Author: Amethystprincess

A unique perspective on the world from a small town girl turned big city nurse. Now a grandmother to 6 gregarious, resplendent boys and 5 endearing, magical girls, she strives the make the world a more understanding, pleasant place to experience this intense thing called life.

Running Toward Pleasure

The phrase spoken in Netflix’s new “Painkiller”:

“All of human behavior is essentially comprised of two things: running away from pain and toward pleasure…….its a cycle….

This circle is our existence . It is the very essence of what it means to be human, being alive. But if we place ourselves right there between pain and pleasure…WE become the gatekeepers for everyone who wants to get away from pain then we have changed the world…….

Then you will never have to worry about money ever again”.

https://www.netflix.com/title/81095069?preventIntent=true

This is the basic premise to the Sacklers fortune and the subject of many lawsuits and legislation. It’s also the basis of tremendous suffering of many people for years as they navigate the consequences of addiction and the cause of many tragic deaths affecting millions of families. 

"A drug you never knew you needed"....

Was the sales pitch….

But then later one of the Sacklers states:

"I am appalled that someone would abuse this drug".

As a nurse, I see the residual effects of Sacklers pain pitch every single day. The pain scale is still taken as gospel and still used extensively and the Joint Commission which oversees hospitals, has the authority to inflict fines and reduce privileges and operations if pain is not addressed.

As a mom of a chaotic substance user I have walked in the depths of the Sacklers’ business model manifested as homelessness, incarceration, bankruptcy, endocarditis, congestive heart failure, sepsis, MRSA, coma, and progressive crimes to obtain the “pleasure”,

“For a minute people actually think they are getting their lives back. And they do. For a little while”

My son was the perfect model for this. He said when he was at the height of his pill use, he was the most productive he’s ever been. He also said everyone looked up to him and worshiped him. The minute they cracked down on pills, he was also the poster child for turning to cheaper and “more” accessible ways to manage his sickness. Then all bets were off. He would lose everything over the next 3 years. What bothered him the most, I believe, was losing the respect from family and friends. He was still essentially the same person trying to get by, now thrust into a world of illegal drugs, sketchy behavior to get said drugs and the loss of the ability to take care of himself and his responsibilities.

This is what struck me the most while watching the first 3 episodes of Painkiller. The irony of how quickly someone can go from being “ok” to society then have the wrath of “not ok” with all the stigma plus the world of the correctional system bearing down on them for essentially trying to manage an illness with drugs that are mostly the same. One just happens to be illegal.

I know that people who haven’t had a personal experience with addiction will have their opinion on it and might blow off movies like “Painkiller, Dopesick” and the one I based the info in my book on: “The Business of Drugs”.

“They should have known better”

“Everyone knows drugs are addictive”

Or my favorite:

“Play stupid games win stupid prizes” said by someone who is very smart and never does anything wrong, ever.

That’s fine.

Education and awareness is great but if you don’t have horses in the game, you don’t really care who “wins”.

As I go about trying to live a normal life with this weight always in the pit of my stomach; I notice this attitude throughout my interactions.

People are all going through their own struggles, and although addiction, homelessness, court hearings, jail, prison and related health issues are an immense burden to bear; others problems are big to them too.

As I was treating myself to getting my nails done the other day, I became fixated on the disparity of my nail lady’s “perceived” life and house and my life and house. Everything was high end, posh, in its place, comfy, cozy, and screamed success. As she talked about her pool cover being broken, having to pay for her boat to be cleaned, her dogs at boarding school, the struggle of buying skimpy school clothes for her teenager; I became more and more depressed. What I wouldn’t give to have what she had and wander around all day watering flowers and ordering fingernail polish instead of worrying about where my son is sleeping and if he’s eating and watching my phone for any number with his area code that could mean trouble and despair.

But when I got home and relayed all of my thoughts to my husband, he wisely told me: “Many people envy our life too, we have good jobs, lots of family, a safe -albeit small- condo, and a fridge full of food”. 

He forgot to mention the most important thing--someone who loves us.

The Sacklers’ story is an interesting one. They are portrayed as uncaring and unapologetic. They seem to believe that money will solve everything and fix any problems they created.

With money comes more options and opportunities but also different types of problems.

Would I trade my problems for others’? Some days. Would I want all the Sacklers billions? No, not if it’s blood money. Do I think having a few hundred thousand would solve most of my problems? Yes. But as it is, I am blessed beyond belief at what I do have. 

As my mama always said: "If you have your health you have everything".

My husband and I have our health, a safe and comfy home, food and vehicles and family.

Blessed beyond belief but yes, still praying for my prodigal son and all the issues surrounding that to be resolved and healed.

The other thing I realized is I can be mad all day long at the cause of addiction that barged its way into my family, but that’s not going to solve the problem. It’s not going to give my son an Intervention and break from his lifestyle. It’s not going to repair damaged relationships. It’s not going to miraculously change mindsets, and habits, and hurt feelings. All of those things have to be worked on constantly and intentionally by ALL involved.

All I can do is stay strong, healthy and loving. I will continue to get my nails done because it is a bright spot every minute of every day when I see my cute nails. It makes me think that one thing is right in this moment.

Spilled Granola

The sun was beating down on my rented black Nissan Ultima as I pulled into the gas station. The temperature was going to reach a balmy 96 degrees in Las Vegas today.

As I stepped out of the car to pump the gas, the heat hit my body like a wave of lava. I
hurriedly took off my button- up shirt to reveal only the tank top I had under it.

Suddenly, little specks of granola pieces were flying all over the clean vinyl seat of my rental car.

I stopped momentarily wondering what the heck!  Then I remembered…..Like a chipmunk preparing for winter, I had stuffed that little container of granola into my pocket that morning at the hotel breakfast. Except I wasn’t preparing for winter, I was hoarding food for my unhoused son.

I was in Vegas, again, to “meet him where he’s at,” give him things to reduce harm, and give him a hug, of course.

Every time I meet up with him he scans the seats and my bags for food and yummy treats and always says the same thing, ” I forgot, I haven’t eaten today”.

Years ago, I would have thought, “How do you forget to eat?” But as we head into year 5 of his active chaotic addiction-I know better. 

Daily survival to him, means: getting from point A to point B; hustling to find some money, maybe some water and whatever else he needs to stay "well" with his condition.

It’s also a battle trying to keep his truck from being towed as it is unable to be driven more than a few blocks.

Having a car while homeless seems like a great idea for winter, but in summer it becomes just an oven– especially without gas in it to cool it down.

My boy. He is my eldest son and what a man he grew into.  He became an entrepreneur and the family hero and rock. He was everyone’s go-to…for a job, a vehicle, tires, or just solving a problem. He was/is gregarious, funny, and smart. He had an opinion and a comment on everything. Riding in a car with him was always a complete adventure and still is. He sees everything. He notices trucks, trailers, semis, cranes, drills and people. He either has a story about them all or an idea of how they can make their life better. It sounds crass but all my kids and I have the same sense of humor when it comes to seeing someone on a funny bike or with a strangely shaped face or hat. But this boy is the King of sarcasm and wonderment. “I wonder what happened in his life to make him choose that {low-rider, bright yellow El Camino}” would send us into fits of laughter.

Just last time I “visited”, I hit a speed bump so hard that he said I flew over the kid on the scooter and then informed me to take him back to the Motel 6 because he’s safer with the gang bangers”. We laughed… hard. I was so grateful he still had his sense of humor but I wanted to cry at the irony and patheticness of the whole situation.

Why was this man who used to run 3 companies and 50 employees living in a Motel 6? And that’s only once every few weeks just to get a shower.

How did Motel 6 become a luxury?

Why did his 55 year old mom have to drive or fly 600 miles just to be able to see or talk to him?

Why can’t he keep a phone charged? Why doesn’t he ever have $30 for data- only using Wi-Fi when available? 

Honestly, all these questions only drive families crazy and they inflict more shame onto an already shamed, defeated mind when they are mentioned. "Trying to get them to see how far they've fallen" is cruel in my opinion.

I didn’t always feel that way. I used to actually send him split screen shots of him as a healthy 260 lb tan buff man next to his 195 lb scarred and pale frame.

As if…..

As if that would somehow heal him. Or “make him hit rock bottom and want to change”.
I didn’t get many pictures after that.
The trouble is: whether it’s fat-shaming, sexual- shaming or drug-shaming; you can’t force someone to self-reflect and/or self-correct.

You can’t bully or scare a teen out of having sex or tell someone that their form of stress/pain relief isn’t working for you and expect them to just stop.

Even if it isn’t working for you. Even if it has been the most devastating thing to ever happen to you and everyone else around you.

They know.
They know what their life has become.
They feel disappointed too. They know how far they’ve fallen–especially when they have no place to call home, no real job, and are labeled a criminal or a nuisance to society.

It’s no wonder why they become more criminally minded while constantly looking over their shoulder just to survive. And when your only current source to not be sick is illegal, the risk of overdosing or getting arrested is increased.

Even during my time there– in my nice rental car–I feel the sense of “move along, you can’t park/stop/use the bathroom here”. I feel rushed, herded, treated like a number to be dealt with rather than a person.


This trip, I finally met up with my son. Although I didn’t have granola for him, I did have 3 muffins, a cup full of sausages and and a bag of juicy fruit, salad and candy from Whole Foods.


I did my usual during the visit:

  • 1) Mention how he could make a change and have a better life.
  • 2) Update him on the fam and what everyone’s doing.
  • 3) Ask him how I can help him today.

I usually leave with tears running down my face. Leaving my boy in that city that is hell bent on destroying him, is always traumatic.
It takes me days to recover. But at least I had one more hug, one more shared laugh, one more meal together, and one more chance to hand him a handful of granola.

Next time I will keep it in my purse instead of my pocket.

The Beauty of the Cocoon

When I was in Sedona a few years ago I was sick for 8 hours straight. Couldn’t lift my head enough to walk or drive. I ended up watching the history channel all day.  I came across this fascinating documentary on Butterflies! It showed how the caterpillar attaches itself to the twig with all its legs and holds still and then drops to only the back 2 legs and hangs there while its protective coat is grown.
I thought. Wow! what discipline! The butterfly KNOWS it must do that–even though it may be perfectly happy being a caterpillar,  just inching along, finding treasures and doing life in a caterpillar world. But suddenly there just comes a time when it just KNOWS it must go find a twig!

I was so impressed with that beautiful creature emerging from the sheet that I took a picture of the TV.

I know we are not animals, but what if we were so in tune to ourselves and our destiny and what the universe is paving the way for us to have that we KNEW instinctively when to go find our twig. We just KNEW when to have the discipline and where-with-all to HOLD STILL & let something cover us up tightly– almost taking away all our freedom, knowing it was for our ultimate benefit!

To GROW into something fantastic and more beautiful than we could EVER imagine!!

What if that “something” that triggers our growth was buried in our trials? What if when we get knocked down–even daily, or yearly, or even that horrible once or twice-in-a-lifetime illness or death of a loved one that just shakes us–what if that’s our twig?

A sheath that seems to engulf us with pain and darkness, but really it’s protecting us for something bigger or making us stronger to honor that loved one.

No I’m not talking about “everything happens for a reason”. 

No one wants this shit.

Not even God himself wants this for his children. Some things happen due to free will which — some believe — was a gift given to us to come to earth. That free will is challenged constantly, by those we love and by those we barely know. First our parents try to mold and shape our strong will into doing good, for ourselves and others. Sometimes that will gets squished and splattered as we are taught to conform into staying between the lines of the educational system or the ecclesiastical system.

The battle is a constant tug of war, sometimes with barbed wire, as we figure out who we are and where we fit in.

For parents this is a challenge. We want our kids to be this and that and do all the things, but after a few years of push back, we realize they may not want to do this or that. So do we back down and say then go do what you want just don’t come crying to me after.

“You make your bed…you sleep in it…”

Or do we encourage free thinking and exploration while holding loving boundaries?

Even when this exploration causes great pain and turmoil?

The challenge of parenting has a lot to do with how we see ourselves. Are we capable of seeing ourselves as an emerging butterfly going through all the challenges to get through the cocoon? Or do we kick and scream the whole time?

This doesn’t mean we like it. Nor that we understand it. We just somehow know and realize that this is our lot in life and everyone’s lot is different.

So what will you do with your time of waiting? Will you be still? Waiting for the beauty, the snippets of joy? Will you hold on to your heart knowing the love for yourself and your struggling person is intact?

Can you stand in that gap of the time between light and dark–otherwise known as sunset and sunrise–knowing there will be a new day?

Can you offer hope and love to yourself for your transformation to learn as you go, to grow as you learn, and the love that comes out the other side?

Even if…..

Even if it’s not what you anticipated or remotely wanted?

What is the alternate?

The constant struggle for peace. Constant denying that there is a plan in place. Constantly thinking you know better than a God, or than your child’s innate sense of self. Constantly trying to change the course.

This isn’t about not helping, not trying to reduce harm. This isn’t about cutting off yourself from your own heart or your child’s heart. This is about what shows up. Seeing who you can help. Spreading kindness when possible. Expanding the life and love you have in your heart even if it’s hidden under years of pain and disappointment and loss.

I will try, along with you, to offer the best version of myself in this journey. 

I will still cry, pray, hope and learn all I can. I will take every opportunity that arises to find my higher self, and be my best self so that I'm not taken down to the depths of the tunnel of apathy and bitterness.

Because my life matters. My son’s life matters. Our own individual journeys matter. We are all playing out each other’s stories in the biggest Broadway play of life.

Sometimes there’s an audience, and sometimes we are desperately alone. Sometimes we roam free to discover more, sometimes we feel locked in our own prison. But wherever we are, we always have the ability to access our own strength and our own courage and our own volumes of love spilling out just waiting to be given freely.

Seeing The Beauty of the Dungeon

Today was one of those days when I realized, again, how one day in your life can change everything you know.  And how everything that you now complain about could seem like heaven to some, or at a different time. Just like Beauty and The Beast. She was living in her village, doing the life of villagers which she thought to be a “provincial” life. But when she was trapped in the dungeon later, her old life seemed like heaven and she yearned for it.

She made the decision to see the beauty in the place here and now and find the magic. She made it seem so wonderful that when the time came, she almost hated to leave.

How can WE make every day so wonderful that we hate for it to end? Even when we are tired, or sick, or can’t seem to get anything done. Or maybe we are sick with worry over a child or a grandchild.

As difficult as this is, it really is just a blip in our life that we can never get back.

Eckhart Tolle wrote an entire book on it which states a good place to start:

  • “Everytime you walk up and down the stairs in your house or place of work, pay close attention to every step, every movement, even your breathing. Be totally present…..
  • [or] When you wash your hands, pay attention to all the sense perceptions associated with the activity: the sound and feel of the water, the movement of your hands, the scent of the soap….

He states the way to measure success in this practice is:

The degree of peace that you feel within.
Eckhart Tolle

This weekend we watched old family movies. When my kids were little I would just sit the camera in the room and record our everyday life. As we sat now and watched our lives in the seemingly mundane moments of yesteryear, the feeling I got was that any of us would give anything to go back there for a day. To just know what we know now. We would surely make that day like heaven! We would hug tightly and look deep into the eyes of that little 9-year-old who now struggles with SUD and just smile at their innocence. We would look at our aged parents and say:

"Do you know how much I appreciate all you've done for me, for raising me and sacrificing for me?"

I would tell my teenage kids to enjoy that day because in exactly 12 years you are going to be looking at this tape of this day and say “Wow. I didnt have one bill to pay, I didnt know real sickness or real pain or sorrow. My heart hasn’t been broken into pieces, I haven’t had to watch my child suffer through surgery or through an illness or through the pain of loneliness or the world’s unkindness. And yet I still was sassy, or was onery, or miserable because THAT day didn’t go right  or someone said something wrong to me.”

THAT DAY can never be given back–just like today can never be recouped.

The whole theory of being present & mindful is such a struggle for me. I believe one reason is that I am always searching–searching for a better way. Searching for more personal development, searching for positivity and kindness, When I don’t get it I pout. Then I look some more. On and on it goes while each day disappears. Until one day we realize all our chances are fast being used up. Chances to help someone have a better day. The chance to help my patient feel better about being holed up in a 12 x 14 room for weeks on end. The chance to make a difference. 

I just want time to slow down. I want to feel every second. I want to live every second. Not to always be looking ahead. I want to live while I can. Life is just too short for weeds, and just long enough for wishes….

It’s funny, I wrote the first part of this blog a few years ago when I was a skilled rehab nurse for mostly the elderly. Today I have a little different perspective.

I don’t necessarily want to hold on to today. Today doesn’t feel great. I know I “should” because things can always get worse.

Some days I wake up with the incredible realization that my son is still alive! A gift that many don’t have. I feel deep reverence on those days until the devil gets his way and needles in little spears of fear.

The challenge of battling those thoughts is what drives me. I read. I write. I practice self-care as much as possible. I try to beautify my little condo to help make my “mind dungeon” {of addiction} tolerable. I cook healthy meals for my husband and try desperately to not talk about my son often. I try to get out of the house and go places fun and interesting. I try to support my other children- when invited.

Whatever is going on in our lives at any given time; we can hopefully make the effort to make our dungeons a palace.

Self-Care Day

Although I don’t have a giant round window, sparkling chandelier, or even a free-standing tub; I do have a small quiet condo in the suburbs of the city.

Believe it or not, I can sit quietly, without any devices, on a Monday morning and hear nothing but the faint sounds of life doing what life does.

Today was the perfect day for my version of self-care. I spent the morning in a chasm of swirling thoughts about my son’s life in addiction and the legal ramifications of that.

Although I have chosen to emotionally support him and be available when needed; I do encourage treatment to him almost daily. I offer massive amounts of harm reduction. I keep writing to various people in the hopes that someone will come through with an idea and the resources to carry them out.

As door after door closes; I feel incredible sadness at my inability to make any headway with my son.

My son has been living in a different world than me. A world that scares me to the core. 

He has been shot in the leg. He seen people die. He's been exposed to horrific things--both in person and on video. Things he choked up even trying to tell me.

So even though he still has his signature traits of humor, introspection, and vision; the chemicals are changing his ability to see a way out. His logical reasoning to not make his situation worse –is on a break. His risk meter has been progressively getting weaker as he seeks out further methods of survival in the streets. Even though his words say one thing, his self sabotage makes him do another. His intention to fix everything tomorrow leaves him tired and struggling tonight. 

Tomorrow brings darker people, places & things that welcome more deviant behavior to numb wounded souls. Fulfilling their human daily needs seems to be the only goal.

He seems to be stuck in this pattern of chaos and hustling. He told me on Christmas he doesn’t have time for anything else but scrambling to survive. When I mention that it doesn’t have to be that way, he looks at me like I’m from another planet. I had to constantly tell myself that “No, this world is NOT normal. It’s not normal to be around shady and sketchy people doing shady and sketchy things while living in your truck.” Yet he seems so at home in that world.

His mind seems to operate on an all or nothing mentality. He’s either calling an old friend and proposing a half million dollar business opportunity (which the friend said yes!), to returning to chaotic use, the next week after a horrible fight with a person who holds the cards for certain aspects of his experience and his roles to fulfill.

I’m convinced he is hurting deeply. He does have a few free options for treatment. They aren’t the best and honestly, the two times he has been to treatment seemed to make him worse. My belief that despite having a higher ego personality and high intelligence; he has deeper issues to explore than 30-day rehabs can address. He seems convinced that he doesn’t deserve success either in sobriety or business and relationships including being a dad.

Despite his tough skin, the things that he’s been told must affect him. Things such as: He’s a horrible person and his addiction has been the most horrible thing known to man and that him relapsing is a spit in the face to all who’ve tried to help him. In which they packed up his things & put them out in the garage, as if he had the plague.

So I can judge his lifestyle all I want. I can listen to others who mutter, “When will he ever learn?” As they shake their heads in disgust but make no attempt to ask, “How can we help him? What can we do?”

My circle gets smaller and smaller in finding those who understand our predicament. There seems to be no one else who can offer help. I’m left to do my best every day to not think and worry about more trauma.

Bottom line, is that I will not let my inability to understand his actions keep me from loving him the best way I can. I refuse to treat him harshly and with vitriol and disdain. I refuse to cut off communication until he can “learn his lesson”, or “grow up”.

Even though I understand family fatigue and “giving enough chances”; the reality of my sons life being cut short is a statistical fact, due to a diagnosis of heart failure.

The chances of me losing my son before I die propels me to keep holding on, keep hoping, and keep loving as best I know how.

I still feel deep sadness most days. Sadness for what my son has lost. I know it pains him so deeply that he can’t break free of self-sabotage. I know he hates failure more than anything except maybe his fear of repeated failure. I know his family members’ reactivity and vitriol towards him bothers him deeply, which is why he stays away and isolates.

As for me, I can only keep loving the best way I know how. Knowing it may be my last interaction with my funny, strong, talented, lost, son.

I can keep remembering that there has to be a God that loves him even more than I do. A God who knows his struggles, who knows his heart. And who still sends tiny little miracles every single day to my son and to me– Via a yummy shared meal for him, or a flash of a joyful memory for me– thank you Facebook memories.

Or maybe it’s just the realization that I have had an amazing life being the Mom to all my kids and gratefulness is truly the key to happiness.

And Love of course. Which I will continue to do. And carve time out for my own self care daily/ weekly.

So after work today, I decided to actually go get my hair cut for the first time in years.

That’s right– years! For various reasons, I have cut my hair at home. It was strange being back in the salon environment. The busyness, idle chit chat. Hair, makeup, Things that – in my mind – are so unimportant. But as I sat there, listening and actually talking to my hair dresser; I felt something stir. 

I felt a version of my old me. The me who tried so hard to stay young. Who tried to exercise. Who tried to get out in nature every chance she could. Who kept her hair colored and her skin tan. A me who just wanted to feel and look the best I possibly could as the years crept up threatening to steal my youth.

I suddenly wanted that person back. As the hair dresser handed me the mirror, and asked: “What do you think?”

I wanted to yell:

“I THINK I’VE MISSED THAT PERSON! I THINK I LOST HER ALONG THE WAY OF FIGHTING FOR LIFE. I THINK IN MY QUEST FOR PEACE, I LOST WHO I WAS. I THINK I NEED TO FIND HER AGAIN!”

“So, you like the haircut?”

She trepidly asked.

“Yes, yes, I like it. Thank you.”

Love is the most divine healer –Val Kilmer

Building Emotional Walls

For years I’ve built many walls. Each time I felt slighted or scared, used or hurt, I would add another brick. Brick by brick I would cement each one with emotionally resistant mortar to ensure that I wouldn’t get hurt again.

One day I woke up wondering why I felt so trapped. The walls were so tall I couldn’t see a thing! If they were to protect me then why did I feel like crap? I’m supposed to be happier by avoiding hurt. My bubble of bricks wasn’t all that bubbly if it couldn’t reach inside and place a warm compress on my still aching heart.

I wanted to be in control of my pain and I thought isolating me up like the Boy in The Plastic Bubble, would keep me in control. 

By controlling who and what I let into my world, I would surely be healed of all these frailties.

But I wasn’t healing.

I was miserable.

Without having the opportunity to approach these issues; I was stuck in my own vortex of insecurity and trepidation.

All the times I had said:

If only people would stop bothering/being mean/ attacking my character/lying to me.

Or:

If only that group/company/ race or class of people/boss/ friend would pull their heads out and do what I want them to do; then my life would be manageable and tolerable and I would thrive.

When you find yourself becoming bitter, angry or acting in defensive ways; whether it be from a traumatic event like a hurricane (which triggers a fear of dying or suffering) or from rejection (triggering feelings of loss & judgment) or from the piling on of negative “events” outside your control (triggering the fear of completely losing control of your life & freedom); the natural instinct is fight or flight.

If you fight, it creates more resistance.

If you run— or hide in walls–you are only delaying the inevitable.

Even being isolated in my brick fortress couldn’t stop my self misery from overflowing and seeping through. Even bricks get condensation and moisture on them causing rot, decay and mold.

Allowing these emotions to take that much space in your precious body keeps the cycle going. So where were my thoughts going if there weren’t any outside influences directly in my face to trigger me?

My thoughts were still in the offense. And in the offensive. I was still replaying my story of hurt or unfairness. I was justifying my pity party by remaining hidden in “safeness“.

In these moments, it’s important to find your ability to return to the place you left off!!! BEFORE these thoughts overtook your head! Return to when you felt safe & loved! Return to when you completely loved your innocent self before you built these walls around your heart. That might be your inner child. Your sweet innocent inner child.

This isn’t hiding your head in the sand. It’s preserving your energy & returning to taking care of what you can. The things that are right in front of you–not the “what ifs”.

It’s giving attention to your own fearful, cracked tender heart & telling it that it will survive this. Until then, you’re not going to be living in fear & drive wedges between those you interact with.

If someone is assaulting your character & you can’t bring yourself to thank them for making you see how much this is triggering in you–then return to love–silently in your own heart.
Before the fear came.
Before your thoughts of how awful they are to judge you. Thank them silently for making you realize how much you Need to return to loving thoughts of them & their painful journey that YOU MUST be triggering in them!
Being able to intentionally  thank anything that makes you realize you need more self-care & acceptance; (because kicking yourself or feeling guilty or fearful does not return you to a loving place of empowerment)– but being grateful can.

Turn off the TV if it’s causing stress & strain in the morning or at night. I feel this every time I watch the news before work: I’m irritable, fearful, driving angrier, not breathing deep & cleansing. In these moments of rumination and discontent– I’m not extending love to anyone or contributing to the healing of the world. 

Love. It really is the answer to overcoming Every other emotion! Even if it's love you're giving to yourself.

Tis better than holding myself captive in a cage of my own self sabotage design.

Return to love
We ALL need it– now and forever.
💝
Hope⚓

Addicted to Drama

I read somewhere that we get a dopamine burst even in times of worry and pain. I thought, “How can this be? I thought dopamine was just for pleasure?”

I found this Article in psychology today which helps explains it:

“….in the moment, anger feels good; it feels like the thing to do. It overrides all other moral and rational brakes in the brain because it originates from our primordial, original limbic system: the brain center of our most automatic emotions like fear and desire.”

And as far as the dopamine release:

“What happens is that anger can lead to similar “rushes” as thrill-seeking activities where danger triggers dopamine reward receptors in the brain, or like other forms of addiction such as gambling, extreme sports, or even drugs like cocaine and methamphetamines. Anger can become it’s own reward, but like other addictions, the final consequences are dangerous and real…….”

In life’s tragedies, sorrow, unbearable grief, and pain, it’s easy to let to
resentment and bitterness live in our hearts and breed discontentment. We let our space be filled with rumination of what has been done TO us–especially if that’s where we feel the most comfortable.

Even if we have good reason to be angry there comes a time when it’s causing more distress to hang on to it than let it go. Living with anger and ruminating on what others have done to us, drives wedges between those we love. Even those of whom the anger is not directed, will feel our discontent because we can never be truly free to be our authentic selves if we hold on tightly to anger.

It’s very difficult to break out of these patterns of thinking. Certain triggers activate our emotions and automatically seem to make us react or lash out in anger and spite. Surprisingly, we may be so used to reacting that it doesn’t even feel like we are lashing out. Some personality types will even be offended if you suggest they are lashing out or even overreacting. Whatever anyone else thinks, WE know when we are miserable and when our moods seem to be dependent on others’ actions. At some point, hopefully, we can have the desire to make a change and create emotional boundaries.

How to disengage from conflict: Learning healthy boundaries about not trying to manipulate situations, mindfulness, meditation, counseling. Also joining positive support groups, not those with toxic angry vibes which perpetuate our victimhood.

Many people believe that God alone has the power to turn weakness into windows through which his glory can shine through.

Whatever method you use to work through your emotions, as long as you feel yourself becoming less reactive, and more authentic; then we can celebrate progress. 

After all, when we are feeling content and emotionally stable, we can lean into helping others do the same, thereby contributing to the healing of the world.

Self-Care Day

Although I don’t have a giant round window, sparkling chandelier, or even a free-standing tub; I do have a small quiet condo in the suburbs of the city.

Believe it or not, I can sit quietly, without any devices, on a Monday morning and hear nothing but the faint sounds of life doing what life does.

Today was the perfect day for my version of self-care. After a busy weekend moving my youngest daughter in, I woke up not feeling well. I spent the morning in a chasm of swirling thoughts about my son’s life in addiction and the legal ramifications of that.

Although I have chosen to emotionally support him and be available when needed; I do encourage treatment to him almost daily. I offer massive amounts of harm reduction. I keep writing to various people in the hopes that someone will come through with an idea and the resources to carry them out.

As door after door closes; I feel incredible sadness at my inability to make any headway with my son.

My son has been living in a different world than me. A world that scares me to the core. 

He has been shot in the leg. He seen people die. He's been exposed to horrific things--both in person and on video. Things he choked up even trying to tell me.

So even though he still has his signature traits of humor, introspection, and vision; the chemicals are changing his ability to see a way out. His logical reasoning to not make his situation worse –is on a break. His risk meter has been progressively getting weaker as he seeks out further methods of survival in the streets. Even though his words say one thing, his self sabotage makes him do another. His intention to fix everything tomorrow leaves him tired and struggling tonight. 

Tomorrow brings darker places that welcome more deviant behavior to numb wounded souls yet it fulfills their human daily needs.

He seems to be stuck in this pattern of chaos and hustling. He told me on Christmas he doesn’t have time for anything else but scrambling to survive. When I mention that it doesn’t have to be that way, he looks at me like I’m from another planet. I had to constantly tell myself that “No, this world is NOT normal. It’s not normal to be around shady and sketchy people doing shady and sketchy things while living in your truck.” Yet he seems so at home in that world.

His mind seems to operate on an all or nothing mentality. He’s either calling an old friend and proposing a half million dollar business opportunity (which the friend said yes!), to returning to chaotic use, the next week after a horrible fight with a person who holds the cards for certain aspects of his experience and his roles to fulfill.

I’m convinced he is hurting deeply. His problem isn’t unavailable options or lack of treatment facilities. His problem is that despite having a higher ego personality and high intelligence, he must be convinced that he doesn’t deserve success either in sobriety or business and relationships.

Despite his tough skin, the things that he’s been told must affect him. Things such as: He’s a horrible person and his addiction has been the most horrible thing known to man and that him relapsing is a spit in the face to all who’ve tried to help him. In which they packed up his things & put them out in the garage, as if he had the plague.

So I can judge his lifestyle all I want. I can listen to others who mutter, “When will he ever learn?” As they shake their heads in disgust but make no attempt to ask, “How can we help him? What can we do?”

My circle gets smaller and smaller in finding those who understand our predicament. There seems to be no one else who can offer help. I’m left to do my best every day to not think and worry about more trauma.

Bottom line, is that I will not let my inability to understand his actions keep me from loving him the best way I can. I refuse to treat him harshly and with vitriol and disdain. I refuse to cut off communication until he can “learn his lesson”, or “grow up”.

Even though I understand family fatigue and “giving enough chances”; the reality of my sons life being cut short is a statistical fact, due to a diagnosis of heart failure.

The chances of me losing my son before I die propels me to keep holding on, keep hoping, and keep loving as best I know how.

Yesterday I woke up the most incredible realization that my son was alive and today I did not have to mourn him, unlike so many others. This was tremendously comforting for me and helped in my gratefulness journey.

I still feel deep sadness most days. Sadness for what my son has lost. I know it pains him so deeply that he can’t break free of self-sabotage. I know he hates failure more than anything except maybe his fear of repeated failure. I know his family members’ reactivity and vitriol towards him bothers him deeply, which is why he stays away and isolates.

As for me, I can only keep loving the best way I know how. Knowing it may be my last interaction with my funny, strong, talented, lost, son.

I can keep remembering that there has to be a God that loves him even more than I do. A God who knows his struggles, who knows his heart. And who still sends tiny little miracles every single day to my son and to me. Via a yummy meal for him, or a flash of a joyful memory for me.

(Thank you Facebook memories)

Or maybe it’s just the realization that I have had an amazing life being the Mom to all my kids and gratefulness is truly the key to happiness.

And Love of course. Which I will continue to do. And carve time out for my own self care daily/ weekly.

Love is the most divine healer –Val Kilmer

Click Your Heels Together 3 times

And say “There’s no place like home”.

Everyone wants to start the New Year fresh and free from the things that seem to cause us great pain and anguish. New years resolutions are a great time to do that with lists, small goals, and frequent rewards. It takes a lot of work and continued effort. If only we could solve all our problems with a simple click of the heels. If only we could wave a magic wand, recite a verse and yes, I’m going to say it– take a pill.

The dynamics of human behavior have been the subject of millions of studies and the birthplace of just as many theories. The affliction of addiction is no different.

There are many opinions on how to handle the behaviors of addiction. Many still believe that doling out harsh ultimatums and threats will give us the outcome we want. The theory is like this maze depicts: As the struggling person loses everything one by one, they will surely have their come-to-Jesus moment. This looks reasonable especially when we continually hear cliche phrases of “they will have to lose everything to wake up”.

Losing each of these things is an entire trauma in itself, yet we are sometimes misled into thinking that by forcing more damage onto someones unraveling life, we will bring them to their knees faster.

This theory of cause and effect may work on a mouse or other predictable lifeforms, but not so well on souls that have so many other variables such as free will.

There’s a difference between experiencing natural consequences and inflicting more cruelty and pain onto a struggling person. 

We forget that we are not in control of someones destiny just as they are not in control of ours. In reality, addiction's path looks more like this maze.

Pain can be a great motivator, just as desperation can. But these things in and of themselves, without the mindset to change; will just result in more pain and desperation. We can look at any homeless encampment and ask if their pain and desperation just isn’t enough yet? How messed up is that thinking?

We forget how easily we can lose ourselves in wanting to change destiny. We want so much to be in control of how we feel. We think that the most probable way of making that happen is to actively change others instead of working on ourselves.

Boundaries are one way to work on ourselves and allow for the natural consequences to occur without vitriol and anger, directed at the struggling soul. But mostly, boundaries are for our peace, without worrying about the outcome.

When we become clear in our role, our peace can have the space to rise up and push aside the worry; because we know we are doing all we can, with love and dignity for ourselves and our person.

As I reflect back on this year, I am overcome with the blessings I have. It’s been a roller coaster ride, balancing my role in my adult family as it relates to the struggles of my son. I have been dealt pretty straightforward ‘advice’ that if only I would do….. XYZ, then it would make … XYZ happen AND the icing on the cake, is that THEN I would be worthy of having the respect (?) or at least the privilege of a relationship with certain people. However, if there’s one thing I’ve finally learned in my 54 years, is that it’s impossible to please everyone.

Luckily we all get to choose our battles. We all have the freedom to do what’s in our heart and what we are capable of providing at any given time. The sooner we learn our capabilities and limits of our time and energy, the more at peace we will be. Running around trying to please everyone, is mentally and physically exhausting.

The casualties of addiction are spread far and wide by systems and consequences out of our control. The very least we can do is not be a casualty ourselves, and not spread more damage and pain.

I saw a meme lately that said “it doesn’t matter what your intentions were, it matters what actually happened.” This made me sad, because there are so many variables out of our control, how can we take responsibility for it all?

My intent was never to cause more division. My intent was for everyone to find their peace, to have more joy. To have oodles of love and laughter. If I thought my actions and presence would cause such discontent and anger; I would rather not even be here. But once again, I am not in charge. That brings me great relief that I don’t have to try to fix everything anymore. I don’t even have to do damage control, because my power is not that great. My glory is to do what I think is best and treat people as best as I can. E

When my heart starts aching in pain at the thought of certain family members being alone or unhoused or cold and hungry or others missing their daddy that they used to love, or those who feel abandoned, even by me; I have to turn it over to the One who has the power. I don’t have the capability to know everyone needs and their destiny. I don’t have the power to fix everything and everyone. I only have the power to do the best I can with me.

And this is my goal for 2023.

To find peace in the journey

Maybe that’s what it has always been and I just went about it wrong, searching every crevice for the cure. But now, equipped with all the wisdom from my travels, and the knowledge of my true role; I can face 2023 with hope and peace. Peace that I don’t have to have all the answers. And the One who has the answers, requires my complete cooperation in faith.

May you find your peace in 2023🕊️

Deep Learning versus Disease?

I despise the argument of addiction being a disease or a choice. For the simple fact that I’m a nurse. If a child has a sliver in their finger, it really doesn’t matter how it happened; we just have to get it out. Even while the child is fighting us trying to get it out.

With addiction, I just don’t see the relevance to what it matters after the fact. If it’s a choice then are we really going to use that as a punishment?

Someone is writhing in pain from excruciating nausea and chills and shaking uncontrollably and we are going to tell them you made this choice? Really?

Or the unconscious patient, as we stand there holding the narcan saying, “I don’t know dude, I don’t know if this was accidental or your choice so I’ll just stand here and play God for a minute until I decide if you’re worth saving”.

Remember the tainted Tylenol episode from year’s ago? Someone put stuff in bottles of Tylenol then put them back on the shelf. Customers took them for pain or discomfort and a few died.

Well -I make the argument that Addicts are in pain and discomfort and they take something to make themselves feel better too. And some of what they take is deadly. Just because we don’t agree with what they took doesn’t make their life less valuable.

I’m all about finding better ways to get them to not want to take the “tainted” Tylenol.

So it was interesting to read this article from the National Drug and Alcohol Centre in Sydney; stating that addiction may be more the result of Deep Learning. Rather than a disease. …or basically Habits as I wrote earlier.

The article states that:

“Addiction still is ‘probably’ triggered by stress or alienation. It can duly be unlearned by forging stronger synaptic pathways via better habits”.

This gives me alot more hope for recovery for my son, than being chained to 12 step meetings the rest of their life and forever facing “triggers” that will surely cause relapse.

I feel that way because that seems to be my son’s attitude too, and a main reason why he doesn’t seek recovery. He just doesn’t believe in the current advertised recovery model. He sees the statistics and sees the relapses and he feels like the stigma perpetuates that it’s a lifelong battle and only makes addicts feel hopeless that they can’t achieve that.

Some of this attitude is definitely his hijacked brain talking, trying its damndest to extend the addiction as long as it can, to keep my son it’s slave in misery.

My son also doesn’t trust the medical prefessionals who he feels perpetuated his early addiction. ( Again, this IS his hijacked brain talking- BUT The proof has also come out that this is true. )

The article agrees:

“The implication for the $35 billion-dollar treatment industry in the US is that tackling addiction as a medical issue should be only a small element of a more holistic approach. The problem is, there’s a lot of vested interest – and financial investment – in perpetuating the disease model”.

Professor Allison Ritter expresses fatigue with the brain disease model.

“It has not produced any new technologies for treatment nor necessarily decreased stigma or improved the lot of people who experience dependence problems”.

Matthews Hope Foundation is one model that’s trying to change the landscape of recovery with remapping the brain to imbed different pathways which result in better habits. It’s called Iasis technology.

On their website they have Nicole Labors’ Neuroscience of Addiction video. She is one of my favorite advocates for explaining addiction and this video hits it all.

Regardless, the cause isn’t nearly as important as the solution. As this Mother who has lost a child stated: What does it matter? The pain of loss is heartbreaking.

As I sit here in the early morning hours finishing this article, awaiting my nurse shift to begin; I’m overwhelmed with a sadness that I even have to defend my son’s recovery. So much energy spent on some sort of moral aspect of addiction, when people are suffering and dying. It’s heartbreaking. My entire family has a big hole in it from this journey, just as we would if my son had a debilitating, progressively deadly disease such as Lou Gehrig’s. Some diseases do affect the mind eventually yet that doesn’t lessen our compassion for them.

Addiction is a complex insidious, torturing disease of the brain and all I’m asking for is some compassion that will move people toward more action- less judgement.