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When The Fog Lifted--The Restaurant That Raised Me

For most of my life, I couldn’t quite figure out where “home” was supposed to be.

Sure, I had a roof and family and love. I created a home with my husband and kids that fills me with warmth and gratitude daily. But deep inside, I felt like something was still missing—some anchor, some center, some quiet place that whispered, you belong here.

And for years, I didn’t feel settled enough—safe enough—to let myself find it.

Then one morning, while doing my usual makeup routine for the job I’ve bounced back to more times than I can count, something just clicked. Like one of those moments in recovery, when suddenly everything makes sense—not because life got easier, but because you got stronger. Your heart starts connecting the dots you didn’t even know you were drawing.

New China is my home.

It hit me like a ton of bricks—but soft ones, the kind you feel in your chest instead of your head. This restaurant has been the one reliable constant through nearly every chapter of my adult life. Through heartbreak, pregnancies, the loss of my child, losing my mom, medical struggles, relationships—I’ve lived it all, and New China has been my backdrop.

The people there? They’re family. My boss? He’s watched me stumble and grow, disappointed in me like family would, but also supported me like family should. Every time life knocked me around, that place was a cushion waiting for me to land.

I found my voice there. When I started working at 19, I was quiet—shy, unsure. But the energy of the restaurant, the banter with coworkers, the subtle mentorship from my boss and his wife—they helped shape the woman I am now. Without even realizing it, I’ve been collecting pieces of who I want to be from the way they live and lead.

That “click” moment was so real. Like my recovery journey suddenly pulled out a chair and sat me down with this truth: You don’t have to keep running. You’ve already arrived.

I care deeply about my job, sometimes too loudly—but that’s only because it’s stitched into my soul. It’s a place where I laugh, where I cry, where I serve food and love without needing anyone to ask. It might just be a restaurant to most people. But to me?

It’s the center of me.

So, yeah. Maybe one day I’ll work up the nerve to tell my boss that he can never get rid of me. Because I basically moved in. I just forgot to bring my stuff.


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