Anna Lee
Anna is the director of innovation at Social Model Recovery Systems, Inc. Dr. Lee graduated from the University of Southern California with a Master of Social Work (MSW) in 2015 and her doctorate in 2020. She is a licensed clinical social worker and has worked in the recovery field since 2011. She aims to make a difference in the lives of individuals and families struggling with Substance Use Disorder (SUD) by utilizing technology to reduce the stigma of treatment, developing community partnerships, and collaborating with experts both inside and outside of SUD treatment.
Through Recovery, There’s No Limit to What Can Be Accomplished
INTERVIEW BY DILAN ASKEW, JACQUELINE GARAY, AND OMAR AMADOR
Can you give us a little background about yourself?
My name is Anna Lee. I am 41. I was born in Rowland Heights, California. I’m a second-generation Korean American. I identify as female. My preferred pronouns are she, her, and hers.
Where is your hometown?
I pretty much grew up in Rowland Heights; I spent my early childhood there. Then our family moved to Hacienda Heights when I was 6 or 7 years old. My parents always worked hard. At the time, my mom worked for the post office, and my dad worked at [the local] Ralph’s bakery.
My grandmother — my maternal grandmother — lived with us. She was probably the first person I got really attached to. Interestingly, she’s the person who delivered me. I was delivered at home in Rowland Heights, in my parents’ master bedroom. At that time, my parents had been in the U.S. for two or three years, and they didn’t realize you could use county hospitals or [were aware of] any resources. Hence, I was born at home.
You know, I think all my early memories are of having my grandmother around. My early childhood was pretty normal, other than my parents working all the time, so I didn’t spend much time with them. But having that close connection with my grandmother was very helpful.
Did your grandmother move to the States with your parents?
My parents moved here in 1980. Then my grandmother came in 1981 or 1982.
Do you have siblings?
I do have siblings. I have a brother who is much older than me — 14 years older. He was born in Korea, so he came with my parents when they first moved here.
Did you spend time in Koreatown growing up?
To go clubbing [laughs]. Other than that, my early memories of K-Town were my parents coming out here to go grocery shopping. All the Korean community resources and everything were out here, so they would come this way. My grandmother eventually ended up moving to L.A., and I remember coming out to visit her, but other than that, my schooling and all of that were in the San Gabriel Valley area.
Do you have a favorite memory or a favorite place in K-Town?
I don’t know if I should answer that [laughs]. My favorite memory, I think, was probably Mecca [nightclub]. When I was younger, my cousin used to take me clubbing with her. Of course, this was when I was definitely underage. I had this cool older cousin who wanted to hang out with her absolutely cool younger cousin, right? No. Apparently, every time she was grounded, she wasn’t allowed to go out with her friends. So she would tell her parents she was going to hang out with me, and she would take me along clubbing, which allowed her to go out with her friends. That was a lot of fun. That’s where my early memories of K-Town started, around the age of 15 or 16.
What was your relationship with your brother like?
My brother joined the U.S. Army at 17, so he left when I was about 3. I didn’t have many memories of spending time with my brother, other than the occasions when he’d come back while on a break. After the military, he lived on his own. Other than him picking me up every once in a while to take me out to do something, I don’t have much of a [memory] of the time that we spent together when I was younger.
We at least talk on a regular basis now. I speak to him at least a couple of times a month. He travels a lot and works quite a bit, so sometimes he’s a little hard to reach. But he’s married and has a beautiful daughter — they’re out in Arizona. Even though he lives out of state, I feel like our relationship has grown much closer.
What was your relationship with your parents like when you were younger?
You know, that’s the thing. I don’t feel as though I have as many memories early on, other than always seeing them work. The house felt somewhat cold. There was always a sense of tension in that house. As a kid, I didn’t understand their dynamic. I felt as though there was something that I was doing wrong, and so, growing up, I tried my best to be that sort of perfect child. I was trying not to get into trouble, doing as I’m told, playing piano, and practicing piano.
In fourth or fifth grade, I ended up drinking for the first time. Neither of my parents drinks. They only kept alcohol in the house for entertaining guests. But I just saw all these little, pretty bottles — the mini shooter bottles. I don’t remember what compelled me, but I grabbed all the clear ones and drank them and refilled them with water, thinking, I’m never going to get caught!
Unfortunately, I have that Asian flush syndrome. So my dad comes home and finds this bright red kid reeking of alcohol, and he’s like, ‘What the heck did you do?’ I was like, “I was just curious!” He was like, ‘Okay, well, now you know. Don’t ever do that again.’
My grandmother died when I was in the sixth grade, around the time I was about 11. That’s when some of my acting out began. That’s when I first started off being somewhat of a klepto (kleptomaniac). It wasn’t even that I didn’t have the money; it was just the thrill of walking out with merchandise. Maybe that was just my way of dealing with my grief because I didn’t understand what happened, and there wasn’t anyone to sit there and let me express my feelings to. I needed an outlet.
My dad smoked cigarettes his entire life — he still does — and around the age of 12, I started smoking his cigarettes, so that was kind of where I was headed. There was also the part of me that still presented myself on the outside like everything was fine, like I was still that straight-A student.
In eighth grade, I started playing golf. Initially, the idea was to get me started so that we could do this whole family weekend thing playing golf together, and it was supposed to be this so-called “bonding experience.” They got a family membership at a country club, but I think that was just the facade we wanted to put on. Over time, though, I actually started to play competitively. In my first or second year of playing, I ended up player of the year in the Southern California junior region and won the Los Angeles Junior Golf Championship two years in a row.
Golf became a big part of my life. At the same time, there was also this part of me that was rebelling. [I’d often sneak out] at night to go clubbing with my cousin, ditch school, and was attracted to the little bad boys. I felt justified in that because my friends would always ask me, ‘Hey, you want to go hang out on the weekend?’ I was like, “No, I can’t. I’ve got practice.” So I felt like, Well, if I ditch school, then I can hang out with them. It’ll be fun.
That was part of me enjoying this double life where, on the outside, my parents could continue to pretend that I was this perfect child, but on the inside, I was actually hurting pretty badly. Before any of the drug use started, I think my main issues were probably anxiety and depression. I mean, what 14-year-old or 15-year-old is sitting there asking questions about the meaning of life? [I was] having an existential crisis in the middle of my early teenage years.
Those issues were there early on, and they were just kind of dismissed. I was the kid in high school [who would make] teachers a little concerned, and they’d send me to see the school psychologist to get evaluated because I’d be sitting there writing some pretty morbid poems in class. I did a lot of ditching, and eventually, my mom ended up switching my school. It didn’t really help.
Drugs acted as an outlet or way to feel numb enough so I could function. The first time I started using [drugs] was probably when I was 14 or 15. I started with marijuana; it was with some friends from school, and I just liked the escape. I thought that as long as everything on the outside looked okay, everything in my life was fine. It’s just me having, once again, that justification of, I’m entitled to this because that part of my life is good. That was kind of where things started.
In my sophomore year, I went with a friend to a gathering where I was gang raped. Somebody put something in my drink, and I remember feeling like I couldn’t move. I could see everything happening around me, but I couldn't do anything. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. That’s literally what I felt like. I was watching what was happening to me at that time. That was somewhat of a catalyst that pushed me further into my addiction. I felt as though I needed to be numb, or else I was not going to be able to hold together the other pretty packaged part of my life.
To keep up that facade, I continued to use [drugs]. I had switched from marijuana, and I never wanted to touch alcohol again, so I was introduced to meth. It made me feel invincible. It made me feel numb enough to function. I could study more. I could play golf better. I could do so much more and keep up this facade as long as I was using meth. That was my sophomore year, so I also had to get a lot more serious about golf.
In my sophomore and junior years, I was hoping to get recruited. I was recruited by the University of Southern California (USC). Toward the end of my junior year, I already knew that I was going to play for USC on a scholarship. So somehow I got through my senior year, continuing to use, continuing to play golf, and continuing to put on this mask every day. Then, I went off to college and started my freshman year at USC. I was on the main traveling team, so I got to play in the tournaments and everything as a freshman.
It was at that point that I initially started on antidepressants. I had a boyfriend whom I had been dating since I was about 17. He was much older. At the time, I was young and pretty naive about the world and relationships overall, but that was a rather toxic relationship. There was a lot of psychological and emotional abuse, this very controlling and possessive behavior, and it eventually turned physical. College seemed like my getaway — it seemed like my way out.
It was during my college years that we finally split, but it was at a point where I felt that only happened after I nearly killed myself. I felt, to a point, that was going to be my only way out of that relationship, that if I didn’t take it to that extreme, there was no way that he was going to let me go willingly. After that, I gained my freedom, and things quickly went out of control.
In my sophomore year, I ended up losing my scholarship. I felt as though I couldn’t go home because I’d just put shame on myself and my entire family. My parents, despite knowing little bits and pieces of what was going on in my life, didn’t really talk about it. They weren’t going to ask me directly if I used drugs. I think they knew, but they were just afraid to ask. So I lost my scholarship. I couldn’t go home because I didn’t want to face my parents. I continued to use and house-hopped at friends’ homes or lived out of my car and committed whatever crimes I could to support my drug habit.
I was probably about 20 or 21 when another incident happened. I was carjacked, kidnapped, and raped for five days. If I had any shred of humanity up until that point, it completely went out the door after that incident. I gave up. I didn’t care about myself, I didn’t care about the world, and I didn’t care who I hurt anymore. At that point, I got involved in things I shouldn’t have gotten involved in. Eventually, that caught up to me, and I was arrested for the first time when I was around 20 or 21. My parents didn’t know what to do. At that point, they decided they needed to find some help. They needed to actually find some form of treatment or get me out of jail somehow.
They were pretty involved in the Korean church — they’re both Catholic. They didn’t want to talk to their friends about it because of the shame, but eventually they did, and it just kind of spread — the gossip spread. At that point, my parents stopped attending that particular church and associating with those friends. The help that they managed to find me was a Korean Christian group home. I’m not going to say where, but that was the only place they could think of at the time because of their limited resources. They didn’t know who to ask about these things, and since all of their friends were Korean, they didn’t have many resources.
I was court-ordered to [stay at] this Christian group home for six months. I stayed there for a good four months, and then I decided that the first one wasn’t a good fit for me, so I left and then went to some other treatment program on my own. The judge didn’t like that. I had violated my probation, but one of the things that I became good at was using my so-called sob story as a tool for manipulation. I wanted to play that victim. I wanted to say, “I only did these things because of what’s happened to me,” and this and that.
I got mandated to go to therapy, which I didn’t go to; that was just my way of using another Get Out of Jail Free card. But I couldn’t stay clean. I continued to violate probation. They gave me multiple chances, and I somehow thought I was going to beat the system. [I used] system cleaners — trying all sorts of different types of cocktails to clean my system before drug tests. They didn’t work. Eventually, it got to the point where the court was pretty fed up with me.
Luckily, the last time I was arrested, I got pulled over by a different jurisdiction. I had a new case with another court now, and I was offered a drug court. It was an option that was available to me, and I felt like it was either drug court or four years in prison, so drug court seemed a little bit more appealing. To be completely honest, I don’t think I had any intention of staying clean. I was like, I’ll jump through their stupid hoops, and I’ll do what they’re asking me just so that I can get the court off my back.
Then I was going to go back to using, and I felt as though, somehow, as I said, I was entitled to use. I was only going to survive if I continued to use. So my thought was, Okay, just do what they asked me for now. But it was in drug court that I met a counselor who saw behind the mask. She was the first one who told me, ‘I need you to go to therapy. I’m willing to count your therapy as one of their court requirements.’ She was willing to knock off one of the groups I had to attend or some [requirement] — she bargained with me. That was my initial start of somewhat addressing what had happened in my life up to then.
The other piece was with the drug court. At the time, the treatment program was through Mid Valley Outpatient, which happens to be one of the Social Model Recovery Systems programs. At the time, one of the requirements was to find a 12-step meeting and then a sponsor. I remember my first experience with 12-step meetings was in two or three other rehabs before going into this particular treatment program. I was 23 by then.
I remember going into my first meeting — it was an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting somewhere in Monrovia. I walked in and saw all these people, and nobody looked like me. I didn’t relate to anybody, but everyone was going around saying, “I’m so-and-so. I’m an alcoholic.” It came around me, and I was like, Well, I don’t have a problem with alcohol. So I’m like, “I’m Anna. I’m an addict,” and some old timer got up and yelled at me. He’s like, ‘You can’t talk then!’ I was like, F you, bye-bye!
When the drug court told me that I needed to attend these meetings, I was like, This is really stupid. There was nobody there who looked like me, and I didn’t feel like I connected, but if that’s the hoop that they were asking me to jump through, fine. So I attended, but interestingly, the turning point was when there was an actual Asian woman there. She invited me to a Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meeting. It was at that point that I started to open up a bit more and be receptive to what I could get from the 12-step program.
One of the biggest things I needed to overcome was my resentment — resentment [toward] the world, God, and the people who had done those things to me. Everyone kept telling me, ‘You have to forgive,’ and I was like, “F you. I’m not forgiving anybody! They don’t deserve my forgiveness.” It was through my recovery that I learned forgiveness is not for them. It’s for myself. It’s so that I can live with peace of mind.
I was so consumed with hate and rage that I couldn’t be happy, and the only way that I was going to get through it was by letting that [resentment] go. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to let go of in my life. But the way I see it now is that through my life experiences, I came across some people who were very sick in their disease, the way I was sick in my own. That was where I found a sense of forgiveness.
Early on in recovery, I graduated from drug court. It took me a year. During that year of drug court, I did drug testing every day for the first 90 days, and then weekly drug testing and weekly groups — three to five groups a week. That was also when I got my first part-time job, which was my first time making legal money, and it felt pretty good.
What was your return to university like?
I wanted to go back to school eventually. After I graduated from drug court, it was something that was on my mind. I wasn’t sure if I would ever get to go back, but I wanted to at least go back to school for something, so I started back at my local community college. I was about 27. I took some psychology classes and things like that because, more than anything, I was trying to understand myself. Then I took a drug studies class for that same reason, and I fell in love with the major. So I thought, I don’t know if I want to graduate with an associate’s degree, but let me at least get through the certificate program.
I thought I would become a substance use disorder (SUD) counselor. But as I got closer to the end of that, I thought, It’s only a few more classes for my associates. I completed my associate’s degree in drug studies and then decided to transfer to Cal State Fullerton. By then, I embraced the fact that I wanted to help people, especially those struggling with substance use. Through my internship, I had a cool opportunity to go back to Mid Valley and be an intern, so that was interesting to me [to be] on the other side of things.
Then I started working at another program within Social Model Recovery Systems as a substance use disorder counselor. At this point, I was still part-time, focusing more on school. I stopped working to complete my education. I thought I was only going to complete my bachelor’s, but my mom was like, ‘You could go for your master’s.’ Of course, I felt like, Oh, she’s raising the bar again. Eventually, I thought, Well, who knows? Maybe.
When I was applying to the master’s program, I applied to only one school: USC. The idea was to go back and make things right. It was something I lost in my addiction; it was something I wanted to recover in my recovery. I went back to USC and pursued a master’s in social work.
I was always in touch with my former golf coach at USC, even through my addiction. She visited me in rehab and checked up on me from time to time. One of the coolest experiences was at my graduation. She came to my graduation, and during our graduation party, she gave me this blanket. It’s a blanket with a giant letterman’s patch and my name embroidered on it. It was made the year that I lost my scholarship and left the team. She had ordered [the patches] then, but I left the team before she could give them to me. She held on to this blanket for 13 years, believing that someday I’d come back, and I did come back to finish my education. That was my graduation gift. That blanket hangs in my office; it’s usually in the background of a lot of my photos because it’s a reminder of where I came from and what I’ve overcome.
Once I got my master’s, I continued [pursuing education]. During that time, I returned to Social Model Recovery Systems as an intern. I was working toward becoming a therapist, but I also had the opportunity to work with the senior director of treatment at the time, Bruce Boardman. While working with him, I got to see the behind-the-scenes work that goes into an organization. I liked that side of things, but my first goal was to get licensed as a therapist.
Once I was hired at Social Model, I worked as an executive assistant to the senior director. I also started working as a therapist in some of our programs. I had the opportunity to work as a therapist in our women’s programs and our adolescent residential program.
I did that for a few years, but I think there was also a part of me that wanted to go back to the macro side of the work. I wanted to learn a little bit more on that side, make systems-level changes, and make a bigger impact on my community and those we serve. That’s the reason why I decided to pursue my doctorate in social work. The DSW is a little bit different from a Ph.D. in social work. The Ph.D. is more of a research-based, academia-oriented doctorate. [In contrast], the DSW is more focused on systems-level change, creating some sort of applicable innovation to make a disruptive change in the world.
My capstone focused on substance use within Asian and Pacific Islander communities and on using technology as a means to reduce the stigma of going to treatment. When I was working on my capstone, I was looking at ways to use technology as a way to engage communities like the API community, which likes to keep the substance use problem very much hidden. I was looking at the use of virtual reality as a treatment modality. It was right before COVID that I started to formulate all of this, and with COVID happening, telehealth skyrocketed. The work was really meaningful.
During this time, my mom and dad retired. They’d worked hard their entire lives, and that was a time when they were supposed to have fun. My mom was diagnosed with dementia, and things quickly went downhill. One memory that I have is from the day I did the oral defense of my capstone project. As soon as they told me that I had passed my oral defense and that I was going to be Dr. Lee, I went back to my parents’ house to tell them. My mom — her sense of reality was touch-and-go — at that moment, she was completely present when I told her. She said she was proud of me, and she cried tears of joy with me. That’s kind of the last moment of clarity my mom had with me. The last few years have been a lot of just watching her deteriorate. She did pass this year, so things are still a little raw.
I remember the graduation ceremony. I was one of those COVID graduates; we did our oral defense and everything online, and we had an online graduation. Finally, in 2021, they’re like, ‘We’ll give you guys an outdoor, in-person graduation.’ I remember thinking at the time, I don’t know if I want to tell my parents to go. I know how incredibly proud they would be, but I wasn’t sure how my mom, in her condition, would be in such a large crowd. It was my classmates who convinced me. They said, ‘You have to graduate. You have to walk with us, and you have to have your mom there.’ So they came, and that was a beautiful experience.
Right after, she was back to ‘So how’s school going?’ She was back to what her reality was. One of the positive things is that at least her memories of me were from when I was in school and not me effing up. It wasn’t all just about me running away, ditching school, or any of that. Her proudest moments were seeing me complete or go through school, so that’s why those memories kind of strongly stuck around.
Please tell us a little about the work you do today.
As for the work I do today and my current position, I serve as the director of innovation at Social Model Recovery Systems. Interestingly, it wasn’t a position before. I had the chance to write my own job description and presented it to our CEO. This was close to when I was about to graduate with my DSW, and I said, “This is what I can do for us,” and he was willing to give me a shot. It’s been a pretty cool opportunity. I think it’s been turning out well for both the organization and me.
In my current role, I do grant writing and grant management. I also look at building strategic partnerships with various organizations and schools. A fun part of my job is supervising the graduate-level interns, which keeps me connected to the clinical work and is a privilege to be part of someone’s professional growth and journey. That’s been a lot of fun.
Was there anyone who supported you in your sobriety journey?
I think about all the people who have made a huge impact on my life. There’s my coach, Andrea Gaston, whom I definitely have to mention, and my mentor, Mary Querido; the two of them stuck with me even when I was off the [USC Golf] team. Drug court was another place that saved my life. I was fortunate that my first case and terms of probation and all of that got transferred to the drug court judge. His name is Commissioner Jose Rodriguez. It was my probation officer at the time, Deputy Dwight Thompson, who actually believed in me. They were willing to give me a shot. They both attended my virtual graduation. I still keep in touch with both of them today.
Every year, on my sobriety birthday, I text them and remind them that I have everything that I have because of the two of them, as well as Catherine Ybarra, my counselor from Mid Valley. If it weren’t for people like that, who, despite everything — what my criminal history looked like, what my background looked like, and the fact that I was a meth addict — were in my corner, believing in me. It was that and my mom’s prayers that got me through this.
The problem is that for a lot of people, when they think about somebody who has a substance use disorder — or, as people call them, addicts — that’s it. There’s a sense of hopelessness where they feel like they’re hopeless, a lost cause, or nothing. They’re just a waste of life. Through recovery, there’s no limit to what can be accomplished. It’s my experiences that made me stronger and who I am today — someone who knows how to value life, someone who knows how to be grateful for what I have.
I’ve mentioned this to my parents before, but had it not been for my addiction, I don’t think we’d have the relationship that we have today. I lived with that privileged, take-everything-for-granted, Mom-and-Dad-are-going-to-bail-me-out-of-jail or clean-up-my-mess type of thinking. Because of my addiction, because of going through all of that, I was actually able to see that even though they may not have been the overly and outwardly affectionate type, they did truly love me unconditionally. I feel like I found my purpose. Recovery and the 12 steps specifically focus on learning how to forgive and let go.
How did you do that, and do you have words of advice for someone searching for that, whether that be in relation to a loved one’s substance use or their own?
Everything’s coming from a loving place, right? You’re hurting because you love them. The thing is, though, as I stated earlier, forgiveness isn’t for them. It’s for yourself. It’s learning to accept the good, the bad, the ugly, the pretty — everything. And that this is part of their own journey. Despite their struggles, I’m sure they care a lot about the family. It’s a disorder, right? It’s not who they are. Being an alcoholic isn’t who they are. If you can remember that — that it’s not completely all of who they are; it’s just a component. It’s just something that they carry — a disease that they carry.
Something that helped me was realizing that forgiveness comes from recognizing that they, too, are hurting. I had lots of resentment toward my parents because I didn’t feel very supported. I didn’t really understand that as a kid. They were just trying the best they could with what they had. Our parents have their own traumas; they all have their own histories, experiences, and things they’ve overcome or had to go through. And if it hasn’t been treated, then they’re really just doing the best they can.
Alcohol was a solution that stopped working, right? I’m sure nobody wakes up or is born into this world and says, “I want to be an addict or alcoholic when I grow up!” It was something that they might have turned to as a way to feel better or even just function. However, it stopped working at some point. So if you can see it from that perspective, maybe you can at least have a little bit of empathy or compassion. But maybe it’s still going to hurt.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean that everything you did is okay; it doesn’t mean that it’s going to take away the disappointment or the hurt, but it is being able to say, “I’m not going to let this drag me down. I’m not going to let this prevent me from having a better relationship with that particular family member.”
Do you have an inspiring message regarding substance use and/or recovery that you would like to share?
For any of the families that are struggling with somebody who’s experiencing substance use or some sort of addiction, alcoholism, or whatever you want to call it, a sense of not losing hope — not only in the other person but also in not losing hope for themselves. Your life doesn’t have to depend on theirs to be happy. People see having an addiction as a sort of death sentence, like you’re not going to amount to anything, but what can be accomplished through recovery is limitless.
I also like to say that recovery means different things to different people. The 12-step program helped me stay connected with a very strong 12-step family that helps me. Meditation, prayer, therapy, medications — all of those — for me, that’s what my recovery looks like, but [recovery] for each person is different. How they define their recovery is up to them. I wouldn’t be here had it not been for the people in my life.
My boyfriend — we’ve been together for about 18 years — is somebody I met in my addiction. I came to a point after I had gotten clean where I said, “If we want a future together, then you need to stop using.” Then he ended up in the ER. He had relapsed for a while, but his relapse led to a stroke, and that’s how I found out that he had relapsed. This was probably about eight years into our relationship, and this is somebody who believed in me this entire time, saying, ‘You’re more than what you are right now.’ He stood by me as I went through therapy; he stood by me through all of that. For anyone who has families or loved ones going through addiction, all I say is don’t give up. Don’t give up on them. They need somebody to believe that it’s possible because they’re feeling pretty hopeless themselves.