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I once spent frigid nights on park benches, consumed by the desperate quest for money to feed my heroin addiction. Now, just a year away from earning my doctorate in education, I reflect on this journey—not to boast, but to highlight the resilience it took to overcome a staggering 90% relapse rate among opioid users.
To understand my present, we must first revisit my past. Growing up in the suburbs during the 1980s, my childhood was typical—divorced but amicable parents, carefree days without seatbelts, and endless play until the streetlights flickered on. But everything changed when a family friend violated my trust. My anger, initially directed at my mother for allowing this to happen, eventually turned inward, leading to self-harm at just 12 years old. This self-destructive path quickly escalated to alcohol, marijuana, and sexual promiscuity.
Before I knew it, I was entrenched in a life of heroin addiction on the streets for five long years. I attended detox programs and rehab stints, earning countless orange NA key tags, only to fall back into addiction each time I held one. When I became pregnant, I was at my lowest, crashing on a friend’s floor, unaware of any support systems left for me.
In a bid to turn my life around, I enrolled in a methadone clinic. There, I met a group of women who shared their struggles, and I was introduced to the director of a treatment program for pregnant women. I wish I could say I jumped at the chance, but that’s not the truth.
I gave birth to my daughter on a sweltering summer evening in 2015, but the very next day, I returned to using heroin. My desire to stay clean was eclipsed by the pain of watching my newborn detox from methadone, a process I didn’t understand would affect her. Soon after, child welfare intervened and took her from me.
That was my wake-up call. This wasn’t just about me anymore; it was about my daughter. I made the call for help and entered rehab the very next day. Over 13 months, I detoxed from methadone, made lifelong friends, and witnessed my daughter’s milestones, from her first steps to her first words.
Upon completing the program, I knew I had to build a better future. With no job skills and a child depending on me, I took a leap of faith and applied to college, despite my fears of starting over. To my surprise, I registered for class after class, ultimately earning my degree—a feat that seemed impossible just a few years prior, when I was begging for change.
Since then, I’ve earned another degree and am pursuing a terminal degree. Life has been busy—balancing marriage, motherhood, work, and friendships—but I’ve learned invaluable lessons throughout these years of sobriety.
I discovered that people are often more forgiving and understanding than we assume. Many I hurt during my addiction welcomed me back into their lives. My oldest friend, who endured great pain during my struggles, remains my closest ally despite our complicated history. I also learned that while the past is unchangeable, each day is an opportunity to be a better version of myself.
There is no definitive cure for addiction; it’s a lifelong battle. I must remain vigilant against my demons. However, I’ve constructed a fulfilling life from the ashes of my past. I’ve embraced honesty and openness about my struggles with my daughter, knowing that addiction runs in our family. She understands that her path may differ from others, and she witnesses both my challenges and triumphs.
Most importantly, there is hope.
For more stories like mine, check out this blog post, and for those exploring pregnancy options, Make a Mom offers valuable resources. Additionally, for those seeking information on infertility, Mount Sinai is an excellent resource.
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