Something I wrote a few years ago....

My childhood was in an upper middle class home, with two loving and committed parents who wanted nothing more than to help me be the best I could be. I had every advantage, and despite some rebellion in my teens, I got to work right out of high school and moved into my own place.

I supported myself for years, living with a boyfriend, then back with my parents, then to another boyfriend's place, but I worked nights - LONG nights - and I couldn't sleep to save my life. Early on, living with my first boyfriend who had his own drug and drinking issues, I was convinced to try drinking to help me sleep. And lo and behold, it worked. So that began a daily drinking habit that went on for years. Finally, after several stints in rehab, and continuing to drink when I got out, because I just didn't know how not to, I tried to quit cold turkey on my own. But I had been drinking so much, so regularly throughout each day, that when I tried to quit, my body went into withdrawals which led me to have a seizure at work. And then, the jig was up. They knew I drank, they knew how much, and when I failed to quit even after the seizure, I lost that job, and subsequently, my apartment.

At rehab, I had met a man, though, and he and I had an incredible connection right from the start. And when we got out, we hooked up. He had already begun drinking again, so I joined him. I stayed with him after that. But it wasn't too long before he had a seizure too. They didn't sell liquor on Sundays, and we had forgotten to get a bottle to prepare. So early Monday morning, after having gone all day Sunday without, he had a seizure. We were convinced to go back to the hospital and check ourselves in, and through our experiences together, we got sober. And, believe it or not, we stayed together. And we're better for each other than I ever would have imagined.

But, life has ups and downs, and when you're recovering from an addiction like the ones we had battled, it tends to have a lot more downs. It's hard to get back into the real world. After being drunk 24/7 for as long as we had been, we had to basically re-learn how to have basic conversations, how to interact with others, and how to be happy without alcohol. And it was hard.

We had a daughter together, and we love her dearly. So when our path led us to one where we had no home, and she was with us, our guilt was overwhelming. We were homeless for about 6 months while we tried to find a way out of that and into a place to live. You'd be amazed how hard it is to get a job when you have no home. We finally did get into housing, though, and we had everything on track - until we lost that house. We lost our income suddenly due to a layoff, and were unable to pay rent, and couldn't get another job fast enough. It was heartbreaking to find ourselves in that position again, going from shelter to shelter, trying to keep a roof over her head (and ours.)

It took another year of homelessness to get out again. We've been housed and stable for almost a year now, and it's so much better for our daughter, and for us.

But here's the thing: I wouldn't trade my battle with alcoholism or that time I spent homeless for anything on earth.

People struggle every day to be happy. No matter how much or how little they have, no matter what their standing in society, no matter ... what. Everyone struggles to find that happiness that is lasting and long, and isn't just something that comes and goes, but is something that becomes a part of your being - something that doesn't get broken down by a bad day or a stoke of bad luck. And through homelessness, I found that happiness that makes me whole. It helps me enjoy every minute of my life even though our income is still tiny, and we struggle to make ANY ends meet. (They never all meet. Not yet.)

What I learned was gratitude. Not to look at something I just bought and think it's nice, but to wake up in the morning grateful for every single comfort I've found, every inch of our tiny home that is one we can afford and are not at risk for losing. I'm more grateful for my husband and daughter than most anyone I know. Those are the things that mattered through it all, and kept us happy. It kept smiles on our faces. Being able to give our child a wonderful day on a playground became so much more when we had to go "home" to a shelter, and teach her how to live that way. Being able to grow plants is not only something I love, but something that gives me countless moments of joy each day when I see them - because for so long, I couldn't grow any.

Gratitude isn't something I learned to experience. It's something I learned to LIVE. Every breath I take is precious. Every smile from my child is precious. And having a home, even though it's in the projects and is far from anywhere I ever thought I'd be, is a gift. To have somewhere to call home is an amazing thing - and I learned that from not having one.

One might have thought my time being homeless would have put me more at risk to relapse. It had the opposite effect, as it turns out. It taught me the ability to feel so much joy every day, in so many moments, that it's grown my strength exponentially.

I am whole now. The vacant places in my soul that I tried to fill with drinking aren't empty anymore. And without living through those hardships, I'd never have reached this place in my mind where I can love life, and I can find ways to improve myself every day. I can focus on being kind, generous, and loving toward everyone I meet. I can understand that everyone faces a battle - and I don't have any idea what it is. So now, I go out of my way to help others when I can, to compliment people I don't know just to add a touch of joy to their days, and I can manage my own relationships in healthy, productive ways.

In essence, homelessness healed me.

Has anyone else experienced homelessness? What was is like for you? Do you feel like you got things out of it that made you stronger?

How We Met part 3

Tony was in the ICU for nine days. He nearly died. He was unconscious for the first six of those nine days. He hallucinated for some of them. He had to be on medicine strong enough to put down a horse in order to keep him from having another seizure.

When he was admitted to the hospital, I knew that I would be at risk of having a seizure if I wasn't careful. I asked his mother if she would buy me one more bottle of vodka - the last bottle. I told her that I'd wean myself off while Tony was in the hospital, and I gave her my word I'd never drink again. I had no idea how to do that, given how powerless I'd always been over the stuff, but it's what I promised, and I had every intention of keeping my word.

During those nine days, Shallie doled out a daily allowance of vodka for me. I drank less each day. She tried to keep a smile on her face and be supportive, knowing how hard it was, what I was doing.

I went to the hospital every morning when I woke up, and I sat with Tony in his room all day long, waiting, just waiting for him to come out of his unconscious state. I would go to the bathroom in the hospital if I needed a shot of vodka, but I had to drink less each day than I had the day before. Drastically less. It was hard, and I had the shakes almost the whole time. I was sick. I was glad no one talked to me, that everyone left me alone. I went home at night for supper. After that, I would head out to the garage with Shallie. It was the first time I'd spent time with her. Her smile and encouraging words got me through that week. It was one of the hardest weeks of my life.

One day, while I was driving Shallie home from the hospital, my body started locking up and shaking. I knew I wasn't far from having a seizure then, and I stopped the car and switched places with Shallie. I grabbed for my bottle and took a swig. It was only seconds before I felt my body start to relax. I had pushed it too far that time. I needed to be more careful. But I saved it. I was ok.

It felt completely awful staying in Tony's house without him. I wasn't truly welcome there, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. As I focused on this, I thought over and over that I'd prove myself to Tony's mom. I would keep my promise. I would stay sober, and I would keep Tony sober too. I didn't know how, but I'd have to find a way to keep him sober. If I didn't, he'd die.


Finally, he pulled through, and he remembered everything. He felt fragile, broken, weak. He could barely walk, even with the use of a walker. It took him weeks to recover from that nine day stay in the ICU. He told me that first day, after trying to walk from one end of the ICU to the other, how dismayed he was. He had played basketball every day of his life, and here he was with a walker, and STILL barely able to walk. "What have I done to myself?" he wondered.

It was then that he agreed that he'd give up drinking with me. I told him I had stopped, and that I would be sober with him.

It was then that we truly met, but after what we had been through together, our bond was tight. We weren't letting go.

Tony and I have been together ever since. We have a six year old daughter. And we haven't drank one drop. Not one relapse, not one single slip. Our connection was kismet. And it saved us both.

How We Met Part 2

Detox was so different. It had one small room full of cots for women and a huge room full of cots for men. No doors. There was one bathroom for women and one for men. There was a small kitchen with cereal and juice, and that was the only food. There was a large room with tables and chairs where you sat to wait until you were released. Once every few hours, the staff would make everyone line up to have their vitals taken and their level of intoxication checked. This is how they would decide who got to leave.

They transported me by ambulance to detox, alone, even though Tony and I had checked into the hospital together. They wouldn't let us stay together. But as I sat in detox, checking in, scared and alone, he walked through the door. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him. Immediately, I was told it was against the rules to do that. We would have to keep from touching each other while we were there. It was ok, I reasoned. It would only be a day or two.

Little did I know it would take over a week to fully detox.

People came and went, most of them there for only a few hours. Many were in on DUI or public intoxication. Most were pissed they were there. Tony was incredibly upset. He hated being caged, as I mentioned in his feelings about rehab, and it was worse here. He ranted and raved, but they wouldn't let him go.

A few days into our stay, Tony began acting strangely. He said he could see water coming out of the drink machine. There was none. Then he said he could see water spraying out of all the fire sprinklers in the ceilings, and he skipped off to play in the water. I was terrified. But then it got worse.

There was a small room with a cement floor, enclosed by metal, where smokers could go to indulge. We were out there, and a helicopter could be heard flying over. Tony suddenly grabbed me by my neck and pulled me down close to the ground into a corner. "They're coming for me!" he said. He held me tightly, almost choking me. "Keep quiet! They're surrounding us!" He began to whisper to himself, "What are we gonna do? How are we gonna get out of this?"

Then, he saw an older woman being brought into detox by some policemen. "Mama?" he said. "Look how they're treating my mom!" he began to get angry, and he let go of me. I sighed with relief and ran to get help.

I told the staff what had happened, and they came back with me to get Tony. To my dismay, all the staff member did was pick him up by his collar, set him down at a table, and tell him to calm down.

I knew Tony was going through DT's - withdrawals. I knew he was going to have a seizure. I knew it wouldn't be long. But they did nothing. It was as though they had no training to recognize the signs. I was perplexed and disappointed. And powerless. Completely powerless.

About half an hour later, we were in line getting our vitals checked. I had mine checked, and was not cleared to leave. They were checking Tony's when he collapsed in a seizure, just as I had suspected. One of the staff members caught him before he hit the hard floor, thank God.  I was horrified, and just screamed and cried.

They called an ambulance, which arrived six minutes later. I know this because that's how long the seizure lasted. It was one of the longest times of my life. I was hysterical. The ambulance took Tony, and it was me who called his mom and told her what had happened. I knew she blamed me in part.

Tony was in the ICU then, and I was alone in detox. That is, until I had a seizure myself. But mine wasn't nearly as serious as Tony's. I was taken to the hospital via ambulance for a day, then transported back to detox, where I was still alone. I passed the time talking to people as they came in and out, cleaning, and trying to sleep. It was nearly impossible to sleep when going through withdrawals, so there was almost none of that. I just tossed and turned. Then went back to talking and cleaning. Alone.

Tony remained in the hospital. It was a few more days before I was cleared to leave detox.

When I left, I called Tony's mom for a ride to the hospital. I stayed there with Tony until he was discharged. And first thing when he got home, he wanted a drink.

Fast forward to his next seizure, which happened one evening a only few days later. It didn't happen from withdrawals - he had been drinking. It happened because he was starting to die.

I was home alone with him, so I started getting us both dressed and ready to go to the hospital. I took us to the closest one, which was a hospital we hadn't been to before. In the parking lot, we were walking toward the ER when Tony stopped suddenly and started walking in circles. I knew this was the beginning of another seizure. I rushed to get him in the door. "C'mon baby. Let's go, this way. Hurry." He walked, and started making a really strange noise. When we got in the door, I walked to the desk and said, "he's having a seizure right now. Can I get some help?"

"You'll have to go to the other desk and push the doorbell." The woman didn't even look up.

I went and pushed it. There was a sign that said not to push it twice. I looked at Tony, who was about to collapse, and pushed it again. Then he fell into my arms. I struggled to hold him up, and screamed, "I need some fucking help RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!"

All the patients began to rush over to help me, while there was no staff to be found. Finally, as his seizure ended, they came with a gurney to take him into the ER.

Tony was in the ICU for nine days. He nearly died. He was unconscious for the first six of those nine days. He hallucinated for some of them. He had to be on medicine strong enough to put down a horse in order to keep him from having another seizure.

... to be continued....

How We Met

It was May 26, 2006. My chin-length black hair was tangled and knotted, and was standing up in all directions. It hadn't been brushed in several days. Before they took me there, I hadn't been off the floor of my apartment in several days. I don't remember how I got there.

I was sitting at a table in the main room of a large building. My head was down. I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I just stayed that way. Time passed. People walked around me.

Then, someone picked my head up by my hair. I saw blue eyes, an attractive face. "Are you ok?" he said. "Let me get you some ice water." When you're coming off a drinking binge, ice water is life. It feels amazing.

He brought it back to me and waited for me to drink it. "Better?"

"Yes."

"Listen, meet me in the kitchen in five minutes." and he was gone.

I was intrigued, which was a big deal given my current state. I met him there. He showed me a comb and said, "I thought I could comb your hair for you. It really needs to be combed." I nodded, and he combed my hair ever so gently. Then, he kissed my lips and left. I was speechless, so surprised, and the only thing I could think was, "Huh." I was speechless, even in my own mind. I wondered where this would lead.

I was in rehab. So was he. His name was Tony, and he drank as much as I did. No one ever drank as much as me. I had tried to quit once on my own and had a seizure from the withdrawals. That happened at work. I had since lost that job.

Tony didn't like being in rehab. He wanted out. He felt caged, and he rebelled. He screamed and wanted out. He wanted them to call his mom to come get him as soon as possible. I wanted them to make him stay. The idea of him leaving filled me with panic, despite the fact that we'd just met. But to my dismay, they let him go. His mother came to pick him up, and he was gone, just like that.

He left his phone number though, and when I called him from rehab, he sounded so excited to hear from me. He said he had missed me! He waited patiently for me to be released from rehab. He was already drinking again.

I didn't plan on drinking anymore, but once I met up with him, I quickly lost that resolve, and I was drunk with him. I started staying with him at his mom's house, and I abandoned mine. I also stopped talking to my family. They had tried repeatedly to help me, for ages. They had told me that if I started drinking again, I'd need to do it alone because they couldn't watch me die. But something between Tony and I had clicked, and I stayed with him. We were together.

Tony and I drank incredible amounts of vodka. Both of us. We needed it first thing when we woke up. We would wake in the middle of the night and need a shot to be able to go back to sleep. We would wake up and need a shot before we could get out of bed. We got the shakes if we went more than two hours without drinking.

Sundays, the liquor stores were closed, though. We had to plan ahead if we wanted to have liquor on Sunday, and one week, we forgot it was Saturday. That Sunday, we went to a nearby bar and had some drinks, but we only had a little money, and it didn't go far.  And early that Monday morning, Tony had a seizure.

It was terrifying to watch, and I was screaming. I ran downstairs to get Shallie, a girl that lived there, and woke his mom at the same time. They both came running. There was nothing we could do, of course, and I learned later that there's nothing you really should do.

The seizure ended, and Tony was unconscious for a minute. Then he woke up, remembering nothing. We told him he'd had a seizure, which he denied. I did the same thing when I had one, so I knew that was normal. We all sat down to discuss what to do. I told his mom that I knew it was from withdrawal, told her about my own experience, and said I knew if I went to the liquor store and he had a drink, he wouldn't have another. So she sent me to the store, which I walked to, alone, scared, and rushed, trying to make it back as fast as I could. There was a store that Tony and I walked to almost every day. I bought the large bottle of vodka, and walked home, though I wasn't calling it my home yet.

I talked Tony into checking into rehab with me, but since both of us had already been to West Pines, the "nice" rehab, twice, they sent us to detox instead. That's a far cry from rehab, where you share a room with one other person, you have nice meals three times a day, you go to groups, you have uplifting and strengthening activities scheduled, you have your own bathroom....

Detox was so different. It had one small room full of cots for women and a huge room full of cots for men. No doors. There was one bathroom for women and one for men. There was a small kitchen with cereal and juice, and that was the only food. There was a large room with tables and chairs where you sat to wait until you were released. Once every few hours, the staff would make everyone line up to have their vitals taken and their level of intoxication checked. This is how they would decide who got to leave.

...to be continued...

Sparing the rod isn't the only way to spoil the child

I know it's easy as pie to spoil your child, because I do it constantly. What's more, I love it. I love to spoil my daughter. Does this make me a terrible mother? Perhaps. But it makes no difference to me. I see the joy on her face when I get her something new and I just revel in it.

After a most successful Christmas, I was with Blue at the store a few weeks ago and found Monster High dolls on sale. I bought her three. Yes, THREE. The price was great, and I had the spare cash, which I usually wouldn't have, so I decided to splurge and get her the treat. She was so thrilled, she could barely stand it, and I was in heaven.

Is this bad parenting? I think it might be. But I did it anyway.

It's not like this is a one-time occurrence. Blue gets what she wants most of the time. I like it when she gets what she wants. I enjoy being able to do that for her. Our lifestyle is such that she doesn't get much in other areas, especially socially, and I think I feel like I make up for that by spoiling her with material things.

And she does act out when she doesn't get what she wants on rare occasions. She's definitely got the brat part down to an art. So I know the adages are true. I've created them with my daughter and proven them accurate. But since I'm the one who has to handle the outbursts, when they do happen, I don't think it's a problem that I've created this spoiled little beasty in her.

And truth be told, she's grateful more than she's spoiled, anyway. I find myself proud of her so often.... But she IS spoiled. She DOES throw fits. It IS because I've shown her that she gets what she wants.

Does this make me a bad parent? I think it only makes me a bad parent if it's going to impact her as an older child, or as an adult, in a detrimental way. And right now, I don't see it as doing that. But I could be short-sighted here.

What do you think? Leave me a comment. Am I ruining her? Will this cause her to have issues as an adult?

About five years ago, the place I was living became unsafe for me and my one-year-old daughter. But how do you choose between danger you can see, the one that you face in your home, and the one that you can't see – homelessness? It's a soul-wrenching choice, especially when your child is the one to face the consequences. Having faith in myself, my skills, and my experience, and knowing I could depend on those, and knowing how unsafe I really was if I stayed, I chose to leave.

I stayed in shelters with my baby for more than six months, during which time I applied for about
50 jobs a week, and at the same time, applied for every assistance program and housing program available. I had to try to build a new life in a number of weeks, something most people build over a number of years.

At first glance, the available programs are unbelievable. I never would have thought there would be so many programs designed to help people. But once you begin trying to obtain services, you begin to realize - this is no miracle. This is an endless road, one filled with potholes and detours and wrong turns. It’s filled with mandatory appointments you can’t attend because you have no gas and no money for bus tokens; document requirements, you can't provide because you can’t pay for an ID or birth certificate, and waiting lists that are years long. So you have to decide whether to spend each day trying to fill your empty stomach – or that of your child – or try to check one of these items off your list of things to do. Should you find shelter for the upcoming night, or should you try to get a birth certificate instead?

Something else I faced is the stigma associated with being homeless, and the judgments from so many people. No one understands how a parent can become homeless. People presume it's due to being irresponsible, selfish, or otherwise faulty. What people don't realize is to have a home, one needs a job. To have a job, one needs a home. To interview for a job, one needs a phone. To pay for a phone, one needs a job. To apply for a job, one needs transportation. To pay for transportation, one needs money. The system is a great big catch 22, and once you slip down the spiral, getting back up is nearly impossible.

We don't realize just how fragile our lives are until the fabric that holds them together unravels. Then suddenly, we have no way to put them back.

I write this now from a very different place. I've got a stable home and a stable income. My daughter has a stable life. But it took me years to get back what I lost. And our struggles are far from over. We still have to visit food banks every month to make ends meet. We belong to an alumni program from one of the shelters I stayed at that helps provide us with food and toiletries on a regular basis. Without services like these, we wouldn't make it.

What stands out to me though, after all this time, are the kindnesses. Two days ago, a stranger came to my house with a basket of Christmas dinner food, a box of hand-me-down clothes for my daughter, and some Christmas toys. I'd never met her. We connected briefly via email, she heard that my husband had been hospitalized, and that we were struggling, and she came.

I remember once telling another mother from Blue's school that my food stamps hadn't come in about four months, and about three hours later there was a knock on my door. She showed up with BAGS of food. It was enough to feed us for two weeks.

My car broke down, and I was given the name of a mechanic who had also "seen hard times." I took my car to him, and he fixed it free of charge, knowing there was nothing I could do to pay for it.

Even my computer was a gift from a non-profit agency that learned of my aspirations to write and wanted to help me.

My life is full of love. I see it from everywhere, all the time.

I still have the handmade blankets that were given to my daughter on her first night in a shelter, to make her feel more at home. Even that early on in my journey, the love people have to give was abundant.

Early on, I tried starting a service to give back. I called it Hope Phone. It was a phone number people could call who needed help finding ANYTHING. I was the queen of resources. I knew them backwards and forwards, and anyone who called me was able to get the help I needed. I helped loads of people. I kept families off the streets. I found homes for some of them. I found food for some of them. I did as much as I could... but Hope Phone failed in the long run because I spent too much time helping and not enough time making it a business.

Now, I just try to help one person at a time, when I can. Just the same way they help me.

School days

I know school days are crazy for all moms. I just wonder if they're the same kind of crazy as ours. Do you ever wonder if your crazies are the same as other people's?

I start my mornings very early, to give myself time to prepare for the messiness ahead. I want to be peaceful and calm.  I get up a good hour and a half before my daughter so I can relax, drink coffee, and watch the news. I want to know what the weather will be like so I can dress her appropriately. I want to know what's going on in the world. It makes our household chaos seem more ridiculous and less maddening.

When it comes time to wake Blue up, I do so gently, with kisses and kind words. I welcome her into the day. She generally starts with a smile, and tells me she loves me. That lasts about two seconds, until I tell her to get up, then she throws the covers back over her head and tells me to stop talking. I explain, daily, that it's time to get up for school and that we'll be late if she doesn't get up and get ready. She needs to get out of bed now. She refuses, and I have to pull the covers off and cajole her out of bed. This results in some screeching noises that only some weird animals should make.

She goes to the bathroom, then heads downstairs, where she plops down in my chair and insists on playing games on my phone. I tell her no, of course, which turns into, no, not until you're dressed. This gets her motivated, but then she hates the weather-ready clothes I've chosen for her. She shrieks again when the clothes go on, and tears them off. She insists that she hates them and won't wear them. I tell her to find her own clothes, and she refuses. She tells me to find some for her. I smack myself in the forehead. (I'm getting a callous in that spot from our daily exchanges.)

After several outfits, I finally find some clothes she's amenable to, and get them on her. At this point, I'm overwhelmed by the sense of victory, and I feel like I should be done, but I haven't even touched her waist-length blond hair yet, and that's where the biggest challenge lies. sigh.

So I regroup, and tell her it's time to do her hair.

She digs in her heels, balls up her fists, and screams.

I tell her she's not going anywhere without getting her hair done. She tries to bargain. "Just don't do my hair today, mom. You can do it tomorrow instead." I don't know why she does this. It never works. But she tries every day. Then she says, "Fine, I'm not going to school."

"Of course you're going to school," I say.

I finally cave and give her my phone to play with while I brush her hair, but that doesn't keep her from screaming throughout the entire exercise as though I'm pulling out her toenails one by one with pliers. She even goes so far as to scream, "Help me, Daddy! Help me!" She tries to run a couple times, at least, during this exercise. She doesn't succeed because I've got a hold of her hair. But finally, I get all her hair combed, and braided for school.

Then, she has to get her shoes and socks on, but by this point, she's so uncooperative that it's nearly impossible to get them on, and it usually takes both Daddy AND me to get them on her.

At this point, we're nearly late for school, despite how early I woke her up, and we grab her backpack and coat and run out the door.

I get back from taking her to school with a sigh of relief. Seven hours before her temper comes home. lol

* I should mention that she doesn't typically act like this in the evenings much anymore, and that there are mornings that she doesn't act like this either, but not most.