âThey call it the happiest place on earth.â Sure. If your definition of happy includes melted ice cream tears, toddler meltdowns, and parents stress-eating $9 churros just to survive the day.
Donât get me wrongâI love Disneyland. But this trip was different. This time, I brought my tiny human sidekick. And let me tell you, seeing the magic through his 18-month-old eyes almost made me forget that we paid $6 for bottled water. Almost.
He was mesmerized. Jessie from Toy Story, Minnie Mouse, Mr. Potato Headâstraight up celebrities to him. The way he stared, like his whole brain was exploding in sparkles, was priceless. I swear, if Minnie had asked him to move in, heâd have packed his diaper bag on the spot.
Of course, not everything was magical. Ursula from The Little Mermaid? Nope. Monsters Inc.? Hard pass. Basically, anything with a dark room and loud noises was nightmare fuel. But tractors at California Adventure? Yes. Driving cars on Autopia like he had his driverâs license? Double yes. I got it all on video because Iâm that mom.
And letâs talk food. Disneyland food is daylight robbery with sprinkles on top. Corn dogs, pizza, fruit cups that cost more than my weekly groceries⊠but hey, I guess thatâs how they fund the fireworks show. And okay, Iâll admit itâthose fireworks? Worth every overpriced bite.
Then there were the princesses. Sparkly gowns, tiaras, twirling down Main Street like tiny queens. Every little girl looked like she had just signed a contract with Disney royalty. Meanwhile, I looked like I had signed a contract with exhaustion.
Because hereâs the truth: Disneyland with a toddler is no joke. It takes stamina, snacks, and the patience of a saint. By the end, I was fried. But the last ride sealed it for me: Itâs a Small World. My son was in a full tranceâdancing, pointing, quacking at the ducks like it was his own private concert. I couldâve ridden it 10 more times just to watch him live his best life.
Hereâs my hot take: Disneyland is still overcrowded, overpriced, and hotter than Hades. But this time? I actually loved it. And hereâs whyârecovery.
If I wasnât clean, I wouldnât have been there. I wouldnât have had the patience, the presence, or the joy to soak in that chaos with my son. Recovery let me show upânot just for him, but for me too.
So yeah, Disneyland is crazy. But seeing it through his little eyes? Worth every penny, every meltdown, and every overpriced churro.
Keaton Sawyerâmy son, you are my reason for everything in life today.
Growing up, I always dreamed of becoming a mother, although I had no idea what that truly meant. Iâll never forget the day I found out I was pregnant. I had walked into a room where someone had peanut-butter coffee creamer, and the smell hit me so hard it sent me running to the bathroom. I hadnât even had my morning coffee yet, and instantly I knew something wasnât right.
A friend of mine gently suggested I take a pregnancy test. At first, I resisted. After years of trying, after doctors telling me that PCOS and endometriosis would likely make pregnancy impossible, I had all but given up hope. But deep down, I couldnât shake the feeling that she might be right.
So I went and bought two tests. Every test Iâd ever taken before had been negative, and I wanted to be sure. I didnât want to be alone, so I took the test with someone by my side. She looked at the result before I did, and the expression on her face said it allâI was pregnant.
I nearly collapsed. The shock was instant and overwhelming. I wasnât happy, I wasnât sadâI was frozen, unable to process what was happening. The truth was, at that time in my life, I had been acting out of hurt, fear, anger and a mix of other emotions, making choices that ultimately lead to something life-changing. Here I wasâpregnant.
The first call I made was to my best friend. I was shaking so badly that she thought I was about to tell her something tragic. Then I called my parents, who were on a cruise in Mexico, because I couldnât keep the news in. I knew my mom would practically fall over when she heardâand I was right. Her reaction mirrored mine: nothing but pure shock and disbelief.
Once the news settled, excitement began to creep in, but so did anxiety. This wasnât the way I imagined becoming a mother. My choices had led to an unexpected pregnancy and, ultimately, to raising a child without a responsible father. That reality terrified me. Yes, I had the support of my family, and I was grateful, but stillâI longed for things to be different, both for me and for my child.
Pregnancy was anything but easy. Around that time, my mom became sick and needed open-heart surgery, which added even more stress to an already overwhelming season. My own health was also difficult to manage, and I often felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. At my 14-week ultrasound, surrounded by my mom, close friends, and the babyâs grandmother, I learned I was having a boy. Instead of pure joy, I broke down in tearsâa mix of sadness, fear, and guilt that I couldnât quite explain. It wasnât that I didnât love him; it was that life felt so uncertain, and I was already exhausted. Those feelings stayed with me through much of the pregnancy, as I battled constant sickness and overwhelming fatigue, just counting down the days until it would finally be over.
Then, five and a half weeks early, complications forced me into an emergency C-section. The fear in that moment was indescribable. Everything I had carried for monthsâthe stress, the guilt, the questions of whether I was strong enoughâcame rushing in at once. At first, I couldnât hold my son, and the waiting felt endless. But the moment they finally placed him in my arms, everything shifted. The noise of the world seemed to quiet, and in that instant, I felt what people talk aboutâthat indescribable, unshakable love of a mother.
That day, Keaton Sawyer entered the world, and everything changed. He became my reason for living, my reason for fighting, my reason for becoming. The journey to him was not easy, but his little soul has been the greatest blessing of my life. Every struggle, every hardship, and every tear was worth it, because they led me hereâto him. And as I held him close, I knew without a doubt that no matter what lay ahead, my greatest purpose would always be found in being his mom.
To other moms who may read this: I want you to know that if your journey hasnât looked the way you imagined, you are not alone. Motherhood isnât always picture-perfect, and sometimes itâs born out of the hardest, messiest circumstances. But love has a way of redeeming even the most unexpected beginnings. No matter how your story started, the love you have for your child is enoughâitâs powerful, itâs real, and it will carry you through.
This is a monster I have been battling for just about half my life. Addiction is a disease, and it destroys life. It has the ability to take away the greatest gifts of life, and it can take a person who’s never touched drugs and turn them into someone they had no idea exsisted.
My journey in addiction and recovery has been a long one. It’s only been the last couple of years, that I actually have been able to see the truth of life and situations, and been able to fully concede to my Innermost self that I am an addict and I CANNOT use any substance no matter what!
I believe that I have again reached a turning point in my life and in recovery! My spirit is shifting and the benefits and gifts are beginning to out weigh the disease.
I must share. Today I had an experience. Something that is different from MOST of my life. I reached a breaking point, a point where my head, who is my WORST enemy attacked me!
Walking through Walmart pushing my grocery cart, it just stopped moving! The wheels locked up as if I was trying to take off with the cart?!? No big deal right? Just leave your stuff and go get another cart.
For me, it was the breaking point, for some odd reason! A gentlemen that worked there went and got me a different cart, and I took what I had, left what was still on the list, paid and went home!
Once I was home, it all hit me, ALL these feelings and emotions that build up, being pregnant, feeling like death for 3 months straight, soaring hormones, almost losing my mom, dealing with some painful things in recovery, and then of course, the stupid cart, pushed me over the edge, and I lost it.
For the first time in a really long time, taking some pain pills or smoking some dope,(meth) sounded like a GREAT idea. Regardless of the fact that I’m pregnant đ€°đŒ my addiction told me that was the best solution out there!
I was scared by this thought. It also gave me a chance to practice some of the spiritual principles I’ve learned in recovery. Reach out, share about it, pray, meditate, and DONT USE NO MATTER WHAT!
I shared about it, and I cried for a solid hour. So cleansing!
The last 3 months have been a challenge, and a gift at the same time. God blessed me with a miracle of motherhood, and has blessed me with a clarity of mind.
The grocery cart is a good analogy of life, sometimes we run into things that bring us to a HALT! Things, thoughts, feelings that stop us in our tracks! What we do in those times, shows where we are a humans and what we need to work on!
I have taken that experience, and looked at it closely, it was all the little bumps that led me to a screaming halt and so overwhelmed! Today I’m learning to push through and find a way to continue on the path…..even if I feel like I can’t any longer!
I often find myself in a place where I don’t know what to write about, and then I read something and my mind goes running đââïž but my fingers can’t catch up!
Courage– a word that has many different meanings, and is one of the most powerful.
I am reminded on a daily basis how much courage it takes to show up and live life! Being an addict in recovery is one of the hardest, yet most rewarding things I’ve ever done!
I face many challenges that used to send me spiraling out of control, and today walk through them with a new found courage. A majority of my life I used some sort of substance or behavior to change the way that I felt! I’m slowly learning different ways to deal with my fear today!
I have shared a few different experiences on my blog, but sometimes just showing up and facing life takes a lot of courage when what you have known for so long in the bottom of a spoon, or the inside of a dope sack, or an atmosphere where the sounds from gaming drown out any thoughts, yet make your heart race.
Choosing to come off my meds while pregnant đ€°đŒ demonstrators courage in a way I haven’t known, because I get to trust and believe that my god will take care of me and this baby. I have only ever known getting loaded when I’m not medicated so this is much different for me!
Everyday I get to work towards a better future and walk through fear to achieve the life I have always dreamed.
As long as I’ve been in recovery, I have always had triggers. Today things don’t trigger me like they used to, but occasionally I can end up on a train ride through the past.
I left a spoon from my coffee on the counter in the bathroom, not thinking anything of it. Tonight when I got home after a crazy, long day, I walked into the bathroom to start my nightly routine and noticed the spoon đ„ on the counter.
When I picked the spoon up there was a watery brown substance that I KNOW FOR A FACT WAS COFFEE, but my brain switched into disease mode and I instantly started flashing on the past.
My story of active addiction and recovery takes place MOSTLY in THIS house, in THAT bathroom. So walking in on an innocent spoon left on the counter sent me spinning.
I am just about at 7 months, clean and sober again. It’s been almost 18 months since I last used heroin, and even though it’s been that long, I still found myself flash-back as if it was just yesterday….that I used last.
The many days and nights that I would spend locked in my bathroom trying to find a vein so I could get well, instantly made me nauseous. Somethings I can remember as clear as day and others I have no recollection of.
I was not triggered to want to use, but I sure did emotionally find myself stuck on the train ride and remembering some of the things I have put my family through, and how grateful I am that my child will never have to see me loaded, as long as I choose to stay on this path!
Due October 6. 2018. What will it be? A boy, or a girl? The constant thought and question once I got past my initial shock.
No matter how bad I wanted to be a mom, I was not ready, and it could have been a terrible disaster bringing a baby into this world during that time in my life. Today I’m grateful for Gods timing.
Am I ready? I ask myself frequently! The drastic changes that have had to take place in my life since I found out that I’m expecting are simply miracles, or at least I’d have to say. Up until this point I don’t believe I would have been capable of taking such responsibility and caution to care for this little peanut đ„ growing inside me.
As an addict, I know the struggles I have faced in trying to get clean and stay clean. After years of fighting this battle, I understand how this is a cunning baffling and powerful disease, and I am powerless to it! I could not stop using drugs, regardless of the consequences, and it was a painful process for myself and everyone in my life. Finding out I was pregnant, I knew it was no longer just about me, and I had to make a choice to be selfless for the sake of this little being.
After almost a year of struggle, I was finally stable on mental health meds, and I knew that they were not safe and would be harmful to my baby, So we began the detox process, the day I found out I was pregnant! I wanted to make sure that I got through the pregnancy with the baby in mind, and that at the forefront.
I guess we could say that I’m an extremist. It’s black and white, all or nothing! So immediately I changed my caffeine intake and quit smoking as well. To be in a position where it’s no longer just about me, but a little baby I’m growing inside me, gives me the motivation to take better care of myself!
Today I’m 7 weeks and 5 days. Finally, completely off all of my medications, and am exhausted everyday! I can sleep all night and still take a nap and go to bed early. The baby sucks every ounce of energy out of me.
As for how I’m feeling, well…..Nauseous, and always craving pickles, and green olives! Constantly drinking milk. Maybe I have a salt defincincy, cause the amount of pickles and green olives I eat is still never enough to curb my cravings!
I have seen my baby đ¶ twice now. Heart beat is good, and so far we’re doing well! This whole thing is a lot!
I see the dr again in a week and a half and will be able to hear the heart beat, and get some pictures of my precious little peanut!
So far I’ve gained a total of 5 lbs, but that seems to fluctuate depending on time of day! My clothes are getting tighter and my skin is much more clear then I have ever seen it before. My hair feels much thicker then normal, and it seems to be growing.
I have started to have really weird dreams at night but I hear thats normal! The days seem to be going by really slow! But I’m sure this little peanut đ„ will be here before I know it, and ill be wishing during those sleepless nights that I could put them back inside.
The room is shaped like the state of Nevada. It has two floors like most county jails. The one difference is, our Gen Pop isnt separated by cells, we are all kept in the same pod, with 35 or so bunk beds between the top and bottom floor. Our day room consists of 7-8 tables depending on how full the pod is and how many females are being housed at that current moment. There is one tv, that we dont have any control over, so a majority of the time, we watch the same channel over and over and over again, day in and day out. The louder the tv, the louder the women, their for its never quiet. Even if you buy a pair of ear plugs off of commissary, they only muffle the sound a little bit.
5am “Line up for Chow, Line up for Chow”, and there you will stay for half hour to 40 minutes waiting for the Juice Boys to bring breakfast. Breakfast is pretty legit, and pretty consistant unlike lunch and dinner which you never know what your gonna get. At first you might pass on your tray and give it to one of the other girls, cause you just cant stomach whats in front of you. Normally it takes a few days to become accustomed to the atmosphere and food.
Everyone is dressed the same. Black and white stripes. And you only get to change out once a week on sundays. There are showers available to use, and its defiantly a MUST to take care of personal hygiene in jail. The jail stripes dont hold to well to body odor and not showering, and 35 women in the same room with those who dont shower can get really nasty. Some of these women are NOT VERY nice about this issue either.
If you have been in custody for a while, you have probably accumulated what they call “whites” and “shower stuff” , and commissary, which makes life in jail a little bit easier and more comfortable. Whites are to be worn under your stripes and most girls wash them every other day, which helps to keep body odor gone and manageable. Showering daily with shampoo and conditioner and soap from commissary is also a huge help.
Before the deputies will move you from Booking to Female General they will ask you a series of questions, one being, “are you going to detox from drugs or alcohol?” Â 99% of the time, the girls say no, because staying in booking is worse then being in female general while detoxing.
So, you come back to Female General. Its day 3, you go to court, find out that you will not be leaving on an “OR” like everyone hopes for. You know your going to be sick and detoxing, you just arent sure how bad its going to be. The jail will not give you your mental health meds because you have to be seen by the DR first, and hes only there on Thursdays, even though you were put on the list, you still have to wait a week. You know your really gonna go into detox and withdrawal.
And so it begins. Its the worst feeling youve ever felt. No, your not detoxing from Heroin or Meth this time. Maybe some Alcohol. But 17 different Psych Meds that you believed you were on for a “good” reason.
After months of trying to manage my life, my emotions, my losses, and the overwhelming weight of reality, I finally came face to face with the truth of my disease â inside the county jail.
This wasnât the first time I had ended up behind bars, but this time was different. This time, something in me shattered. The cold, concrete floor didnât just bruise my body â it broke through the denial I had been clinging to. I had hit what some people call “rock bottom,” but for me, it felt more like a complete unraveling.
This situation was utterly unacceptable to me (not that spending waking up on the cold concrete floor of a jail cell was ever acceptable, but this – somehow, was different) I spent the first day in a thick fog, still hungover from the vodka I had drowned myself in the night before. The night before ended with red and blue flashing lights, me ultimately in handcuffs, and a DUI charge. As I lay there regretting the choices of the prior evening the next morning with a head pounding and body aches, I repeatedly ask myself: How did I end up here â again?
It always begins with same old delusion that I can handle: “Just one”. (of anything) I believed I deserved AND needed it to cope with the grief of losing both of my grandparents within the same month, who I cared for in their dying days. Losing them was unbearable, and weight I was not prepared to to face or accept and deal with. However, the truth is, I never learned how to sit with pain, I only ever learned how to run from it and drinking, and using became my coping skills. I thought they protected me, but they only ever destroyed me. The result was always the same: desperation, degradation, guilt, and shame.
This wasnât the first time I had tried to drink away grief, or the first time I convinced myself I was fine. But thatâs the cunning nature of addiction it makes you believe youâre in control right up until everything falls apart. And once again, I was facing the wreckage of that delusion. The pattern was all too familiar: use, spiral, crash, regret. Rinse and repeat.
Even in that dark, hopeless place, one thing remained constant: God was still there, my constant. Even when I had nothing to offer â no strength, no willpower, no self-respect â He found me. He sat with me in that jail cell. Not to punish me, but to remind me that I wasnât alone.
I was being held on a parole and probation violation tied to a specialty court program I had been participating in after a prior possession charge. ( Which in short means, I was not eligible for bail) And while I sat in jail waiting for release, time kept moving without me. During this time period, I missed my grandpaâs funeral. This was the moment the weight of everything I had lost and given up finally caught up with me. There was no undoing, rewinding, or making wishes that I could do to set right the choices I had made.
I remember the heartbreak of knowing I couldnât be there, and the feeling of guilt and helplessness. The sharp, painful regret. I would have given anything to rewind time, to undo what Iâd done, to make better choices. But I couldnât. And in that moment of complete defeat, I felt something I hadnât let myself feel in a long time: powerlessness.
That feeling didnât make me weak â it made me human. I couldnât hide behind my pride or my excuses anymore. I was sick, and I needed help.
After being moved to female general, off the cold concrete floor, I finally got the luxury – as some might say- lying on that cold metal bunk, surrounded by the crowd of noisy women, who were screaming, sobbing, pacing â I had never wanted my freedom more. Not just the freedom to walk out of jail, but the deeper sense of freedom: the kind that breaks chains, lifts shame, and makes healing possible. I wanted freedom and to break the cycle from active addiction. Freedom from the cravings, from using, the behaviors, and freedom from myself.
Recovery wasnât immediate, nor was it flawless. Yet, it began at that moment of surrender. For me, the foundational seeds were firmly planted that day on the cold concrete floor. I discovered acceptance, freedom, and a part of myself that marked the beginning of my healing journey.
If thereâs one lesson Iâve gained since the beginning, itâs this: you canât escape pain and find peace. You must confront it. You need to learn to sit with yourself, acknowledge the truth, recognize your brokenness â and believe that something greater can help restore you.
Thatâs where my journey truly began. On the floor of a jail cell. Amidst the wreckage of everything I thought I controlled.
But rock bottom, Iâve learned, can also be the foundation on which life can be built.
My life has very seldom been boring. If I wasn’t living the madness in reality, Ive been busy creating and telling myself a new story in my head due to something traumatic or damaging that had happened, in order to protect myself and SURVIVE those moments or periods of time.
There came a point when all my life was, was SURVIVAL…and I started learning at a young age.
Emotionally, I felt alone. The detachment and disconnecting started when I was just a little girl. I had this dream. There was me on one side of the pond, and my mom on the other, and alligators in the middle. I had to scream at the alligators in the pond, to just let me get to my mom; who was standing on the other side of the pond. I could never get to her. And every night when I had this dream, I would wake up, and never have gotten to my mom. Those were my nightmares for years. I never knew what it was about, or why, I just knew that I had them. It happened when I was sick, or when I was I afraid of something.
All my life growing up, anytime that I talked about how I felt, I was made to feel different. My fears were crazy and weird to other people, and I was far from popular or much liked in school. I did not have a high self-esteem even as young as I can remember. I remember being in elementary school and being made fun of for how I dressed and for who I was, even tho I was just learning. Back then, you wouldn’t think how you did your hair, or how you dressed really mattered, but it did. I was not the coolest, in the class, and it mattered to me.
Either way, I started to learn how to do this thing, they call, “detaching” Or disassociating. Take myself away to somewhere else and play in my head till it was ok to come back again. (I didn’t know at that time this was what I was doing, I learned later on this is what was happening)
As I grew up, this behavior continued. As a result, I was unable to participate in relationships due to the fact that I couldn’t show up and be apart as a whole. I had done myself damage. Not only had I been on and off drugs since I was 14, but I had taught myself that anytime that I felt unwanted feelings, I would go somewhere else, to get away from those feelings. I also had childhood trauma which led to me deeper into drug use, and deeper in detachment and dissociating.
I feel like my life had turned in a broken record, or a scratched CD. I was on a roller coaster ride I had never heard about. Things were getting worse, and things started happening that I had never imagined before. I just wanted it to end.
It only got worse, and things just continued to go down hill. I wish that I could say that my story turned around here, but it didn’t. Unforntantely I had many more years of misery, and drug use followed here. Its been a long 15 years. Im lucky to be alive. Living the life of a drug addict, with mental health issues, some of us dont live to write about it. I however, did!
On January 20, 2017, after being on the run, chained once again to this disease, I was arrested. The charges? A warrant for paraphernalia I didnât even know I had, possession of a controlled substance, and three more counts of paraphernalia.
Being on the run wasnât glamorous or rebelliousâit was exhausting, terrifying, and empty. I barely slept, if I slept at all. I begged or panhandled for money to maintain my $100-a-day habit. When begging wasnât enough, I stoleâsometimes from family, sometimes from friends, sometimes from stores, anywhere I couldâto make sure I had money in my pocket. The so-called âfriendsâ around me stole from me too, just to stay high, have a car to drive, or simply because thatâs what addicts do.
I did whatever needed to be doneâwhatever that looked likeâto avoid another day of being sick. That included putting myself in extremely dangerous situations, ones I might not have walked away from. Every knock at the door, every set of headlights behind me sent my heart racing. I was chasing drugs, hiding from the law, but mostly I was running from myself. By the time they arrested me, I was already brokenâit just took the handcuffs to finally stop this run. Just another closed door, to my using, temporarily.
That was one of my many bottoms. Looking back now, itâs clear this disease had me cornered long before those handcuffs. That day was just the consequence catching up.
This disease is unlike anything else. Cunning, baffling, and powerful doesnât even begin to cover it. Since my relapse had already been in motion for months, I had done nothing but struggle to get back on my feet. And the truth is, relapse doesnât start with the moment you useâit starts long before.
Relapse has been part of my story from the very beginning. Countless rehabs. Trips to jail. Rebuilding, only to lose it all again. The trauma, the PTSD, the wreckage left behind. Denial, dishonesty, untrustworthinessâitâs all part of the disease, and it was all part of me.
At the time, the relapse that landed me in jail felt like it came out of nowhere. Like it appeared from thin air. But looking back, I know relapse doesnât just appear. It builds slowly and quietly. First comes the emotional relapse: the isolation, the resentment, the pretending Iâm fine. Then the mental relapse: the bargaining, the lies I tell myself, the fantasy that I can pick up just once and still be okay. By the time I physically used, I was already deep in relapseâit had been happening inside me for weeks, maybe months.
The truth is, I hadnât hit my bottom yet. And it showedâI clearly had another run in me.
At that point, I had nearly two years clean. My life looked stable on the outside. I thought I was happy. But then came two back surgeries, and thatâs where the cracks really began to show.
The first surgery, I made it through clean. I even recovered narcotic-free, and at the time I was proud of that. I thought it proved I was strong, that I had the disease under control. But the truth was, the relapse was already building underneath. Between the first and second surgeries, fear and anxiety crept in. I pulled away from my support group, and I started lyingâlittle things at first, but enough to give the disease a foothold. When the doctor told me I needed another surgery, I canât tell you if he offered me pain meds or if I manipulated him into prescribing them. All I know is that I told myself, âIâll take them as prescribed.â
And just like that, I slowly slipped further into the disease. Denial. Hiding the truth from those around me, eventually spiraling out of control.
And then the freefall began. Within months, everything unraveled. My relationship became toxic. My family was done with me again. I lost my home. I was back on the streets, loaded, and running from the law.
When I fall, I donât just stumbleâI crash hard.
Treatment didnât magically fix me. I sat in those groups selfish, dishonest, and unwilling to see how much wreckage I had created. I wore the mask, saying the right words, but inside I was still running. I stole from family. I lied to friends. I manipulated everyone who got close enough to care. Looking back, I can see how deep in the disease I really wasâselfish, self-centered, self-seeking. I was a wrecking ball of destruction, leaving damage wherever I went.
Between October 2016 and February 2017, I used with the full intention of it taking me out. I wanted to be clean so badly, but I hadnât yet learned how to stay clean. My arrest in January forced me into sobriety, and for a time, I did get clean again.
It sounds simple, but itâs not easy. I needed to change everything. And in recovery, âeverythingâ really does mean everythingâpeople, places, and things. The people I ran with, the places I used, the routines that kept me stuckâI had to let it all go. Because nothing changes if nothing changes, and for me, changing everything was the only way I had a chance at staying alive.
Although my story of addiction doesnât end here, at this pointâŠeventually I found freedom from the disease, and I have a beautiful life beyond my wildest dreams todayâa life built on recovery, my son, school, and the stability I once thought was impossible.
Surviving The Odds 