It was a late summer day, 2006, on Cape Cod where I’ve lived for over 30 years. My third of four sons was supposed to be home with the family car. He had visited his therapist, and three hours later he still had not returned. I was starting to get worried. Suddenly, the phone rang. It was my son, who

In 1990, living in Westbrook, CT, I was aggressively trying to die. Why may youask? On the surface, my family lived a wonderful life. My dad was a top executiveat an insurance company, and my mom stayed at home taking care of the children.Our house was only a hundred yards from the beach. However, my parents divorced when I was

I didn’t just wake up one morning dry heaving into my toilet, needing a drink withinfifteen minutes of awakening – so ashamed that I could not even look at myself in themirror – wondering again how I was going to get through the day (cursing God for nothaving taken me during the night). My spiritual bankruptcy was decades in the

A warm and pleasantly unexpected wave of relief set in as I was ushered into the back seat of yet another police vehicle. While this type of counterintuitive neurobiological response was not foreign to me, it still surprised me every time. In moments like that you have clarity, something concrete is happening. No need to fear what may come. It

I grew up in an upper middle-class family in Bethany, CT. From the outside looking in, my family was an ordinary American family. My mom and dad were well-educated. My mom was an artist, and my dad ran the family recycling business. What most people didn’t see was that my mother suffered from severe manic depression and when I was

I remember the week that I stopped drinking in 1988. Early in that week, I remember praying. I prayed to a God that I wasn’t sure existed. I wasn’t thinking of recovery at this point, just trying to save myself from loneliness, anger, and resentment. I prayed for an alternative to my bleak future. During that week I had evacuated

Before I started using drugs and alcohol, I remember feeling a sense of impending doom and a huge void in my life. These feelings were hard for a nine-year-old girl to comprehend. I remember sobbing to my mom once and saying “I just want to go home” as I was sitting in my bed. Of course, I was home, but

In March of 2000, I witnessed the greatest hockey game ever played. Well, I may be exaggerating a little but I was a competitive Dad back then. Although unqualified, I was appointed an assistant coach on my son Evan’s House Hockey team. At the end of the season, there were playoffs and the final two teams played in a championship

Ever since I was a child, I have wanted to be a helper. I helped my mother with my little sisters, I cheeredmy friends up when they were sad by making them laugh, and I went to great lengths to please people,or in my young mind, ‘help’ the situation. Often, those efforts went against my beliefs or desires andbegan to

I was not one of those people who had their first sip of alcohol and thought, “Where have you been all my life!”. My transformation–from a woman who drank wine to have fun, enhance the moment, relax, and take the edge off, to a woman who drank warm vodka alone behind closed doors–happened slowly over time. I do not remember