My name is Megan Herman, but most call me Megs.

For over 16 years, I've lived inside a revolving door of psychiatric hospitals, severe episodes of despair, and desperate grasps at healing. During those times, I often couldn’t see a viable way out and felt like all hope was gone. I would have brief moments in different places and treatments that made me begin to feel as though I was finally walking out of the shadows and into the light—only to have it ended far too soon, before true healing could take place. It's felt like I've been hopelessly and endlessly questing to be in a place of stability and consistency where I might establish a life of thriving that would potentially allow me to become a truly independent adult for the first time in my 36 years of life. I’ve tried everything: inpatient stays, outpatient programs, overmedication, under-medication, therapy after therapy. Some places helped for a while. Most gave up on me.

But one place hasn’t:

The Menninger Clinic in Houston, TX.

This is the first place where I’m not just surviving—I’m beginning to heal.

But I live in fear every day that my insurance coverage is ending suddenly and without warning. Not because I’m suddenly well, but because I may be seen as having improved "enough" or being labeled too chronic to be worth continuing coverage.

That fear—of the unknown, of being ripped away from the only treatment that has ever helped me and shown me that there actually could be another, more empowering, more enduring, way out of the cycle—is crushing.

I am working harder than I ever have before to get better, but I need help to stay the course.

It’s terrifying that my Insurance could pull out at any moment — not because I’m suddenly okay, but because I’ve managed to string together a few decent days, or because I’ve made just enough progress to appear “functional” on paper. However, the harsh reality of the truth is that sustainable healing takes time.

I've been told repeatedly during my time at Menninger that I would make a powerful advocate—especially for other women on the autism spectrum. My treatment journey, the insight I've gained, and the way I communicate with honesty, empathy, and a bit of humor have all been described as deeply moving and impactful. But as I’ve told the staff here: I can’t advocate for others until I’m able to advocate for myself.

This is the hardest I’ve ever fought to get well as I'm finally in a place that can help make the everlasting changes in my life I've been searching for. And I am desperate to finish what I’ve started.

Your donation won’t just help me stay—it will help me access treatments that could actually change the outcome of my recovery. I’ve been stuck in survival mode for years. This is my one chance to actually build a life.

Every dollar raised will go directly toward continuing treatment at Menninger. Being able to stay here at Menninger and access the additional services, evaluations, and testing means the world to me. These things are not optional luxuries...these are the building blocks of a life worth living.

Continuing care at Menninger without insurance is incredibly expensive — but it’s also the first and only place where my treatment-resistant depression, suicidality, OCD, trauma, and autism have ever been taken seriously and actually addressed. So many times in the past, I’ve gone into treatment desperately hoping someone would finally follow through on what I needed — but nothing ever changed. Here at Menninger, they are already doing it. They have already reduced the amount of medications I have to take and have also implemented a cohesive, strategic plan on how to improve my ability for self-care.

However, to continue this progress, I now have to self-pay — and it’s not cheap. Most patients here are charged $50,000 every 3 weeks for the Adult Treatment Program. To complete the work my psychiatrist believes is necessary, I need at least 9 more weeks, totaling around $150,000. On top of that, I’ve been recommended for advanced treatments like Rapid TMS/Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation ($28,000) and Ketamine infusions ($6,000–$8,000). I also need sleep studies ($3,000–$5,000) to address my sleep apnea and investigate possible narcolepsy, and neurocognitive and vocational testing ($2,000+) to help guide future steps.

Altogether, this puts the projected cost of staying alive and rebuilding my life between $200,000 and $225,000. If anything is raised beyond what’s used for my care, I’ll post transparent updates and either use the funds for outpatient stabilization or help support others in similar situations.

I know this number is overwhelming. But so is what I’ve survived. And for the first time in a very long time — I finally see a way forward. I just need help getting there.