I was born into an alcoholic family. Throughout my childhood my father drank – luckily he’s sober now – and my mother was, well, distracted. She had 4 children, myself, my two siblings and my father. By far, her toughest job, was trying to control him. Growing up we learned that feelings were DANGEROUS. Not only did they hurt, and get you into a lot of trouble, they were messy and embarrassing, too. To me, emotions were a sign of weakness. I learned to shut them off. If I felt hurt, I seethed on the inside. Of course because we were unable to communicate our feelings, we acted on them. It was chaos. We walked on egg shells, and lived by the three golden rules of every addicted home. Don’t talk. Don’t trust. Don’t feel. My sister and I turned to drugs and alcohol. I worked in bars for many years, while raising my own family. I managed to pass on all the shit, I swore, I never would. My children had periods in their life where they struggled with addiction. I sought unhealthy men. It wasn’t intentional, it was just what I knew. My life was a mess, and if you were in relationship with me, so was yours. Seventeen years ago the world I knew came to a crashing halt. Everyone in my life had stopped enabling me. EVERYONE! I couldn’t bum, beg, or manipulate my family, friends or dope dealers, anymore. It was the worst day of my life. At least that’s what I believed back then. How I HATED everyone. With no place left to go, I went to a rehab facility with my tail tucked between my legs and a single purpose. To get the hell out of there as fast as I could! I tried my best to manipulate the counselors and the people in the facility. I really did. But you know the old saying. You can’t con a con. Pain turned back on. So did sorrow and grief. Only this time I couldn’t run, numb out, or ignore it. I cried buckets of tears and went through boxes of Kleenex and then something strange happened. I didn’t die. Weird I know, but there was a little part of me that had always believed I might, if I allowed myself to feel. The paralyzing grip which held me so tight throughout my entire life, began to loosen. I could breathe easier. I felt less anxious in my skin. Then for no good reason at all, I laughed. One of those, laugh till you cry and your stomach hurts, kind. The chains of misery fell away and something far more addicting began to take its place. HOPE. Suddenly the possibilities were endless. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I was living life Clean and Sober and loving it! I couldn’t believe it was possible! It seemed like a miracle to me, I was utterly content without booze and drugs. Unbelieveable! Yahoo!! I was having fun without the hangovers! Somebody ought to bottle this shit and serve it to everyone! Today I am blessed to have a family I love beyond words. I work in the field of addiction helping addicts and their families, to recover from the their painful past. I share what I’ve learned through my books and blog. We focus so keenly on the addict, but addiction effects EVERYONE in the family. Even if you never pick up a drink, the wounds, are still there. Recovery means we do talk, trust and feel. And most of us, will need a little help getting there. Each time you share your thoughts, feelings and secrets, you rock the boat on addiction. Making commitments and stepping outside your comfort zone, is a small price to pay for the life you’ll find in recovery. Peace of mind is a direct result of the work, you’re willing to put into your recovery. Not waking up with shame and guilt every morning, is unbelievably freeing. Freedom brings energy and energy, hope. But the thing I love most about being clean and sober, is LOVE. I love that I can feel love, without being high. I love that I don’t hurt my family, or me, by being mean, cruel, selfish, neglectful or abusive. I love the freedom from ‘bondage of self’ and what I love most of all, is when folks like you, join me.