Genna Adney

My name is Genna Adney, and I serve as the Respite House Manager at Rhonda’s House. My journey into this work is not just professional - it is deeply personal, rooted in lived experience, resilience, and a commitment to doing better for others than what I once experienced myself.

I was raised in a home where mental health was not fully understood or supported. From as early as I can remember, I struggled internally without having the language or resources to make sense of it. As the “responsible” child, I often took on the role of caregiver for my siblings long before I became a mother. By the age of 16, I had my first child, determined to break cycles and not become a stereotype - but without the guidance or tools needed to build stability, that determination often felt like I was navigating life alone.

My path included years of on-and-off substance use beginning in my teens, intertwined with ongoing mental health challenges. I spent much of my life feeling unheard - misdiagnosed, mis-medicated, and misunderstood, making it incredibly difficult to find balance in motherhood, wellness, and stability. It wasn’t until early 2025 that I finally received the diagnoses that helped clarify my experiences as a neurodivergent individual, allowing me to begin a treatment plan that truly supported my recovery.

Throughout all of this, I remained drawn to the human services field. Since the age of 16, I have worked in direct support roles - helping others build independence, supervising teams, and collaborating on person-centered care. Over time, my focus shifted toward supporting individuals experiencing mental health challenges such as bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.

In 2024, I walked into the Wellness Center feeling completely defeated - but that moment became a turning point. It was there I realized I belonged in peer recovery, where lived experience is not just acknowledged, but valued.

I began my recovery journey for my children, but along the way, I discovered something just as important - I deserved recovery too. That realization changed everything.

Today, I take pride in being someone others can relate to - especially those who feel unseen, unheard, or hopeless. I understand what it’s like to lose trust in systems that are meant to help, and I am committed to rebuilding that trust through genuine connection, empathy, and advocacy. Peer support is more than a role to me; it is a purpose. I strive to create a space where individuals feel safe, respected, and empowered to define recovery on their own terms.

My story is proof that even after feeling lost, misjudged, or discouraged, it is still possible to find clarity, purpose, and hope - and I am honored to walk alongside others as they discover that for themselves.