Alex: [takes a deep breath] Because trauma compounds. Being removed from your home is traumatic. Being in a system that shuffles you around is traumatic. Being queer in spaces that may not affirm or understand your identity? Another layer.The statistics around mental health for system-involved LGBTQ+ youth are heartbreaking. Higher rates of depression, anxiety, suicide attempts. But those aren't just numbers to me—they're kids with names and dreams and favorite songs.We build mental health support into everything we do, not as an add-on but as the foundation. You can't build a future if you're constantly in survival mode. Healing has to come first.But here's what's important: we don't pathologize their responses to trauma. When a kid has a panic attack because they're being moved to their seventh placement in two years, that's not a disorder—that's a reasonable response to an unreasonable situation. We validate that. We teach them to understand their own responses rather than being ashamed of them.JT: Your work embraces the messy, non-linear reality of healing and identity—something we talk about a lot in Between the Covers. How do you approach that messiness with Lighthouse?Alex: [smiles] Oh, we're all about the mess. Transformation isn't linear. Healing isn't Instagram-worthy. Growth often looks like two steps forward, one step back, three steps sideways, and occasionally a complete faceplant.We have this cultural narrative that recovery or growth should be this beautiful, inspiring journey with a clear before-and-after. The reality? It's complicated and contradictory. You can be making huge strides in therapy while your external life is falling apart. You can look like you're thriving to everyone else while fighting internal battles they can't see.At Lighthouse, we celebrate tiny victories—the kid who made it to school three days this week instead of two, the teen who spoke in group for the first time, the young adult who went to a job interview even though anxiety nearly kept them home. We honor backslides and mistakes as part of the process, not failures.“Where tradition meets the table—and every dish tells a story.”Step into Vivo and you’re instantly wrapped in the warmth of rustic charm, rich aromas, and a love for food that feels like coming home. This isn’t just a place to eat—it’s a place to linger, to laugh, to connect.Rooted in Italian tradition, Vivo brings a modern twist to classic recipes that have been passed down through generations. Whether it's their hand-stretched pizza, house-made pasta, or the kind of tiramisu that makes you believe in love again, every bite is a reminder that good food takes time—and heart.The space is cozy yet elevated, with open kitchens that invite you to be part of the experience. Families, first dates, and foodies all gather here for one simple reason: it’s authentic. From the first pour of olive oil to the last swirl of espresso, Vivo delivers comfort without compromise. Come hungry, leave full—in more ways than one.BTC: What's been the most surprising part of this work for you?Alex: [smiles] How much the kids end up helping me. There's this narrative that mentorship is one-directional—wise adult helps struggling youth. But these young people have taught me more about resilience and authenticity than any self-help book ever could.Last year, we had this 14-year-old, Jamie, who'd been in seven placements. At our summer retreat, we were doing this activity about belonging, and Jamie said, "Sometimes family isn't who you're born to; it's who you refuse to give up on." I think about that every day.The other surprise is how much joy there is mixed in with the hard stuff. We laugh a lot. We celebrate every tiny victory. Found family can be as messy and complicated as biological family, but there's something beautiful about choosing each other anyway.BTC: What would you tell adults—especially those struggling with their own identities or mental health—about what you've learned from this work?Alex: [leans forward] That it's never too late to find your people. To reshape your story. To heal old wounds.So many adults I meet—especially queer adults—are carrying these deep beliefs that they're fundamentally broken or unworthy of connection. They've internalized messages from childhood, from society, from religion, from everywhere telling them they're wrong somehow.What I've learned from our youth is that unlearning those messages is a lifetime practice. It's not about reaching some perfect state of self-acceptance; it's about noticing when those old stories arise and gently challenging them, over and over again.Also? Community matters. We aren't meant to heal in isolation. Finding spaces where you can be your authentic self—messy, contradictory, evolving—is essential. Whether that's therapy, support groups, chosen family, creative communities... find your lighthouse, the people who can help guide you safely to shore.BTC: Last question—what gives you hope on the hard days?Alex: [quiet for a moment] Two things. First, the change I've witnessed. When we started Lighthouse seven years ago, we had twelve mentors and twenty kids. Now we have over a hundred pairs across three counties. That growth tells me something about our collective capacity for care.“Healing isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you were before the world told you to shrink—and choosing, every damn day, to take up space anyway.”But honestly? It's the text messages. The ones that say "I got through today" or "I used that coping strategy" or just "thank you." Small moments of connection that remind me why we do this work.There's this kid, Tyler, who graduated from our program last year. They're in college now, studying social work. They texted me recently:"Sometimes I still feel like I'm falling apart, but then I remember that's just part of being human. And I keep going anyway."That's it, right there. We're all just falling apart and putting ourselves back together. But we don't have to do it alone.“You don’t have to be whole to be worthy.”
