You probably already know the pattern. The holidays are coming—and you can feel it happening again. That rising tension in your chest. The social events you’re already dreading. The pressure...
I remember the silence in my apartment after I used again. Ninety-three days. Gone in one night. No big spiral, no dramatic crash—just me, a locked jaw, and a thousand-pound...
There’s a version of burnout no one talks about. It doesn’t look like panic attacks or sobbing in the bathroom. It looks like emails answered on time. A packed schedule....
The second time my son relapsed, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just sat in the driveway with my hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. Not because...
There’s a quiet kind of knowing that creeps in before you ever say the words out loud: “I think I need help.” Maybe it’s the panic that hits at random....
I didn’t plan to relapse. No one does. It wasn’t dramatic or loud—it was quiet. Sneaky. Just one bad moment I convinced myself was harmless. But that moment unraveled three...
You got through the hardest part. You stayed clean. You did the work. Now you’re a year—or maybe five—into recovery, and from the outside, it looks like life is good....
There was the version of me that showed up. And there was the version that almost didn’t make it. From the outside, I was fine—functioning, responsible, quick to make people...
There was a time I didn’t know how to exist without switching masks. By day, I was the version of myself everyone seemed to like—charming, talkative, quick-witted. I threw myself...
You’ve made it this far on grit, denial, and late-night self pep talks. You get up, get through the day, keep the mask on. Nobody suspects anything. Maybe not even...
