Addiction has been a constant shadow in my life. Not because I struggled with it directly, but because I was born into it—raised by two parents whose battles with addiction shaped my childhood and forever marked my perspective on life, love, and resilience.
I’ve seen both sides of the coin.
On one side is my mother: a fighter, a survivor, and now, nearly 20 years sober. Her story is one of incredible strengths. She rebuilt her life from the ground up. She found purpose, health, and happiness again after years of chaos and pain. Watching her transformation wasn’t instant or easy, it was filled with setbacks, moments of doubt, and heartbreak. But she kept going. She chose recovery, again and again, and today she’s not just sober, she’s thriving. She’s living proof that addiction doesn’t have to be the end of the story.
But then there’s the other side—the side I carry with grief and heavy questions. My father.
Addiction stole him from us in a different way. Thirteen years ago, he took his own life. He believed he was a burden, that his presence only brought pain to those who loved him. He thought by leaving, he was making life easier for everyone else. But the truth is, his absence is a wound that never fully heals. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. He missed so much—he missed seeing his son grow into a successful man, missed watching his grandchildren come into the world, missed birthdays, milestones, laughter, and love.
Addiction lied to him. It told him he wasn’t worth saving, that things would never get better. And that lie cost him his life.
This is why I share my story—not for pity or attention, but for connection. For the person reading this who feels like they’re too far gone. For the parents who think their kids would be better off without them. For the loved one watching someone struggle and wondering if hope is even possible.
My family has experienced both heartbreak and healing of addiction. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: recovery is always possible. My mother’s story proves it. Her journey is a beacon for anyone lost in the fog of addiction, showing that it’s never too late to turn things around.
But we also need to talk about the pain—the real, raw pain—of losing someone to addiction. Because silence can be deadly. If my father had believed for just one more moment that he was worth fighting for, that we loved him no matter what, maybe he’d still be here.
If you’re struggling, please don’t give up. There’s still so much life ahead of you. Your story doesn’t have to end in tragedy. It can be one of redemption. Of healing. Of watching your kids grow, of holding your grandkids, of celebrating 20 years of sobriety one day.
To my mom: thank you for choosing life. You’ve shown me what true courage looks like.
To my dad: I miss you every single day. I wish you could have seen how much you mattered; how much you still matter.
And to anyone out there fighting addiction—you’re not alone. You are not a burden. You are loved. And you are worth recovery.
