Tag: mom’s of addicts

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.

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

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

Car Show

We went to the car show today at the Los Angeles county fairgrounds. It was hot and I forgot my hat, sunglasses and sunscreen because it was originally going to be a museum day. Needless to say after 4 hours of walking around on asphalt and drinking dehydration inducing drinks, I was exhausted. I could barely make it back to the car where I collapsed into a zombie like state until we reached our hotel room.

I threw off my dusty hot clothes and jumped in the shower. Then I ate my leftover sandwich from last night with a white powdery donut to top it off. I put my AirPods in and snuggled into bed listening to my book on tape while coloring a peacock in my “365 Ways To Live in Harmony” adult coloring book.

My mind drifted to my son, like it always seems to. On the streets of Vegas homeless and addicted. Who would have ever thought? It’s beyond my wildest imagination that this would be my life or one of my kids.

Contact with him is sparse due to the inability to keep a phone and keep them charged. He had a vehicle for awhile which made that more possible but trying to keep it running and keep it from getting towed became more than he could handle without money. Also having a vehicle in Vegas heat is like pulling around the witch’s oven in Hansel and Gretel.

Back to my car show story. I’ve mostly moved past any guilt of having a warm, cozy bed and plenty of food when one of my offspring doesn’t. With a lot of hard inner work I have moved through that trigger but I have plenty of others. But what drifted across my mind tonight was how much the nervous system relies on these moments of rest to function as needed.

We are wired and pushed to go go go but we also need to keep our stoppers in prime condition so we know when to slow down.

I know we are swamped with the “ Trauma” word as a cause and/or excuse for many things these days. But there are many studies which show how trauma affects the nervous system. For the homeless and those addicted, they are used to being swamped with high levels of dopamine.

It’s how addiction works. Flooding the brain in the beginning with levels that are beyond normal so that eventually the receptors dull down and accept less and less. So it’s a losing battle to get the same euphoria yet they are now so caught up in the chase that they can’t stop.

For us, weekends, or vacations are a chance to reset our daily grind from the quest for the mighty dollar and all our family responsibilities.

We can have a break and let our nervous systems relax and renew so we are better able to face these responsibilities. For those caught up in addiction or homelessness, they never get that break except with the relief of the drugs. So the drugs replace every avenue of normal human wellness.

In my blog here I talk about the 8 dimensions of wellness including emotional, spiritual, intellectual physical, environmental, financial and occupational, and social. It’s so important for emotional health to meet at least some of each of these every day or at least every few days. This is why having one of your kids on the street or otherwise not doing well is like fingers on a chalkboard. It creates havoc in your own nervous system because it goes against every natural tendency that most mothers have.

We are born with all the instincts to keep our offspring and those entrusted to our care, safe.

Nurturing and edifying their world comes next but first and foremost we have to kept them alive so they can be nurtured and edified. This doesn’t stop when they turn 18 or when they take a left turn and go down the path of pain and turmoil.

So yes I try to keep my own wellness wheel greased and running smoothly but that doesn’t mean I don’t get sad at the times when I am cozy comfortable and my son is walking in 113 degree heat with no safe place to go.

My heart hurts in those moments. I turn to prayer often. I seek quiet moments of peace and joy where I can revel in the fact that my son is alive and he has the power and gift of God deep inside him. He was raised with a sense of right and wrong and he possesses a profound power of will. He has the skills and the drive to do anything including pull out of this incredible deep hole he has found himself in. But most of all my son knows he is loved. Even with those who have treated him according to the behaviors of the addiction, and can’t talk to him right now; my son knows that he is loved. He has a deep connection to his daughter and he always talks about his son as if he is with him and feels him, even though he hasn’t been able to see them in 2 years. 

So I continue to soothe. I relax in the sun. I relax in the shade. I listen to music. I have a refresher beverage. I revel in those who want to be with me and who pile love on me. Because my quality of life depends on my ability to self soothe and accept the joys of life amidst the sorrows.

A Meltdown in Yellowstone

Lewis Lake campground Yellowstone

34 years ago I took my 2 little kids to Yellowstone and camped at Lewis Lake campground. In 2015, while driving through Yellowstone, I found the same campground and took this picture.

It may or may not be the same one, but it took me back to those days of raising my kids. Thinking of their pudgy little dirty camping faces and big bright smiles. The ponds, the frogs, the marshmallows. We were making memories without even realizing it. We were bonding even without knowing someday those bonds might be challenged.

I was completely overcome in the moment of life’s synchronicities and also the sheer devastations that affect our hearts and souls so deeply.

34 yrs happened in the flash of an eye. 1/3 of our lives, yet at the time, it seemed so long at the time. The days seemed overwrought with the business of life: school, work, food and clothing. Taking care of everyone’s needs. The busy-ness of homework, friend dates and endless car rides to sports and tournaments and science fairs.

At the time, I would collapse into bed at night exhausted, wondering what I had even accomplished. But now I know: I accomplished life.

I provided five little humans with love, connection and a mostly stable life. Our lives were not perfect and we lived paycheck to paycheck. We struggled with how to handle the changes & challenges of daily life. But my kids grew up knowing they were part of a tribe, who had a purpose. Even if that was just getting through each day with the consistently of family and finding joy and pleasure wherever we could.

Now that they are all grown and have had to face the harsh darkness of what life can throw at us, it’s sometimes easy to fall into the “what could I have done differently?” thoughts. These thoughts, while normal and natural, only lead us to more turmoil. They don’t serve us well and they certainly don’t offer hope or peace.

I was often told back then, to enjoy my kids while they are little. At the time I thought the people who said that, must not understand how stressful my life was. Now I know. They knew what was coming. They knew how little control over adults, parents have. They knew the temptations and demons that were out there just waiting for our innocent little kids.

They wanted me to have all the precious time I could while my kids were somewhat within my reach. I started to take their advice slowly and purposefully. I tried to expose my children to the great outdoors so they could appreciate the simple things. Sacrifices were made so we could take meaningful vacations. This tradition continued into their adulthood as they sought out adventures and new experiences theirselves and with their new families. Unfortunately it is also one more casualty that addiction can take the blue ribbon for. Fracturing us as a whole, just enough to stop the bonding and fun activities that were done together.

It’s not all gloom & doom. Some (most) of my kids are thriving although somewhat always struggling financially. It’s fun to see the good things they have done as adults & there are so many amazing, wonderful grandkids. My kids are all extremely hard workers and very smart. I think it all goes back to those first years of learning and growing together in a stable environment that encouraged freedom and growth. Yes, I’m going to take credit for the good, and I’m going to take some of the blame for the bad.

It’s ok to have a few regrets. Each person has their own personal responsibility for their life and the impact it has had on others.

It’s the ruminating in those regrets that keeps us stuck. For now I am trying to just be happy for the memories and for all the time spent together.

Days like today when reality hits of just how sick my son continues to be and how it affects almost every aspect of my life; I have to feel the pain and despair, acknowledge it then have my quick cry and move on.

Being in despair over what happened to my “child”, my family, and how disheartened I still feel most days; I have to take comfort in knowing that I did the best I could with what tools I had. It’s about moving forward with hope and love, being grateful for what I do have and what peace and tools are available for me.

Don’t ever underestimate the impact their childhood had on their personalities and core values. They still have them, they’re just buried under their struggles. They can get out from under them.

Hold on with hope. Someone has to.

https://www.medpagetoday.com/psychiatry/addictions/61531

The Christmas Letter

Remember The Christmas Letter?

We’ve all received them, folded  & tucked inside the ever- dwindling colorful Christmas cards.” It was the one time that parents could brag about their children’s extracurricular activities. 

“Jordan is excelling in football, drama club and was voted class president.

Katy has turned her love of animals into a dog walking service while participating in cheer, dance, choral club, chemistry club, and babysitting at night for extra money".

For me, I haven’t even had the thought to send one- even with social media. The last few years have sent me inward to a place where I have been forced to explore my identity outside of my kid’s accomplishments and failures. Being thrown into the world of addiction has a way of humbling the bragging rights right out of a person.

The dread, the despair, the disappointment; that your child isn’t living up to their potential and is endangering their life and health.

The fear of getting “The Call” one day overrides any hope of things changing for the better.

“What did I do wrong?”

Is the question many mom’s ask. Was I too strict? Too lenient? To dismissive? Too busy?

Did I overcompensate for my kid’s failures in the name of “just get it done?”

While researching for my book about my journey through my son’s addiction, I found many things I should have done differently.Especially after reading Gabor Mate`s research. But how is that helpful now?

Who needs more guilt?

There is not one cause for a so called “failure”. And besides, what is failure and what is success?

fb://photo/5208130475954717?set=a.703250633109413&sfnsn=mo&extid=a&mibextid=oXxBu3

As I came across this headline for the perfect mom who did everything right and wants to share her secret; I admit I may have cringed a little.

Was I was offended that she idealized the perfect parent and that a child’s success is directly correlated to said perfect parenting?

But then I realized that my children’s success is NOT dependent on what contributions to the business world they make. Even though my addicted son did build several successful businesses; is his worth now non-existent because of his low fico score?

Although all of my children have had their ups and downs in financial success, they all have hearts of gold and strong work ethics.

They have all worked a job since they were 15 and always aspired to improve their situations.

Todd Casale- LinkedIn

My kids were taught to respect their elders, to respect others’ space and rights. And mostly to help people when needed. They are all very pleasant to be around and have fantastic senses of humor. They can make a friend of anyone, because of these qualities.

All my kids have influenced those around them in whatever situation they were in, whether in a work environment or a still-learning, challenging environment with other unhealed people.

But I had to wonder:

Am I essentially doing the same thing as her- bragging up my kids in order to reflect positively on me?

Sure. We are all human. I also am likely reacting to being the mother of a person with substance use disorder who has ended up in the correctional system as a result. Before this experience, my family may have joked about posting bail or being a prisoner in certain scenarios but not any more.

When that world hits home and you are getting a call from your child at so & so correctional facility; life suddenly turns real.

How do you put that in a Christmas Letter?

Luckily my bond runs deeper than what the world says my son is.

My bond says that even when homeless, he has worth and value. Such worth and value that he deserves the dignity of being offered housing, food and at least — kindness. He doesn’t need to be shunned away like Napoleon who I write about here

So what would my Christmas Letter read if I did send one?

As this year draws to a close, I hope you and yours are doing well and thriving. Our family continues to have a hand in the game of life with many challenges and blessings. I am grateful for the opportunities to practice unconditional, fierce love for all my children. They continue to fight and explore the complexities of life through a kaleidoscope of adventure. One son has explored this from the steel & brick walls of a jail cell, but also from a kayak on a beautiful lake. Another son has built up his business to afford a brand new house, vehicles, and a growing family and the challenges and blessings that come with that. Another son has finely found his happiness being a stepdad to two amazing kids. A daughter seeks joy every day with her large family of kidlets - who all love sports. Another daughter continues her search for her niche in life and the challenges of supporting herself. We are all extremely blessed to have one more day to figure it out and survive and thrive. Our love runs beyond prison walls, beyond the frailties of the human spirit, and lies deeper than the challenges of the human ego and outward personalities. We are connected through hearts and souls, even in times of separation and strife. We extend our love and blessings to you and yours and wish you a happy holiday season.

Please check out my new blog on Medium. Happy Holidays!

https://link.medium.com/kE8T4RyCZvb

To the Ends of The Earth

If you haven’t had the distinct opportunity to call the coroner’s office to look for your child you may not resonate with this post.

If you haven’t called the ER of 11 different hospitals at 3 am asking for a John or Jane doe, then you may think I’m a bit crazy.

Then calling again in the morning to get the main hospital to see if they were admitted without ID. Then realizing that they might have his name and ID but he’s still comatose so you call them all back and give his name.

10 of them say he’s not there. 1 says they can’t confirm or deny that he’s there, which makes me think he is there.

This is all because of a little green dot on messenger.

As I watched the countdown of his ‘last time online’ tick further and further away, my panic grew. My son was on messenger almost all the time. When he wasn’t, it was only for 6-8 hrs. When it hits 15, I panic. I text his friend to get hold of him. Usually this works within an hour or two. But not this time.

You would think my son is 16, 17 or 18 years old. No, he’s 36. When addiction is involved age doesn’t matter because the drugs affect the same area of the brain including the basal ganglia, extended amygdala and the prefrontal cortex.

NIH.Gov

Whatever the age, they are going to bypass rational thinking, time management & empathy for others. 

The prefrontal cortex is located at the very front of the brain, over the eyes, and is responsible for complex cognitive processes described as “executive function.” Executive function is the ability to organize thoughts and activities, prioritize tasks, manage time, make decisions, and regulate one's actions, emotions, and impulses.- Source

I have to laugh when I see this meme:

Grow Up? What study has ever said that addiction is just from being immature?

The term “Grow up” feels like shaming, or “throwing shade” on an already convoluted and insidious situation. It’s either a brain disease that affects the areas of reasoning, managing problem-solving, planning, and decision-making abilities-
Or they’re just being immature and need to grow up?


Not one scholarly or medical article ever says they need to just grow up.

They need healing, yes so they can make more responsible choices but I don’t see how telling them to grow up is helpful at all.😥

It’s very frustrating loving an addict. In fact, I would dare say it’s a love-hate relationship. During the moments of thinking they are actually gone from this earth, wave after wave of emotions hit: guilt, sorrow, sadness, bargaining. You will do anything to be able to rephrase your last words to them. You beg God for another chance. Then, the minute they are suddenly “alive”, after the relief, of course, the anger hits.

It’s called unconventional grief.

Why is this happening again? Why does he just disappear for 2 days then offer a “sorry, I’m ok…..my phone” or some random excuse.

In this case, my son is running from warrants again. But these warrants are for charges they pulled up from a year ago – AFTER he spent 90 days in jail and 57 in rehab. He had only been out 2 weeks when I received a junk offer from lawyers who scout new charges. Otherwise we would have never known he’s been charged.

It was 2 days before Christmas and with that one letter my son lost all progress from the last year including any hope of recovery this time. He said:

“Mom they are never going to let me have a normal life. They want me to stay in the system forever”.

All the momentum he had built and the plans he made were swiped away with the threats of indictment. For having a disease that he couldn’t control.

He ran to Vegas because they were running his license plate every other day when they spotted him. First he wanted to fight it. He wanted me to help him get a lawyer. But then, the evil claws of addiction and that horrible town sucked him into the black hole again. He is hustling who knows what, with who knows who and no longer communicating like we were.

I am devastated, scared beyond belief. He’s facing years in prison with these old charges. But beyond that, I fully expect to have to do a funeral with these Vegas odds bearing down on him.

Today someone asked me “How is your son?” This NEVER happens. No one speaks his name in my family or otherwise. But then they went on: “I was thinking about him in church yesterday as they were discussing tough love, co- dependency, versus desperation to help a child we love so much.”

My heart sank. Here we go again. The “let him go” crowd. People who have lots of ideas about how to handle a situation that they’ve probably never been in.

I just can’t today.

How to say, “he’s dying! He truly is dying! He’s sinking into a black hole of isolation, crime and addiction into the under belly of an evil town!”, without sounding like the “co-dependent, desperate mom” that so many love to label. 

This is a human soul. 
This a man who was loved by so many. This man helped many many people when he had the means to, and now he is "worthless" because he has nothing to offer. No I will not jump on the bandwagon of "let him fall, let him fail, let him "figure it out". I won't be tossing him aside until he can perform to my expectations. I will stand in the gap between good and evil and I will fight for my son. His life matters. Whether he's struggling or " doing well", his life matters & Yes, I will go to the ends of the earth for him.

Today I will continue to pray for a miracle. I will speak life into this situation. I will pray for the funds to appear to hire Las Vegas extreme interventions, because my son is in extreme danger. It is a fight for his life at this point. He is out of control and obviously unable to pull himself out again.

I respond to the question: “He’s still struggling” and let it go at that.

Please pray for my Prodigal Son

For the story visit: Journeys.dartmouth

I’m asking for prayers tonight. My son is in jail on suicide watch as he is detoxing from very hard drug use. He is very sick and very depressed. He told me is only option is to hang himself.

Please pray for deliverance 🛐

Reposting this for good vibes and to command the fiery darts of the opposition to leave my son alone forever.

I had a dream last night.

I was trapped inside my house with some loud and intimidating people outside trying to get in. My family was there and I kept “trying to convince them”:

“Please don’t go out, please stay inside where it’s safe”.

My pleas landed on seemingly deaf ears, as my two eldest sons kept telling me,

“It’s ok Mom, we can handle it”.

Both of these beautiful boys struggle with SUD: one is functioning well and happy- the other is what this entire blog is based on.

I tried to pull them away from the door, like a worried Mom of curious toddlers who are determined to toddle out into the street. My boys went out anyway. In my dreamlike state, I remember thinking, at least they are together; which sadly, hasn’t happened in a year.

As I woke up from this nightmare, the following story was playing on my phone:

As I listened to the story of the prodigal son, tears stung my eyes. I didn’t put it on there, I didn’t search for it. What I did do- is pray daily – several times a day, for my son to have a spiritual awakening OR for someone to come into his life that could reach him, since I can’t. I pray for my family to come back together, un- fractured, cracking jokes again.

This experience is similar to This dream I had awhile ago.

What is the message?

Faith

Patience

Surrender

Was this God’s way of telling me to BE STILL? God’s word spoken through a dream with my beautiful boys that I miss so dearly.

I suspect I need to stand down.

Allow for the work to be done. 

"It's a relief to know I'm not in control anymore.......

The Loneliest Club with Thousands of Members.

Sub·cul·ture

a cultural group within a larger culture, often having beliefs or interests at variance with those of the larger culture

We don’t want to be in the club, yet here we are. It wasn’t planned. We fight it kicking & screaming and it takes up most of our time and emotional – sometimes physical -energy. If it were a “hobby” we would have spent thousands of dollars on it with almost zero return of pleasure- like most hobbies.

We can’t really get out of this group unless we are taken against our will into the bereaved Mom’s groups.

Mom’s of addicts.

Who knew there would be so many different subcultures of a group that NO – ONE wants to be in?

Two years ago, I didn’t have any idea of their existence. One day, while in my lone state of scrolling Facebook for addiction help; I found my first “support” group. What in the world? People who freely talked about what they were going through? No pretending that they didn’t cry every night or wonder what they did wrong?  No embarrassment that their friends and family  might find out? This was wonderful!

I joined a few different groups not knowing how different they were.  I soon discovered that each one had their own culture or vibe making a distinct subculture within this GroupThatNooneWantsToBeIn..There was quite the variety of different groups:

  • Current and Recovering addicts Support group – straight & raw addiction talk.
  • CLEAN and SOBER support- don’t try to mention MAT- I actually like this one, despite who runs it. ( an alleged body broker)
  • One local PUBLIC non-profit with a ‘seemingly” proud to be addicted name- but full of resources.
  • Mom’s thriving together- post upon post of complaining about how rotten their addict is- but lots of ‘support’ that way.
  • Al-anon, Nar-anon- surprisingly the same as above – which is NOT how the virtual meetings are.
  • Prayer group- can’t say damn in your heartfelt rants or you get a nice message from admin.
  • Non- prayer group- can’t use  🙏 these or you get a ‘nice’- (not) message from admin.
  • Hardcore matt advocates and legislation information group.  Don’t say “exchanging one drug for another” or you will be quickly put in your place! Lol, luckily I never did.
  • Craft / thrive support with zero tolerance for shaming or dishonoring addicts.
  • Fukkk fentanyl and other bereaved Mom’s groups.

I have moved in and out of different groups over this last 2 years, due to what I needed at the time. Also being unaware of the “vibe”, I didn’t receive a lot of response to a post I might have made, so I retreated. Even now, when I clearly know what’s expected, and post accordingly, I still may not get what I need.

See, it’s like a twilight zone of sorts. When you’re not used to this world of -all-things-addiction and the pain and suffering it causes; and you scroll your news feed of addiction groups; there are unbelievable wtf moments. Post after post of pain, drama, tears, kids with dfs, kids with grandparents fighting for them. Kicking spouses out, pictures of paraphernalia that a spouse or mom found. A bystander with no ties to “loving an addict” MIGHT think, ” What in the world is going on?” 

Drugs

That’s what going on.

And be glad you don’t know. As I stated yesterday in this post on overdose awareness day, be very glad you don’t understand.

But for us left in the club, what do we do? I’ll go back to an AA/NA expression:

“Take what you need and leave the rest.”

Which I have finally figured out how to do. Most days I don’t have the emotional energy to argue about what’s clean, who’s clean & who’s business it is. Since I have written over 200 articles about all things addiction, it’s hard to not want to throw out one of my posts from my site to ‘educate’ that person of the day. Since most sites don’t allow links, I was quickly reprimanded, in most cases not nicely. So as my fragile emotions moved onward, some groups were better left unattended.

Even now, as I post a few times a month, I feel like one or paragraphs in a single post, must not tell the whole situation because I get advice that I feel isn’t even applicable. And once again, the emotional energy required to explain just isn’t there, when the story keeps playing out in the background as I navigate my emotions through It.

People in these groups are in such different places that it’s sometimes wise to pause and inquire what it is they need most.

Like the video below, as in any relationship; I think it’s important in social media, to know if someone is just venting and needing emotional support or actually Asking for advice.

It’s like a husband and wife dynamic:

But even if there’s not an obvious solution (in all-things- addiction, there NEVER is);  what advice/ response is truely helpful?

In just the last month, out of 3 posts NOT asking for advice, just venting at how I can’t (or- more like- how hard it is to not have sadness) feel joy for my other kids and their accomplishments when my son is facing prison and is still unhoused, no car- yadayadyada and other deep emotional pain I’m feeling, I still got these responses:

  • Don’t resent your other kids for being happy! – (ummm I don’t- I didn’t say that at all- in fact I said I was happy for them- in the. second sentence)
  • Give it to God, pray for him, live your life- (ok, never thought of that, I do…….doesn’t mean I can’t be sad).
  • Don’t be willing to be an audience to your kids addiction- once I stopped being involved in my sons addiction- he magically got better- ( like really??? You think my 35 year old son gave up a million dollar business, a new house, his family, go to jail 5 times FOR THE ATTENTION???) I can’t  even…..
  • You just need gratitude in your life, stop “stinkin thinkin”  which ironically is a post I made months ago.
  • Let the natural consequences happen- you didn’t cause it..yadayada…(ok, I’ll jump for joy that my son is punished to 10+ years in prison for POSSESSION of the drug of a disease he can’t manage.

It’s not a crime to be sad. I’m MAD & SAD at the system & the irony of the criminalization of this certain disease. I’m mad that I’m powerless, yes. I’m scared of losing my son and the hope that goes along with having him alive, yes. I guess I just want permission to be sad sometimes…….

Yesterday I finally- actually asked- for advice regarding my sons dire situation and I immediately got a CODA meeting group answer saying,

“Live your life – you’re not ok.”

I give up…..

If caring about your sons future and his kids not having a dad, is co-dependent, then so be it. I will not stop caring.

Same with supporting moms

ADD

For every child struggling with this

A.D.H.D.

Take my hand and come with me,
I want to teach you about ADHD.
I need you to know, I want to explain,
I have a very different brain.
Sights, sounds, and thoughts collide.
What to do first? I can’t decide.
Please understand I’m not to blame,
I just can’t process things the same.
Take my hand and walk with me,
Let me show you about ADHD.
I try to behave, I want to be good,
But I sometimes forget to do as I should.
Walk with me and wear my shoes,
You’ll see its not the way I’d choose.
I do know what I’m supposed to do,
But my brain is slow getting the message through.
Take my hand and talk with me,
I want to tell you about ADHD.
I rarely think before I talk,
I often run when I should walk.
It’s hard to get my school work done,
My thoughts are outside having fun.
I never know just where to start,
I think with my feelings and see with my heart.
Take my hand and stand by me,
I need you to know about ADHD.
It’s hard to explain but I want you to know,
I can’t help letting my feelings show.
Sometimes I’m angry, jealous, or sad.
I feel overwhelmed, frustrated, and mad.
I can’t concentrate and I lose all my stuff.
I try really hard but it’s never enough.
Take my hand and learn with me,
We need to know more about ADHD.
I worry a lot about getting things wrong,
Everything I do takes twice as long.
Everyday is exhausting for me…
Looking through the fog of ADHD.
I’m often so misunderstood,
I would change in a heartbeat if I could.
Take my hand and listen to me,
I want to share a secret about ADHD.
I want you to know there is more to me.
I’m not defined by it, you see.
I’m sensitive, kind and lots of fun.
I’m blamed for things I haven’t done.
I’m the loyalist friend you’ll ever know,
I just need a chance to let it show.
Take my hand and look at me,
Just forget about the ADHD.
I have real feelings just like you.
The love in my heart is just as true.
I may have a brain that can never rest,
But please understand I’m trying my best.
I want you to know, I need you to see,
I’m more than the label, I am still me!!!!
~Author Unknown