A Family Story

"There are so many of us."

Choosing Hope, and the documentary Denied are much more than passion projects for me. I

jokingly told a friend, "I have to do something with my trauma." It was more true than funny.

Seeing anyone you love fight a potentially fatal disease is difficult. My dad’s leukemia was

devastating, my mom’s Alzheimer’s was a nightmare. But there’s something about addiction that

feels next level painful to me. Maybe it’s that not everyone views it the same way, so there’s this

feeling that you not only want to protect them from their disease, you want to protect them from

what others may be thinking about them...and you.

I’ve spent a lot of time worrying about how I

must have done something wrong or I wouldn’t have two of the three kids I raised having issues

with drugs and alcohol. I mean, I know a little bit about addiction and alcoholism - I know

technically I didn’t cause it. But that doesn’t stop my brain from trying to figure out how I was at

fault. I thought - if it’s my fault, maybe I can fix it. Because in the end, I just desperately wanted

to solve the problem.

My kids have been through the wringer with addiction. We’ve had bouts of severe mental health

issues as a result of it - they quit school, lost jobs, had suicide attempts, psychosis, ER visits,

psych wards, car accidents, OD’s, homelessness, over twenty treatment attempts and almost as

many relapses. This was for about six, seven, maybe eight years? It’s hard to keep track. Forgive me, my body was flooded with cortisol and I was sleeping very little for much of it. While this was going

on with my two kids (simultaneously!), I was pretty busy. I had a full time job, another kid in high

school and I felt like I had to keep fighting to get them into treatment or I might lose them. At

first, the fight was with their willingness. It took time for them to see that maybe, just maybe, all

these bad things that were happening were connected to their addiction. That was not sarcasm.

I truly believe it’s a mental illness, a brain disease. In my interview with Dr. Lockwood, a doctor

of psychology and an addiction specialist, he called it “the hi-jacking nature of these

substances” and I really like that, because it was as if they were hijacked. Kidnapped.

I used to say they had Stockholm syndrome. They had been kidnapped by the drugs and

alcohol, and although I tried and tried to help them escape, it was as if they were defending the

drugs. Their kidnapper. As though the drugs were "on their side" and were going to keep them

safe - and I was not. It was heartbreaking - and I had to really study the disease to understand

what I was up against. And more importantly, I had to understand the disease to see that my

kids were not really in control. At a certain point, one of my sons said that he truly believed that

if he stopped using drugs, he would die. Meanwhile, I was certain if he didn’t stop, he might die.

You can see how we were at odds. I used to tell them, "I see you. I know you’re in there. I’m

here when you want help." I so desperately wanted to keep my connection with them - I knew

that if I could, they would tell me, “I’m not choosing this. I’m stuck. I need help, but I can’t ask

for it yet.” When one of my sons was in a particularly gnarly relapse, he told me “give up on me

mom. I’m not worth it.” I can’t write that without crying. He was wrong, obviously. He is

precious, beyond "worth it!" But I think he was reacting to the weight of my HOPE for him. He

didn’t want to be the reason for my tears. He didn’t want to disappoint me. He didn’t actually

WANT any of it. He certainly never made a plan to use drugs, get addicted and then lose

everything and almost everyone he cared about in life. He did not choose to be an alcoholic /

addict. Neither of them did. No one does. I don’t know if they were trying to escape something

painful, or to find something that felt fun and light and free. But they certainly weren’t searching for a debilitating and life threatening disease. I guess that’s why, for me, anger was never one of

my reactions to addiction.

My experience with our insurance companies was a different story. (We had two because I

switched in the middle of all of this, in the hopes of better results.) Insurance was almost as

frustrating as the disease. The difference is, I had no problem getting angry at the insurance

company. My dad owned insurance agencies when he was alive. Not health insurance, but he

taught me that you just need to appeal when they deny something that should be covered. He

used to say, they’re in the business of making money, not spending it - don’t expect them to

make it easy. When my son was in detox and transferring to his first residential treatment - his

drug of choice was fentanyl and he was experiencing drug induced psychosis. We were told

residential treatment was denied because he needed to "fail" at a lower level of care. I knew I

had to appeal this decision - it was almost laughably wrong. But it was not so simple. My son

was in psychosis and not clear on anything - he did not sign a release, so although I could get

the bill, I could not appeal the denial for him. Which means, the treatment center - a nonprofit

with not enough administrative help to keep up with the paperwork, was in charge of the appeal.

So I ended up paying for that with a credit card. Now I understand the need for people to have

privacy around their health information - but seriously? That worked out best for the insurance

company, it certainly didn’t help my son at all, and I know that treatment center didn’t benefit.

And it didn’t help me either. This was an incredibly difficult time for all of us, and the insurance

company seemed to be determined to make it all harder. My kids went through about twenty

different treatment centers between them - that’s a lot for sure! But at every turn, they were

pushed to a lower level of care by the insurance company. We had to "ask" to stay in treatment

every couple of days - imagine if all that energy could’ve been focused on recovery instead of

on paperwork for the insurance company. It was exhausting. And I often wonder, if they hadn’t

been rushing their treatment at every turn, would we have gone through quite that many

rehabs? I’m glad I’m too stubborn to give up. The journey from illness to recovery can be gnarly.

Looking back, I can see that sometimes, the relapses were learning experiences - but my kids

were lucky enough to get another chance. But it’s also risky, and it’s absolutely criminal that the

companies we PAY to ensure we can afford treatment when we’re sick, are putting up barriers

to our getting necessary treatment.

I never gave up hope for my kids - although it was difficult at times. Every time they called me

after a relapse, I told them, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s fight this thing. You’re not

alone.” I’m happy to say I’m still far too stubborn to give up. My kids are in active recovery -

we’re all recovering! And I am actively trying to make as much noise as possible. There are far

too many of us families, and far too many people like my sons who are fighting this terrible

disease. Imagine how much good we can do together. We need to make treatment more

accessible, and we need to talk about our experiences more openly. This disease isn’t

shameful, how it’s treated like a moral failing is what’s shameful!

There are so many of us. Let's come out into the open and join forces. Addiction is a terrible disease, but recovery can bring so many gifts, and although I know we can’t make our kids or husbands or siblings get sober, we can be the hope that sparks recovery.

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s fight this thing. You’re not alone. We can do it. Together.