much more than the worst thing they have done, the hardest thing they have experienced, or the chapter they happen to be standing in right now.

My own journey has also taught me that growth rarely happens in a straight line.

There have been setbacks. There have been moments when I questioned myself, times when I had to learn things the hard way, and seasons when balancing my career, marriage, motherhood, recovery, and my own personal goals felt like a lot to carry.

But I have stopped believing that struggling means I am failing.

Sometimes, growth looks like asking for help. Sometimes, it means setting a boundary. Sometimes, it means leaving behind something that no longer fits the person you are becoming. And sometimes, it simply means getting up the next morning and trying again.

Being a mother of five has made that lesson even more important to me. My children are watching how I handle life—not just when things are going well, but when they aren’t. I want them to see that your story can change. I want them to know that mistakes do not have to define a lifetime and that there is strength in taking responsibility, growing, and continuing forward.

The same is true in my marriage. Building a life with someone while continuing to grow individually has taught me the importance of communication, honesty, trust, boundaries, and showing up for the people you love while also learning how to show up for yourself.

And I am still growing.

Outside of my work in recovery services, I have continued exploring new parts of myself through technology, artificial intelligence, content creation, and entrepreneurship. I am also building Recovery Unsupervised, a podcast with one of my closest friends where we hope to have honest, relatable conversations about recovery, mental health, friendship, life, and all of the imperfect moments in between.

For a long time, I think I believed success would eventually mean reaching some point where I could say, “I made it.”

I see it differently now.

There isn’t one finish line.

Success is continuing to become someone I am proud of. It is being present for my family. It is helping another person recognize that they still have options. It is staying willing to learn. It is knowing when to ask for help. It is having the courage to start something new even when I am scared it might not work.

Most importantly, it is remembering where I came from without believing I have to stay there.

I didn’t rebuild my life just to survive it. I rebuilt it so I could live it, grow through it, and hopefully use what I have learned to help someone else believe they can rebuild theirs too.

— Kaylee Randolph