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I’ve been sober from Phentermine for over 4 years. I even went on the Dr. Oz Show last January and talked about it. Additionally, I have not had so much as a sip of alcohol since February 26, 2017. My 4-year sober birthday is coming up soon.

Those substances are no longer a pressing problem in my life, because I work really hard in recovery to stay sober. However, as I’ve shared before in other pieces scattered all over the internet, addiction is like playing an endless game of Whack-A-Mole. Just when I think I’m finally doing well, another problem…

When my now 9-year-old son was a baby, he cried incessantly. He didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two at a time, tops, for the first 7— SEVEN, dear reader— months of his life.

I almost had a nervous breakdown. Quite frankly, my stubbornness is probably what saved me. That, and my pride. I was much too proud to buckle under the pressure of being home with a three-year-old and an infant. After all, women have been doing this shit for years! …

Photo by Olga DeLawrence on Unsplash

Three days after we put the butcher knives out of reach because our son sort of halfway attempted to slash his wrists, I had my weekly therapy session.

“How does that make you feel?” she asked, after I finished telling her where we are in the excruciating process of maneuvering the labyrinth collectively known as Adolescent Behavioral Health.

In case you’ve not had the pleasure of experiencing it yourself, allow me to tell you: it’s terrible. Almost no one treats adolescents, first of all, and the blanket solution is always “go to the emergency room.” …

My son’s first attempt at suicide was in March, 2020.

He was 11 years old.

I haven’t written about it before now, and very few people even know that it happened. We kept it very quiet, mostly because he didn’t want anyone to know. It ate me up inside, and because I wasn’t writing about The Thing, I couldn’t write about anything. I threw myself into work. I wrote about racial injustice. I navigated the hell that is virtual schooling during a pandemic.

I did not write.

A writer who isn’t writing is either struggling with depression (check), overwhelm (check)…

As a former screen-time worrier, it took a long time for me to be open to the fact that Minecraft was actually helping my sons calm down.

Brothers laying on a bed watching a laptop.
Photo: @graychelyn via Twenty20

Today’s heat index in Baton Rouge, Louisiana is a muggy 107 degrees. A scroll through Instagram shows my friends in cooler parts of the country, like the Pacific Northwest, or even Tennessee enjoying fun activities like camping and outdoor festivals while I sit in an air-conditioned house with my three children.

Did I mention that two of them have ADHD? They do. Lots of energy.

Yes, we have access to indoor trampoline parks, pools, water parks, and museums, but getting there still requires dealing with the oppressive heat. …


Writer, mother, and recovering alcoholic living in the Deep South.

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