Tag: addiction

The Journey Of A Thousand Miles

As a Mom, going through this tumultuous journey of loving someone with substance use disorder; I often find myself in a quandary of confusion.


It’s as if I’m in some suspended cloud of anger and sadness, relieved when a ray of hope trickles through the misty light only to be followed by dark thunderstorms of disappointment again.

The steps seemed pretty straight forward at first. After the initial gut-wrenching shock of discovering the drug use of my son; the comfort (and naivety) that he’s an adult and can handle it, left me with a slightly aloof neutrality that it wasn’t my deal.

I mean how serious could a few extra pills be? He worked hard! He was always having back pain. He needed relief, in order to work.

Wow! Was I in for a surprise


When the facts of how serious it was becoming- despite continued denial on his part- I found the strange foreboding “routineness” of being the Mom of a struggling substance user, set in.

And THAT was scary!

I couldn’t ignore the signs of impending doom, swirling around like a storm just waiting to hit.

As the perpetual shoes kept dropping: a job contract lost, another business failure, then the marriage crumbles; I watched in sometimes shell-shocked horror at the devastation such a thing could cause.

The rehab failures, mixed with moments of clarity and hope, leave me exhausted.

“Walk away and you’ll feel better”.

“Go to a meeting, do self-care, live your life “.

Right.

It doesn’t seem to matter what mode of recovery my personal journey is at; I seem to be suspended in this cloud of perpetual uncertainty. It takes me back to elementary school when we played tug-of-war.

Will I be the cheering group with scuffed hands but happy smiles?
Or dragging myself out of the mud in the middle trying to wash the heartache away?

Will I be professing the “cure” as my son happily recovers?
Or will I be in the mourning Mothers club of pain & heartache?

Which team was I on anyway?
Am I with the tough love crowd? Especially on those days when I’m being pressured for money from my son?

Or am I in the loving well- connection- above- all- group?
In the middle, are the harm reduction lobbyists who are adamant about users’ rights & safety.


I’m running back and forth, I want to be on the winning team!
And by winning, I mean I want my child to survive!

Above all, isn’t that goal?

My heart sinks every time I read ‘that post”. A mom who got “the call”.

I want to scream! No! I don’t want to be in this club! I want to show the gut-wrenching pain to all those people on Narcan posts who despise giving addicts more than one chance or ANY chance. I want to advocate for more help, for understanding. I want to break the stigma. I want to gracefully educate and come out feeling proud that we are making progress. One life might be saved. 

I want to be that ONE. The one who finally found "the key" & pulled everyone together. I want results or at least palpable progress.

Just when I think I’ve gained some sort of empathy for my son’s and all substance users’ struggles, I’m hit with the accusations. Sometimes a stranger on Instagram, sometimes family and friends. That I’m the reason he still uses. That every time I use “defensive language” regarding him then I’m enabling. Every time I arrange rehab instead of jail, I’m enabling. (Which happened twice in 4 years).

It’s inferred that I’m wasting my time because he will never change & that I should spend my energy elsewhere. More than once I was cut off from family for how I handled the addiction.

This hits hard.

Rejected-not due to effort but to the failure of my efforts?

As if addiction wasn’t painful or complicated enough, it gets to perpetuate it’s lies and havoc not only onto the addict but onto loved ones and how they “should” react or fulfill their roles.

I felt like my role was to give him one support person like everyone needs. I needed to be able to give him hope in the midst of all the darkness.

As my friend Johanna Richards states so eloquently:

“I enable my love and truth. I enable my love. I enable a safe place for him to have a better chance of feeling loved and being treated like a human being with worth and dignity.”

This is my goal.

Everyone gets to choose their response and I choose to love without regrets.

Even “tough love” when done with anger and spite stalls any progress. I read it all the time in the Mom’s groups. Unhealed pain manifests as bitterness and sometimes when they share screenshots of texts with their person, I can’t tell who the addict is!

Addiction loves to do that. Get its slimy hands between families, friends, bosses, even organizations. Divide and conquer is how it survives.

The underlying theme in all these interactions is:

If only he would quit using.

But I have come to realize that quitting is actually a tiny step in achieving actual recovery.

It’s a necessary step, but only part of the process.

Treatment is the ultimate goal , We have an idea that if we can just get them there-then the magic will happen.

All is well right?

Recovery is not linear and usually takes several tries. I would soon learn that it takes personal responsibility from everyone past that point also.

The day after his 2nd rehab stay, he moved into an old clapboard & brick sober-living house in the worst area of downtown.

We were standing in line at the grocery store. He was so thrilled at all the new cereal flavors that had come out in the year or two of him being basically homeless or in jail.

He quietly said, with that far away, introspective look he gets in his eyes, “I wish ‘certain people’ would fight for me. They act like I don’t deserve to have a job or even talk to my loved ones.”

My mother- heart sank.

As I watched this 36-year-old man trying to make sense of this un-make-sensible disease; I was sad.  How could I explain to this newly detoxed brain, with raw emotion scourging back to life into places that he wasn't ready to handle - that no one trusted him? That people hate putting their reputation on the line when statistically, responsible behavior in recovery, is a non-linear maze of disappointment.

In his mind, he had done so much for others, for many years and now felt abandoned, in a sense.

I felt for him. To have so much hope and the momentum of getting back to center but then constantly be told you might fail, like a certain recovery model preaches; must be daunting.

Rehab is a huge deal to him. He’s NOT a revolving rehab-ber, so this was a giant accomplishment to his independent, resourceful lifestyle.

So now he had done the thing…

Get off the drugs, ✔go to jail,✔ go to rehab. ✔

“You’re still not good enough” basically, as one text inferred

I sigh. This was his journey.

I can’t hold his pain or drive his recovery.

I can’t dwell in the negative, I just can’t. We’ve come so far.

I have to take care of me.

I need relief. I need feedback.

I go back to the support groups for comfort. When I hear the echoes of those same attitudes from hurt wives and mothers who can’t contain their pain and disdain for what they’ve been through; I quickly exit out of that group.

I need a more moderate group who understands the Mom side with compassion and hope.

Now, All is well until someone mentions:
“All drug dealers should get life without parole or death”.

I freeze. I wonder…..

If my son is only worthy of help when he’s ‘clean’ or not crossing a certain line in the jagged destructive course of addiction; then the other 50% of the time, it’s a toss-up as to his worth?

Is he surviving the best he can, day by day- or asking family for money?
It seems, either way, he’s the villain.

According to some, if I’m not doing ANY thing for him then he has a chance -(to hit rock bottom) – even though – unrecovered, he has zero chance of keeping a regular job or getting money legally.

What happens in that gap?

If he can’t support himself, he certainly can’t support his kids. But that must be my fault too. I must have given him too many hamburgers when he was starving.

Ughh. The uncertainty and mixed messages that Mommas feel!

My goal was ALWAYS to get him back to his kids. In whatever way he could get healed and treated in order for that to happen. I never ever justified or supported him staying in his lifestyle. To do that I had to maintain a connection.

If I even so much as hint that connection works better than shame and punishment, then I’m supporting his lifestyle, like his lawyer told me.

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know how to help my son anymore, but I certainly can’t make everyone else happy either.

At times I want to scream.

What is a life worth?

Every single life in this convoluted mess of evil entanglement is of value. Each person is caught in their own version of the hell that it causes.

OTHER people in PAIN are not the enemy!

I want to have that blasted on every Billboard right next to:

NARCAN to overdoses is like AED paddles to a heart attack!"

It’s not a “get out of jail free card!”.

What I do know is that my son never ever wanted it to be like this. The man who used to send his little girl flowers every time he worked out of town is now considered a dead-beat dad and it tears my heart out. Years of substance use and conflict has isolated him further. In the short window when he is detoxed and willing, he can’t seem to conform fast enough to recovery expectations with a complete rebuilding of his life.

He has nothing-unhoused, unemployed and yet expected to manage and fix ALL his relationships AND fulfil the court obligations.

When I hear of some other thing he needs to do in his recovery, I sigh. I have to step back and accept the limits of my role. I also have to review my own expectations of his recovery.

If the determining factor for a relationship of an unhealed, skewed-thinking brain versus a healthy brain is for the unhealed brain to lead the way to healthy interactions with everyone, there’s going to be problems.

There’s a dynamic at work in ALL relationships that was there before the drugs, and now those issues need more attention than even before.

But the pressure seems to be placed on them, to fulfil all our hopes and dreams for their lives as it relates to ours.

That’s a lot for one person.

The progressive nature of unhealed addiction mixed with the correctional system almost always leads to more crime.

Relapse: A draw towards people and places who fill that empty hole that substances, or any addictive behavior fill.

For me, the justification for spending more money on a much-needed intervention at this point, is a hard sell. He’s facing charges that could be years in prison. Prison is expensive too, but so are funerals.

I think he feels like he’s stuck in a system that never lets them breathe freely without looking over their shoulder.

I see what that system has done to him. He’s hardened. Day by day, little by little which that saddens my aching Mama heart.

Pain & trauma damage a soul. It causes cognitive dissonance to maintain a core belief such as “I can’t function without drugs”.

Sometimes, I understand why people stay in deep dark places. Although to us, it looks and feels scary, to them, it's safety. It's home. It's acceptance.

No, I’m not justifying drug use. I’m justifying human beings in severe turmoil and trauma. If they didn’t have trauma before the addiction, they certainly do after it.

So, this journey of a thousand miles is truly just one step at a time.

There are days I have to literally force myself to breathe and count each step to get through the day. Some days each step is filled with angst, trepidation, & fear. But other days, I project hope into every deliberate movement and breath.

I envision the day when my hopes and dreams mesh perfectly with my sons.

When all things good and right come together in some kind of radical entanglement with the universe and God’s plan for him. To see little kids happy smiles beaming joy into faces of love is my ultimate wish. To have the love and understanding of family with everyone’s pain in the journey acknowledged, seen & heard with hope, moving forward in love.

Not My Child

Overdose Awareness Day

For all those who see all the purple banners today representing overdose awareness day and you scroll on by thinking:

“I’m glad that doesn’t affect me, I’m glad I taught my kids better” or “Someone should have got them help”.

I applaud you. I do.

I am sooo glad that you have never had to watch your beautiful child turn into someone you didn’t know,
I’m sooo glad you’ve never had to get a call from the inmate phone system asking if you’ll accept the charges as you swallow the lump in your throat.

I’m soooo glad you’ve never had the experience of watching your 28-year-old, Once 220 lb- now 160 lb son, thrash around in the back seat, sweating, then freezing, begging his own mother to please take him to get drugs to stop this sickness, as you’re trying to take him to detox.

I’m sooo glad you’ve never had to see a dad in a restaurant with his kids & have your heart ache so deeply that your son isn’t with his kids.

I’m so glad you don’t have to sit down at a delicious meal & feel a twinge of guilt knowing your child hasn’t eaten for days & wondering where he is at.

I’m so glad you’ve never had to see your precious grandkids celebrate a birthday & not knowing the words to tell them that their dad has a chronic, progressive, fatal illness that teaches him lies & makes him do crazy things but he’s NOT crazy & this IS NOT happening because they are unworthy of love or did something wrong.

I’m glad that you would never tell a dying lung cancer patient that they shouldn’t have started smoking. I’m glad you would never tell a diabetic patient that they only get ONE chance to get their blood sugars under control, and then they’re on their own.

Or they should just get over this pesky illness that’s inconveniencing everyone.

I truly am.

Because I wouldn’t wish this nightmare on anyone. I would never want anyone else to lay awake at night, unable to stop the tears, wondering what they could have done differently.

I wouldn’t want anyone else to wonder if today is the day that THEY get the call.

I’m very glad that you taught your kids to make better choices, & that you’ve never broken the speed limit or took a drink or had something so traumatic in your life that you just needed to get through the pain for a minute- And if you did, luckily you were able to stop or walk away without any devastating effects.

Great genes, or coping skills! I wonder if you could help teach those to others? Obedience to life and all the rules, like you have done your whole life, must feel great. I’m sure you love your wonderful life.

What say you? Oh, your life isn’t perfect? I must have missed that part when you were shaking your head in disgust, or when you were rapidly typing with your two thumbs on the Narcan post that your tax dollars shouldn’t have to pay for others’ dumb choices.

In that case, we should start looking at ALL the programs funded by taxpayer money AND also the local hospital programs for heart disease and diabetes, HIV, many of which are the result of personal choices and they DO affect others in their own way.

I’m sure you’re normally a compassionate person. I used to be you. I was compassionate AND caring! I donated to the local children hospital fund. I ran in the race-for-cancer cure fun run. I donated coats for the homeless drive every winter when my kids were little. I left cans on my front door for the boy scout food drive.

But when driving by the guy on the corner, avoiding eye contact with him; I just KNEW that he was only supporting his habit and I had all I could do to not say out loud, “Just GET A JOB!

I understand, I do.

Never, ever, did it cross my mind that I would be walking into a police station to pick up leftover evidence that they had from a drug bust. Never, ever did I think I would be watching a nurse drain a cyst off my sons arm and watching him scream in pain. Never, ever did I worry every single day that my sons life would end, except maybe when he was a baby and had a high fever and was vomiting all night.

See, I’m not really that much different than you. The difference is, I’ve had the humbleness bug forced upon me for a few years now. I don’t hold it against you that you have missed that bug.

We need to create practical affordable solutions for all- while eliminating the waste & fraud in treatment.

Shame and embarrassment are keeping people from seeking treatment.

Even if that means opening our mind up to alternative treatments such as Harm reduction.

The death rate is frightening and it IS AN EPIDEMIC as it affects the core of the family structure, jobs, crime, the jail system, and little kids who grow up with the stigma of a parent in jail or who has died from overdose or poisoning.

Addiction affects every aspect of society whether directly or indirectly. If you don’t have anything to offer to help stop this nightmare, then please please offer your compassion and time. Even if you don’t understand how it gets to this point, you can still give
HOPE to a suffering addict or a kind word to the family of a person with a substance use disorder.

Or what about not arguing about insulin needing to be free. Maintenance meds are not usually free to anyone, but AED paddles and Narcan to revive-not treat, are free to EMTS.

Other people in pain are NOT the enemy.

See, I don't want one more parent to have to bury a child due to drugs or alcohol, but the only way that's going to happen is if we ALL take on a little part of this ongoing and progressive epidemic to get rid of judgements and stigmas so we can forge practical, affordable solutions for all. 
This IS everyone's problem...

It’s ok to NOT understand the complexities of this disease and to not have a solution!

You can still give that person holding a sign on the corner, a $5 McDonald’s card to let him know that yes, someone does give a damn today- no matter what their motives.

Without hope, everyone suffers.
🤗🍀🙏💔💕💜☂️

False Accusations

When I was about 10 or 11 years old, I had a neighbor lady who sold Avon & also worked at the post office. I used to babysit her kids once in a while.

One day on my usual route after school, I went to the post office to pick up the mail from Box 169. As soon as I pulled the heavy door open, I could feel a chill in the air. I opened my mailbox & found the familiar yellow card that meant there was a bigger package behind the counter. As I put the yellow card on the counter the lady said to me, “Samantha! I need to talk to you”. I could feel the icy-ness dripping from her words in an accusatory tone.
As I swallowed the scared lump rising into my throat; I said, timidly, “Okayyy”.

She then proceeded to tell me that she had a large bag of Avon makeup in her living room closet that was now gone and there had only been 3 people in her house that week and I was one of them.

I felt the blood drain from my body and my knees grew weak. I felt a dark tight tunnel closing in around me. I stood there completely aghast & speechless.

What I now know, is that I was experiencing the flight or fight syndrome, as I talked about in my previous post The Addicts Plea.

So here I am, an 11-year-old girl, alone with a significant adult in the community who had a certain power (to gossip) trying to defend myself with zero communication skills. And even less conflict resolution skills (I still lack).

So what did I do? I chose the only thing I knew – escape!

I ran! I ran the two blocks home in utter terror.

I got home, ran up to my room and fell into my bed in tears. I was caught completely off guard & thoroughly embarrassed that I was thought of as a thief and of course the whole town would know.

In her eyes of course, my fleeing meant guilt. I think I kind of remember a phone call after that but I don’t remember anyone ever talking to me about it. If there ever was a phone call, I’m sure my mother told her right where she could go & how to get there.

All I know Is that, of course, I never babysat again and I avoided the post office when she was in there.

This event was so traumatic to me that I found myself questioning if maybe I had taken it! Surely an adult as powerful as her wouldn’t accuse me if she didn’t have good reason. My un-experienced brain just couldn’t process that without some guidance, which I didn’t get.
But what my brain DID process was:

  • People can & will turn on you- no matter what (trust issues)
  • I must be over vigilant in proving that I’m doing nothing wrong (paranoia/ over compensate)
  • When someone does turn on you, there’s no going back. Sorry isn’t good enough because you will never be believed (avoidance/shame / unforgivable)
  • Not to trust myself

Call this unresolved issues, and baggage -40 year old white Avon baggage! It wouldn’t be the last time I flee-ed an uncomfortable situation. As a result, I have tread lightly with people and relationships. Of course every negative experience adds to this internal map we all have and the stories we tell ourselves about that map.

With me, the overwhelming fear of not knowing what I’ve done wrong mixed with the confusion of wondering if maybe I am a bad person and I just don’t realize it! Otherwise, why would this nice (or powerful or beautiful- insert any word you want) person be accusing ME of it?

The lasting residual of events such as this, with most relationships; is to gain control BEFORE they turn on me- lash out- even subconsciously- before they have a chance to. Going cold is another defense mechanism.

People wouldn’t really call my experience a trauma in the context of traumas, but it is to me.

So if I meet a woman in a position of power; and I am standoffish, or I feel unequal to her- so why even try- this may be a reason. And I absolutely despise getting in trouble. Even with strangers. Because I know my intent was never to do what they are accusing me of.

We just don’t know why people choose the things they do.

We don’t know why people act insecure or boastful or scared. I’m starting to see that what we see as poor choices or weird is maybe what kept them alive in the moment! Maybe it was self preservation!

In the case of choosing substances, of course, they never, ever anticipated the consequences to be so bad. But the choice at the time was what helped them through whatever they were dealing with.

My fav Instagram recovery & homeless advocate explains it wonderfully.

Insta

If you’ve known me for a while now, you’ll have heard me talk about how my drug use played a huge part in saving me from dying by suicide as a teen and a young woman. In a perfect world I would’ve had different tools, different support systems, and hell… I would’ve had a different life entirely. But we don’t live in a perfect world and so all responses, even imperfect ones are valid.⁣
⁣
Sometimes self destruction and self preservation can look almost identical from the outside. Chaotic drug use can also serve as the only inner calm that a person who’s consumed with trauma or existing in traumatic circumstances may be able to access at the time.⁣
⁣
Don’t assume that you know what internal battles a person is fighting.⁣
Sometimes what you see as “the problem” is actually “the solution” for that moment. Sometimes what you view as disordered is actually the very behavior that is helping them maintain order as they navigate pain that you know nothing about.⁣
⁣

I have come to believe that is why my son stays stuck. Avoidance is his trauma response. The trauma of losing his dream business, his family, his livelihood- everything that humans hold dear-has created an avoidance response. In order to protect himself, he has cut himself off from caring.

Once in a while it will peak out, like a child grounded to his room for throwing a fit; to see if its safe to come out. Is everyone still mad at me? If it doesn’t feel safe, back in he goes, like a turtle hiding under his shell. My sons shell is drugs. He’s isolated himself to that world and the people who do love him are stuck in their own trauma & pain of the situation.

This is why family recovery is so important. To place all the work on the person with the damaged brain & zero resources or coping skills seems ridiculous. But that’s what most families do. “Don’t contact me until your sober”, is the mantra.

My son is very ill. Yes, recovery has to be his choice, no one can make it for him. But the environment to recover in, can’t be overlooked either. Jail really isn’t ideal, & on the street in the chaos of trying to fill basic needs doesn’t seem to work either. I pray for all suffering that we can find our own safe place in which to heal.

Headed to Branson-in Spirit

I should be on a plane right now. Headed to Branson with my family on vacation. Instead I am matching the raindrops on my window with my own tears as they fall. I am driving in the middle of the bustling city wondering how I got here.

Not here physically. I know exactly where I am.
And it’s not pretty.

It's not the vacation I'm mourning.
It's the feeling that going on vacation brings. The temporary reprieve from life. The anticipation of new adventures. The guilt of spending money is washed away with the knowledge of bonds being strengthened and memories being made.

Instead of all those feelings, I’m facing the stark reality of my life in real time.
I’m facing a divorce after 5 years together. I’m facing how to manage $2100+ more in monthly bills that I’m now responsible for.

I’m facing how to maneuver what was an already stressed life to an even more stressful life.

There will be no more trips to see and save my son.
No more weekend adventures camping or 4 wheeling with my husband. No more phone calls when I’m broke down in traffic and need rescuing.

I can already hear the whispered voices: “She did it to herself. She should have known…….she should have done this or that…..”
Some of the same things these same people have said about my addicted son and his life.

Is it true? Pretty much.
Is it helpful? 💯 NO🚫🙅‍♀️

Whether it’s my fault or not,
I’m still faced with the same issues plus a hundred more now. I’m faced daily with the sickening and stark reality that in just 2 weeks my son is facing prison. He will either comply or he will make things extremely more difficult for himself.

I still battle the everyday realization that he is stuck in some kind of time warp right now where he lives in survival mode instead of what he could be doing to prepare for court.

It’s mind-boggling and extremely hard to understand.

My stomach cringes in agony that he lives in such struggle and hardship. A groundhog day of broken down cars, dead batteries, moving and hiding them so they don’t get towed. Finding food, money and whatever else it takes to survive on the street. Cars are a great relief from the wind and snow but in 100+ degree heat they are just ovens. Especially with no gas.

But none of that should be my concern.

I’m supposed to live my life and forget about his problems. I tried. Obviously failed.

Now I’m losing ground myself.
Addiction can be blamed for a lot of things, but mostly it takes the energy and souls of those trying to fight it.
I found out that the scattered remnants of addiction’s consequences ( debt, relapses, criminal record, fines, fees, housing problems, abandonment of responsibilities ) all bring out the worst in others. Especially if they take a tough love approach and / or remain bitter and resentful.
Luckily my husband was my number 1 supporter in trying to help my son. But it still takes a toll.
Other issues are more bound to come up too.

Would this have happened without the addiction to bring it out?

Would other marriages survive if addiction didn’t come into it? Who knows? Maybe.

Life is one complete unknown.
We just have to do the best we can with what tools we have at the time.

I still have other healthy, happy kids. I have beautiful grandkids. I have a home- Thank GOD🙏‼️🙏 I have a job.
Today I was able to talk to my boy and for that I am grateful. He could tell I was sad and I felt his concern. He feels some responsibility and it adds to his shame of loss and pain.
Unfortunately, the tools seem so out of reach for him.
I have to rely on myself. I have to find a way to get stronger. I have no one to fall back on. No parents or siblings. I have to formulate a plan of action.

But first, I’m going to lean my head against this cold, rainy window and let the tears flow.
Because I know the sun will shine again.

Freedom in America

I don’t care what party you’re for or what president you hate or don’t hate; or if you think addiction is a choice or a disease.

What I care about is the innocent victims in THIS COUNTRY who have their lives shattered over a widening epidemic that continues to spread throughout our society. We still have the Judge Judys turning their heads saying “Not my family- We’re too talented, rich, smart, etc. This doesn’t affect me. I taught them better”


Then we continue to have Big Pharma promoting new drugs to fight the old ones, ATF & drug cartels “likely” bribing each other. Police forces possibly funding their own drug problem for “job security.”
Not to mention the many money and drug launderers who seemingly run businesses and are the pillars of their communities but are benefiting from this epidemic.

If you don’t believe this is happening you will soon. Recovery.org states that 1 in 3 Americans have been harmed by others’ addictions. Recent exposure has shown a light into the darkness of trafficking and addiction.


Meanwhile, a thousand tears are being cried, people living in broken down trucks or in trap houses because they’re too ashamed to get help. Kids on father’s day wondering why they aren’t important enough to win over a demon enslaved brain who’s been hijacked to think it only needs that evil drug to survive. (Which it does to a point).


I care about people wanting help and being told that the treatment is 15- 30 k a month with the recommended time being 3-6 months. Only movie stars can afford that. The others have to scrimmage around getting any morsel of help for their shattered lives that they can all while being pressured and legally bullied to pay fines etc immediately.


No money for lawyers, to fight for basic human needs, for the layman to understand his rights.
No money to give to a little child to tell them it’s not their fault but it IS in their genes and also “Hey by the way, you are going to need years of self-awareness to make sure the illness doesn’t repeat.”

Meanwhile, we all suffer as a society. We wonder why people steal, why the mentally ill are hanging around our neighborhoods, why families are dysfunctional and hurting in deep deep pain, often silent pain.

There seems to be only room in this world for the wealthy, the devious, or endless useless political arguments that we usually have no say in. 

I deeply respect freedom. I respect those who fought for our rights and those who lost their lives for their country. I even respect that my son and others did have the freedom to choose a stress and pain relief those first times of using. I have come to understand that their choice was quickly taken away once they became addicted and caught in the snares of all that addiction to entails.


I hope we can try to remember the ones who didn’t traditionally celebrate the 4th of July.

Likely because they didn’t have the typical freedom most of us do. Being enslaved in a disorder that offers no winners is not freedom. Being stuck in this same loop of feeding the monkey on your back like any other day of the year yet having just enough mental illness not to believe they have other options.

I hope today we can decide to not argue and spread hate and vitriol in the genre of the political climate. I hope we can turn anger into enlightenment and compassion. This can’t be done by attacking and creating more strife.

I hope today we can remember the one who didn’t get a red, white and blue snowcone or have a roasted hot dog. They didn’t watch the fireworks with a cozy blanket around them surrounded by their family.

Yes, it may be “their own fault” but how cruel is that? How does that help solve a huge problem? Telling them they need to figure it out didn’t stop the 8-14 thousand homeless who live on the streets with my son.

Today on this after-holiday, let’s help not hurt. Call someone affected by addiction and tell them you are thinking of them. Call someone struggling and ask them if you can buy them lunch.

Have a blessed day

Pain

My teeth cringe when I even read the word. Tooth pain or earache pain are my worst sources of pain. Physical anyway. Physical pain has an advantage over emotional pain because with physical pain there appears to be an end to the discomfort. Of course the times I’ve been writhing in sweat and curled up in a ball; I never thought there would be an end. In fact very soon after I met my current husband I had an infected tooth which was so bad he had to take me in the night to an emergency dentist. It sort of cemented my endearment of his kindness.

Of course if we had our choice in life we would choose door number 2: no pain. But as the saying goes: no pain no gain.

Some might say that pain represents something that needs healing. Otherwise we would be a robot right? After years of wondering why does someone choose drugs despite so many negative consequences; I finally came to the realization that substance use and alcohol are coping skills for stress and pain.

I was impressed to read this blog by Paul Noires:


𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥:
Paul Noiles


I’ve learned on my healing journey that emotions don’t disappear when we ignore them—they get stored in the body.




I spent years running from how I felt. Pushing it down. Numbing out. Pretending I was fine. But the truth is that pain doesn’t go away — it just goes deeper. It gets trapped in the nervous system, in the body, in our energy. And over time, it shows up as stress, illness, disconnection, and reactive outbursts we can’t explain. And addiction is one way to deal with this pain. But I also had many other ways, like emotional eating, lying to others about how I was doing, and many other ways that I thought were clever.




Every time I got triggered, it wasn’t because something was wrong with me — it was my body trying to say: There’s something here that needs to be felt. Something that needs to be released.




I used to believe that feeling my pain would destroy me. But I’ve discovered this: the real damage came from not feeling it.




Something shifts when we allow ourselves to feel—even when it’s hard or even when it hurts. We stop carrying the past in our muscles, we stop reacting to old wounds, and we create space for peace, clarity, and real power.




So here’s the choice I try to make every day: to feel it instead of fleeing it, to face it instead of fake it. Because I know now what we feel, we can heal.




And that’s where our freedom lives.

– Paul Noiles

Paul’s blog

I think this is so telling of the mindset of those struggling. This is why I always preach about shaming.

Shaming and addict does nothing but elicit defensiveness and distance

This is a Post I wrote a few years ago about how words matter. Of course it takes us awhile to get past our own pain and disappointment to be able to not react to all the behaviors that come with addiction. It takes a lot of intention and practice to have meaningful non- harmful conversations with people who push all our buttons. If we can develop a heart of compassion it makes that process easier.

As always, I appreciate any support for my new and first book!

1000 Last Goodbyes

Motherhood Lessons

Motherhood is about raising and celebrating the child you have, not the child you thought you’d have. It’s about understanding he is exactly she person he’s supposed to be. And if you’re lucky he might be the teacher who turns you into the person you’re supposed to-be.” – The Water Giver

Motherhood has its ups and downs for sure. Those of us who wonder if we did the right things in equipping our children with the strength, courage and character to “make it” in the world, should feel comfortable that we did what we could with what we had.

Age, genes, and life experience matter. A 20 year mother isn’t going to have the life wisdom of a 30 year old mother but age doesn’t necessarily give maternal instinct either. Some people have it and some don’t yet and may never. 

At the same time, well educated parents don’t necessarily produce the “best” kids either.

Then you have the discussion is what is a “good” kid. Because I’ve seen enough performative kids and adults behave well for years and climb the ladder in church or career only to fall and fall big. Not just lose their job big but go crazy and/or commit crimes big. Was it a midlife crisis or did they finally crack from the weight of always living for someone else?

  • As a parent, it’s easy to feel ineffective when you or your kids have suffered big losses.

In retrospection of my life, I’ve found that going down those negative thought spirals does nothing for my self worth or my mental health and quality of life.

What DOES help my mental health is appreciating what I have and giving myself tons of self compassion. This means giving myself the love and appreciation that I crave and need from others but most likely will feel disappointment of it doesn’t come.

Finishing my book of the story of raising my kids was therapeutic for myself but also swings open the door for criticism and acceptance.

Will it be relatable? Is it too long? Is it to subject specific? (Drug use). Only time will tell.

Meanwhile I continue to try to not be dependent on others’ opinion or at least be appreciative of it but then let it go.

Here’s the link to my book if you would like to read more or support me in my efforts.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1958533262

I would love a review on Amazon. You don’t even have to buy the book, just read the sample and give me stars!

💐Happy Mothers Day 2025💐

Higher

I pushed the plastic swing a little higher as my son squealed in delight. “Higher Mom!” His blonde hair was flying in the breeze as his head bobbled around to see me.

The cool spring air felt warmer with the sun beating down on it. I looked at my other child, Haven, running in the field with my husband. They were trying to get the kite to rise off the ground as it bounced along behind them stubbornly refusing to give up gravity.

It had been a long winter and we were happy to get the kids out of the house at the first sign of spring.

I lifted my boy off the swing and bent down to adjust his little levi pants that were twisted. With my face near his, I caught a glimpse into his excited eyes. It caught me off guard.

I was confused. I had seen those eyes. Scared. Lost. Muddled.

Where was I? I looked around. The park looked familiar, but what town? Haven and her dad joined us and I felt a strange sense of Deja Vu. Like I was watching a movie of this day and not really in it.

My husband looked younger. But wait! This was my ex- husband! What was happening? I must be having a stroke. I tried to say something to him but what could I say? “Why are you here?”

We all piled into the car in what seemed like 1000 times before and headed home. It felt familiar and normal so why was I confused? I decided this must be what it’s like to finally go crazy. As we pulled into the stone paved driveway, it hit me.

This was my Do-Over!

I had wished for this many times in the last few years.

Liam! Oh no! He’s going to be so mad! How do you say you went back to your husband 33 years into the past? This might be a problem.

Last time it happened I was walking into a jail on the edge of town with my new husband Liam.

We were walking down the deserted echoey cinder block hall in the dead of the night. The sense of trepidation was thick as fog as we had come to bail out my firstborn son, Mason. It was a window of opportunity that was rare in this journey we had been on for less than a year.

There was a strange sense of apprehension in the air. This longtime happy destination town now held a strange sense of foreboding. In numbing shock, I stared through the tiny, darkened glass window. Behind that door was stuff seen only on TV: criminals, some hardened and angry, others pale and restless, looked like lost dogs. Others appeared neutral, listless, and indifferent toward their predicaments. All had lost their freedom due to their own poor choices or unfortunate sets of circumstances. The correctional officers stood vigilant, paid to control other human beings who had lost the ability to control themselves.

I had tried so hard to mold my little family into functional, loving, successful humans; yet here we were.

The horror of the legal system had now penetrated the sanctity of my little family.

I wanted a do-over.

I wanted to go back to that little blonde haired boy and warn him somehow. Of all he would face.

As I listened to the bail bondsman’s voice drone on about how drugs had taken over the town, how officers couldn’t keep up with the revolving door, and what a tragedy it was, yet the situation made them a “dang good living.”

I thought, Well, good. I’m glad we can endure the pain and humiliation of our son being arrested for drugs to help you buy some specialty cheese. Now get me out of this nightmare!

This was Mason’s second arrest. Liam and I made the agonizing decision to bail him out and get him into rehab, which he had previously refused. We seized the opportune moment to bargain. I would soon learn how very valuable these windows of opportunity were.

Like the experts had proclaimed for years, most drug users progress through different drug types and ingestion methods due to the need for more and more of a high. My son had said several times through the first year or two of his heavy pill addiction that he would “never use a needle.” When he walked through that heavy steel door wearing a big smile because he was so happy to see us, I expected to feel relief. Instead, I was shocked. I hadn’t seen Mason for nine months. He looked like he had fought through a war zone. Instead of the happy golden blonde curls from 30 years ago, his moppy brown hair lay slumbering over his long eyelashes. At the pig farm, he started smoking pills. Now, apparently, he was using needles.

I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t fathom that this was my life.

But what do you do? Disown-them? Tell me them to get your shit together and call me then? Or as my son was told “ call me when you have all the money and 6 months clean”.

So I swallowed my feelings and let the thoughts of a do-over slide away. After all- I could be given a worse problem if I really was given a Time Machine.

I woke up from the dream of the swing and took a big sigh.

Everyone has their challenges in life. This was my hardest so far and God be willing- my last hardest before I swing into old age.

I got up to face my day. Like millions of mothers spread out across the world. Hidden in their pain. Afraid to tell their story. Afraid to be judged. I vowed that I would change that. 

We can’t be embarrassed of our kids struggles or their choices that led them there.

Yes, they are the only ones who can change it but we can be the lighthouse to show them the way out of the darkness.

I had to take care of myself and find my light.

To order my new book click here. It’s on kindle, paperback and hardcover.

Or if you would like a signed copy Venmo me here and I’ll mail it to you $20

Invisible Stories

Invisible stories
Invisible people You Tube channel

What a great documentary series on addiction and homelessness this channel has especially This one. He reminds me of my son. I suspect this was on a really good day because he doesn’t look very disheveled, but I also don’t know what he looked like before. Some of the comments say he died, but I didn’t research it.

Also my very assumption that he “should” look disheveled, is part of the stigma. He obviously has figured out how to make the streets work for him. He also doesn’t appear to have any mental Illness. This could be, would be my son if it wasn’t for his ADD component, I believe. His entrepreneur and driven ADD personality has him getting into more & more trouble with his use. He would like to just be this guy and enjoy his DOC like a smoker enjoys a ciggerette. But hard drugs don’t let you stay there. I believe this guy is an exception.

It’s important for these videos to show the human-ness of the invisible people-not just those who are homeless.

There is not a one answer solution to homelessness or addiction. Harm reduction IS one way to avoid help reduce long acting affects such as HIV and Hepatitis AND help get people connected to proffessionals, at least for a few minutes.

Isolation kills.

Another Californian I have huge respect for is Jen Elizabeth Here’s her instagram she’s a former addict and an author of This book which I just ordered. I’ll let you know what I think. ✔️🧾.

Addiction is one of those you-have-zero- clue until you’ve been there diseases.

I refuse to argue whether it’s a disease anymore, because just like in politics, you can’t change anyone’s mind. To me, too much energy is wasted on this argument, because are you really that much of a cold hearted person to use the “choice” argument to say these people don’t DESERVE help? If that’s the case then where’s does this argument stop? Would an AIDS patients fit with this theory? Who is the gatekeeper to decide who gets saved? Is it cops with the narcan? As a nurse, I know I can’t make that choice whether to treat patient or not, just because he made a bad decision, so I don’t think anyone else should play God either.

I’m devulging a whole chapter in my My Book coming out next year so I’ll stop. 🖐️🚫🛑

Random thoughts on this emotional Tuesday. Hope you enjoy the videos above.