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Power in Real Stories

10/19/2018

What? Two movies about families in crisis coming out at the same time? Like many of you, the thought of watching a wrenching story unfold on the big screen about a mother dealing with her addicted teenager, or a father desperate to save his son, turns my insides out.

Some of you weren’t, at first, ready to read my book SAVING JAKE: When Addiction Hits Home because your emotions felt too raw. I get that. I’m not rushing right out to see these new films, though Julia Roberts may indeed get an Oscar for her performance in Ben is Back, and Steve Carell will be powerful in Beautiful Boy. I’ll watch when I’m ready.

What’s vital is for people with no experience of addiction to watch these movies—and read books like SAVING JAKE—to better understand our nation’s drug epidemic. This drug crisis is not going away, it’s getting worse.

There’s power in real stories. True. Lasting. Impact.

One person dying is a tragedy, 72,000 dead is a statistic. In 2017, pain pills like OxyContin, Vicodin and street drugs like heroin and fentanyl killed 72,000 Americans yet these numbers don’t seem to galvanize reaction like one despairing family story can. We NEED true stories to inspire each of us to step up to what we can do daily to bring about desperately needed change.

What can you do? If you know friends and family, who don’t understand much about addiction, encourage them to read, learn and go watch these movies. Call a struggling friend and listen. Learn for yourself what solutions are working in communities to inform your choices to volunteer, donate and vote. Join a grassroots group and use your voice to bring about more awareness. Volunteer at a treatment center or shelter, donate to evidenced-based programs or to brain research, call your local representative and push for accessible treatment, vote for senators and other legislators who stand for compassion, justice, action and money for this health crisis.

Small deeds add up to great change.

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Insurance Denials Brought Me To My Knees

4/25/2018

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So there was an appropriate gasp from the audience when I read VERBATIM our insurance company’s denial of coverage for our addicted son. The timing of denials often came at the worst possible moment… after we’d encouraged our son for months to walk into treatment.

He was a mess… sick, suicidal, starving, admitted to acute care.

The insurance rep decided that 4 days of acute care was all they’d cover. But our policy covered 30 days (just a start, really). No matter; they showed our son the door.

All those obstacles many of you, like me, have come up against in the fight against addiction, like insurance denials, THAT’s what I focused on in my speech at this Health Summit. Rehab programs are too short, waiting lines too long. Kids today have unprecedented access to potent prescription drugs. Opioids are sitting right there in everyone’s medicine cabinet. Struggling people are hiding from stigma and shame; families are fighting myths and insurance refusals. Communities are without low-cost long-term services and we need them NOW.

Treatment works though it may take multiple attempts.

I’ve waited YEARS to tell insurance reps (who I knew would be sprinkled throughout this audience) how their denials once brought me to my knees. Remembering those life-or-death moments keeps me describing the obstacles tens of thousands of families like mine face in the fight against addiction.

People struggling with substance abuse need ACCESS to services that will support long-term recovery. Insurance companies need to pay for what’s covered on policies, period. Over 375 policymakers and leaders were crowded into this room, listening, and ready to roll up their sleeves. It’s going to take every single one of us.

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Keeping Your Hands On The Wheel

2/11/2018

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I used to think it was my caring duty as a mother to manage my family members. My expectations—of my children and my husband to do what I felt was best—caused resentment and conveyed disapproval though I didn’t see it at the time, so I continued on with my pattern of trying to get them to do what I thought they should.

I’d say things like, “You should take a jacket,” and “I want you to make a dentist appointment,” and “You need to start saving money so you can pay your rent.” Managing my family felt to me like loving them.

What got me to examine my behavior was the desperation that goes along with the disease of addiction. Mothering my son did not cause his addiction but his drug addiction did cause my mothering to go into overdrive. Try as I might, managing my son and his escalating problems did not help. What did help was learning to pay attention to my own behavior because then I was looking at my own options instead of the options of others.

When I said to my son, “You should go to a meeting,” or “You need to get back to treatment,” or “I want you to promise me you won’t use drugs,” I was telling him how he should find recovery. How does anyone really know what’s best for another? Driven by the stranglehold addiction had on him, my worry was leading me astray.

Gradually, my words--should, need to, and I want you to—began to sound unsupportive to my ears. So I tried hard to simply convey love and compassion, to stop telling him what to do, and to hold back from doing for him what he could do for himself. That’s challenging when you’re worried sick. It would’ve been far easier if decades ago I’d truly internalized that his life is not mine to live.

But I didn’t.

Fast forward to the hopeful part: I’m finding that all my relationships dramatically improve when I work on staying in my lane. The other day while driving, I noticed those are my hands on the wheel. I can choose to scream at the crazy driver ahead (who can’t hear me anyway) or take action myself: slow down, speed up, move over, or exit. Issuing a steady stream of instructions at that driver (or my son) won’t change him. Change has to come from me.

I’m the only one who can bring about my own peace.

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What's the Right Thing to Ask?

1/1/2018

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While out walking my dog, a neighbor asked how Jake was doing. Agitated, she blurted out, “What’s the right thing to do, should I ask or not ask?” Opiate addiction is indeed frightening.

She appeared to brace herself though I calmly replied Jake seemed to be doing well. She sighed and relaxed. That’s what she wanted to hear. And that’s all I know to say. After all, given the symptoms of addiction—secrecy, lies and shame—how do any of us really know how our addicted loved ones are doing?

I’m working hard on rebuilding trust, reminding myself of healthy boundaries, and respecting Jake’s privacy.

Just before several recent holiday gatherings, I told my son if friends and family have questions about him, I’d redirect them to him. And they do ask.

“If we see him take a drink, should we go talk to him?” one relative asked me. Responses are still not automatic for me because many confusing concepts around addiction have taken me years to grasp. I pondered.

Jake may make risky decisions even with his extensive understanding of his addiction (and because of the symptoms of the disease) but he gets to choose his own life. And for the most part we need to stay out of it. Jake is 26 years old, an adult, financially independent, making his own decisions; his life is his business. If he wishes to discuss his recovery with the entire family or with friends, he will. Let him be the one to bring it up.

I responded, “Better to focus on your own life and give him the right and respect to live his, whatever the consequences. If you saw a diabetic eat a cupcake, would you tell him not to?” Some people have diabetes and some people have substance use disorders. These diseases are only a small part of who our loved ones are.

It’s been hard for me to learn that I need to live my life no matter what my son chooses to do with his. I’ve come to understand THAT is the most effective way to be supportive. My son is not a bad person trying to be good; he’s a sick person trying to get well. Knowing that turns criticism into compassion.

Still the questions come. A friend asked, “I want to be supportive to you. What’s the right thing to say or ask?” I thought for a long while before replying, “Just ask me how I’m doing.”

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Giving Hope

12/9/2017

6 Comments

After connecting with countless people affected by addiction, I returned home exhausted yet rewarded.

Then a young woman recovering from opiate addiction living in one of Ohio’s counties where I’d just visited messaged me, “Your book is inspirational… it’s given me hope and shows me I’m not alone.” She’d missed my presentations but had seen a posting about SAVING JAKE in her doctor’s office where she gets a Vivitrol shot every month.

She wanted to know if Jake was alive… said she’d cried after reading the first page… she was on Chapter 8… that it was the first time she’d read and understood her parents’ perspective.

Such ripples in a pond! My emotions swirled around—tenderness, optimism, empathy, and gratitude—in connecting with this young woman. I get how reading stories helps. Reading and learning helped get me through the worst. And support groups.

After she finished my story later that same night, she sent another message. “I’m gonna keep reading it over and over… I’m becoming immune to the Vivitrol shot… Your family has truly inspired me to not give up.” Then the following day she wrote, “Your book saved my life.”

It feels like pure joy to give hope to someone in need when they most need it. Clearly, addicts and family members alike are desperate for much-needed hope.

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A Mother's Quandary

11/1/2017

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Last night I worried for a 20-year-old boy who was sleeping in the park. His mother called me just as I was about to climb into bed.

She was twisting in agony over what to do because her son greatly needed a sleeping bag.

She’d desperately hoped he would choose to return to rehab. He was asking to stay with her but she knew that even cooking him a meal would crumble her carefully-built resolve. Much as she wanted to cradle him in her arms and offer him a warm bed, she’d learned if she helped make him comfortable he would not go back to treatment. She also knew that her son was sick, consumed by the disease of addiction.

So she’d told him he couldn’t stay at her house.

She sounded strong and clear, quite different from a few years earlier when she was thin as a pin, sinking down under the double distress of an alcoholic husband and a son’s growing drug addiction.

I’d experienced a similar situation when my own son had broken the rules at one treatment facility and they’d asked him to leave. He was facing 3 nights on his own—in a little town in the Rocky Mountains in the dead of winter—before a sober house had an open bed. He wanted money for a motel but I’d said “No.” I told this boy’s mother nothing had ever felt so heartbreaking or so harsh yet I’d learned it didn’t help to cushion his downward slides.

Now a rehab in another town was offering her son a bed in 5 days’ time.

She hung on to this sliver of hope. She wanted to point him toward a shelter but there isn’t one in our community. There isn’t a detox center or a rehab either. And this one 15 miles away didn’t have any available beds when he greatly needed one.

She wanted to keep her son safe and warm. Many of us find ourselves in this same quandary: How do we stay out of the chaos, and convey steady love and encouragement when our communities are without good local treatment centers? Our sick sons and daughters need to walk into rehab on their own because we can’t do that for them. Addiction is a disease where protecting an addict doesn’t work but timely treatment does.

Five nights in the park appeared to be the only option. Still in turmoil, this mother decided to leave the sleeping bag on her doorstep where her son could get it.

10 Comments

Power in Real Stories

Insurance Denials Brought Me To My Knees

Keeping Your Hands On The Wheel

What's the Right Thing to Ask?

Giving Hope

A Mother's Quandary

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