Love the Addict, Hate the Addiction

 SOTD: Chandelier 

“Understanding the difference between healthy striving and perfectionism is critical to laying down the shield and picking up your life. Research shows that perfectionism hampers success. In fact, it's often the path to depression, anxiety, addiction, and life paralysis.” 
― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

Some facts about addiction in America: 

·  Almost 21 million Americans have at least one addiction, yet only 10% of them receive treatment.

·  Drug overdose deaths have more than tripled since 1990.

·  From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 Americans died from overdosing on a drug.

·  Alcohol and drug addiction cost the U.S. economy over $600 billion every year.

·  In 2017, 34.2 million Americans committed DUI, 21.4 million under the influence of alcohol and 12.8 million under the influence of drugs.

·  About 20% of Americans who have depression or an anxiety disorder also have a substance use disorder.

·  More than 90% of people who have an addiction started to drink alcohol or use drugs before they were 18 years old.

·  Americans between the ages of 18 and 25 are most likely to use addictive drugs.

Over the last six months, two people I know and care about lost their battles with addiction. One was my favorite Aunt, the other, the husband of one of my closest friends. One was completely unexpected, the other, the result of years of struggling that took too great a toll on her body. What I've learned in the time since these losses is that addiction is a real problem that we aren't talking about enough. 

Don't get me wrong, I have several friends who are recovered addicts and they are beacons of light on social media when it comes to being open and supportive of others who might be going through the same struggles they are overcoming, but in general, addiction is thought of as something that makes one less than -- less than deserving of second chances, less than willing to help themselves, and perhaps the worst of all, less than the value of a non-addict. But the truth is, addicts are just like any of us. Hell, based on the last two years, I'd guess someone reading this is struggling with issues of addiction that none of us know anything of. 

One of my favorite writers is Brene Brown. She's a professor and researcher in the areas of shame and vulnerability. Her thoughts on shame have been stuck in my head for months. She believes that our behaviors are a response to how we experience destructive thoughts. And for many who struggle with addiction, shame is the superior underlining emotion, followed closely by guilt. Guilt is just as powerful, but its influence is positive, while shame is destructive. Shame erodes our courage and fuels disengagement. It is this disengagement that fosters the conditions that make it much harder for an addict to overcome their vice. But there is hope, she says that if we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive. It's simply a matter of being vulnerable enough to open the darkest corners of our lives. 

There are so many people in my life who can no longer tell their own story. And it's heartbreaking. I cannot tell their stories for them, but I can tell you about the addict I love. 

My brother and I have never really been close. Not even as kids. I'm four years older, and he always got in my way. If I'm being completely honest, most days, I'd rather be an only child. Or at least that is how I've felt the last 36 years. But in the last month, I've made an effort to connect with him. He has struggled with addiction for many years. About two years ago he was in rehab for an addiction to prescription medication (and later, harder drugs) following a brief battle with brain cancer. While riding in my car a few days ago, he shared with me that his first experience with drugs was at our grandparent's farm, at the age of 11, our uncle introduced him to pot. He told me they grew it on the property and would smoke it right off the plant. He confessed that he started stealing cigarettes from our mom when he was 12, and by the age of 15, there wasn't a drug he hadn't tried. 

I used to think he was worthless. I gave up on him a long time ago. But what I've learned is that addiction is a disease, and like most illnesses, it doesn't change just because you act a certain way, or decide that you aren't going to do something anymore. It is a daily battle to control the urge to give in. He is a father of three. He is a working member of society. He is far more forgiving and zen like than I could ever hope to be. And he is an addict. 

I sometimes wonder if it weren't for the influence of our uncle, if he would've ended up on this journey. If he had never tried weed at the age of 11, would he have ended up an addict anyway? I'm not sure there is an answer to that question, but it seems logical that people are wired for certain vices. Why can I drink whenever I want, but my friend in AA can't have a single drink because if she does, it would open the floodgates and upend her life? Are some people just wired for addiction? I think the research seems to think so. 

For my Aunt, the pills and drinking were a way to numb decades of pain. The pain of loss, the pain of disappointment, and the pain of not being in control. The only difference between us is that she did all of her coping in private, often starting before breakfast. Years and years of being a functioning alcoholic and using narcotics daily eventually took their toll on her body and when she contracted Covid, she didn't stand a chance. We lost her a few days before my 40th birthday. Because of Covid, I couldn't even go to her funeral and share her loss with my family members. Instead, we shared tears and stories over Zoom and FaceTime. 

With my friend's husband, it was an overdose. They were separated and he was in recovery. There were no indications that he was struggling again, and unfortunately, he took something that he didn't know was basically pure Fentanyl. His addiction began after an injury he sustained while trying to help an elderly man who was being mugged. It started with opioids that were intended to help with the pain from his life threatening stab wounds, and like most people who get addicted to opioids, eventually, the pills weren't enough. There's a cruel irony in knowing that had he not stepped in to help that man, not only would he be alive today, but every thing would be completely different. I didn't know him very well. In fact, I only met him twice and spent just a few hours with him each time, but from our conversations, I know he was a smart, loving, and driven man. He carried a lot of guilt and shame about his addiction. He didn't say that, but I could tell by the way he talked about his recovery that it was both something he was proud of, but also deeply ashamed that it had affected so many people in his life in such a negative way. 

I think about his situation, and I think about all the addicts who have been in a pressure cooker for the last 14 months as the pandemic continues to rage. I wonder how many people who struggle with addiction have found staying clean nearly impossible during these times of isolation. I also think about the epidemic of deadly street drugs -- especially the issues with synthetic Fentanyl. Our leaders are letting us down by not addressing this problem and at least trying to come up with any approach to reign it in. A few weeks ago, two teenagers in a neighboring town died after smoking pot that was laced with deadly Fentanyl. I have no problem with marijuana. In fact, I think it could be a solution to many other drug problems, as well as an appropriate form of relief for common mental health issues ranging from anxiety to PTSD. But before I heard about those teenage boys, I never once worried about the possibility that weed could be deadly. And to be honest, I'd really love to live in a world were I didn't. 

We've got to take the stigma of addiction out of our collective societal group thinking. Until we stop treating addicts like they are worthless junkies, and actually show them empathy, we can't begin to properly support them.  Until we stop penalizing addicts with lost employment opportunities and limitations to education, we can't say that we believe in second chances. Before we can say "Love the Addict, Hate the Addiction," we have to universally understand that addiction is a disease for which there is no cure. We have a responsibility to care for all members of society and I think we are at our best when we lead with kindness and understanding. If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, there are so many people who would love to help, but you have to ask. If you need help, please reach out to SAMHSA (substance abuse and mental health services association) at 1-800-662-HELP. 

I'm hopeful about the future with my brother. In many ways, I feel like the success of our future relationships will depend on his willingness to give me a second chance. Which is kind of funny since I am the one who used to believe he didn't deserve any more chances. But the truth is, if you have the opportunity to give someone a second, third, or... millionth chance -- DO IT! Your act of empathy and support could be the one that changes everything. You don't want to be that person who wakes up wondering if there was more that they could've done. Trust me. 

I’m with her.

SOTD: Come Together 

There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m with Liz Cheney. 

Let me explain. 

The Trump as President thing was a complete and total nightmare. And even as we saw the results of the election, where he legitimately lost, people like me experienced anxiety over his refusal to accept that loss FOR MONTHS. It wasn’t until January 20th that people like me breathed as sigh of relief. But before that, we had to live through 1/6/21 — the day that Trump orchestrated starting back in December. 

I’ve had to bite my tongue so many times with blissfully ignorant family members who believe the big lie. Not only that, but these people are still convinced that it wasn’t their own ilk that participated in the insurrection. (And surprise —they think Covid is overblown and the vaccine is dangerous 🤦🏻‍♀️) 

There was a time when I (a staunch democrat) could intern for a Republican. That time was 2002, and I know this because I did. There was a time when people on opposite sides didn’t hate each other. It was prior to Obama’s election. That race, particularly, the rhetoric of Sarah Palin, was a turning point in political discourse. But even as she promoted the lie that Obama was a Muslim (as if it were a bad thing), John McCain put country over party and spoke the truth when faced with a different big lie. Years later, just before his death, John McCain would address his colleagues on the Senate floor, in the most passionate plea for bipartisanship. And then there’s George W. Bush; a warmer, gentler, almost charismatic former President wormed his way into my heart with his friendship with Michelle Obama and his folksy paintings and his truthful disbelief of the dystopian nightmare that was the Trump era. 

And now Liz Cheney. Daughter of one of the most polarizing men in politics, she knows the stakes of her vote later today. The effort to remove her from GOP leadership, because she won’t tell the big lie, is problematic for many reasons, but the worst, by far, is that she is one of the few Republicans who are still rational and purposed. Don’t get me wrong, our politics will NEVER align, but my respect and admiration for the speech she delivered, a few hours ago, is endless. 

I’m optimistic (at least I’m trying to be) about the vote. It is a secret ballot. I’m hopeful that more members of the GOP will find a backbone during that secret vote. I’m hopeful that in secret, more members will remember their oath to put country over party. I’m hopeful that not all those representing the right have drank the kool-aid. Because we need a healthy two party system. But if I’m wrong, if she is ousted, the damage to the GOP will be irreversible. The party will be split and the next 2-4 years could be uglier than the last decade just with Republican infighting. 

I’ll never vote for a Liz Cheney, but I respect the hell out of her for standing strong in the truth. So much, that I’m going to say something I never dreamed I’d say: I’m completely with her — Liz Cheney. 

Mama

 SOTD: A Song For Mama

"You will always be the girl in my life."

Oh dear. I'm starting to tear up and I've barely even started writing. 

I know everyone says they have the absolute best mom, especially on Mother's Day, but y'all -- I really, really do. 

When I was a kid, I remember thinking my mom was the strongest person alive. Like physically, there was nothing she couldn't do. And she was barely 5'5", 110 lbs soaking wet. I watched her work alongside men twice her size in a window factory. I watched her play softball and run faster than anyone else on the field. I watched her sacrifice so many of her dreams so my brother and I could have more of our own. 

I watched her love and lose. And I watched as she pulled herself together and do it again. And again. And again, one more time... And she's still dating! 

I remember watching her sing along to the radio while driving her little grey Escort. Windows rolled down, wind in her hair, completely carefree.  I remember her love of Whitney Houston and Reba McEntire. She loved them, so of course, so did I! 

I remember watching her cook dinner every night, after working all day, and our house was always clean. Her lasagna is still the best I've ever had -- at least in America. Her tea is the sweetest you'll ever drink. And her nightstand is always packed with candy bars and little Debbie snacks. 

I remember that she never told me I could or could not do anything. Sure, we had some basic rules, but more than anything, she's always just wanted to encourage whatever made me happiest. When it came to college, she was the first person to tell me I could do anything I wanted -- and do it anywhere I wanted to do it. When it comes to careers -- and we all know I've had a few -- she celebrates the accomplishments when they come, but if I get the urge to run, she's the first one to tell me I can change if I want to. And then she gives me the support I need to make those changes -- whether it's moving me across the state, back into her house, or shipping me to another country. At the end of the day, I know that if I am going after something I believe in, even if no one else believes I can do it -- she does. 

I don't remember ever watching her cry. I'm sure she did, I just don't remember ever seeing it. At least not until I was an adult. I've scared her a few times. Not intentionally, but things have definitely happened that have caused her extreme worry and grief. She loves twice as hard as I do, which is kinda saying a lot -- she'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. 

To know her is to love her. 

In the last year, I have probably caused her more grief and stress than the first 40 combined. But she has also been my absolute rock. When there was no one else I could turn to, she was ALWAYS there. Arms open. Never judging. Never unwavering. And if I'm being completely honest, she's probably saved my life more than once. 

'I love you' seems insufficient. There surely is a sentiment that is greater than love. I have not found it, but I'm sure it must exist, if only for this one expression of gratitude and adoration. 

Happy Mother's Day Mama. You will always be the queen of my heart. And my very best friend. Until I find a better way to say it... I love you. 

(Yes, I am a blubbering, crying mess, if anyone is curious.)

This One Time, When I Was A TV Producer...

 SOTD: All These Things That I've Done

The year was 2006. The city was New Orleans. The mission...was not exactly impossible. 

After Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in August of 2005, the production company I worked for was offered a crossover event to film a home renovation for an elderly woman who had been swindled out of insurance repairs on her shotgun home in the heart of the city. We used the show I worked on for over 100 episodes, DIY To The Rescue, and a team that was assembled with the help of the producers for Dr. Phil, to document the process of demolishing the old house and rebuilding an entirely new home – over the course of just a few weeks. We shot it in three parts. First the demolition – just a skeleton crew and our hosts over the course of a few days. A few weeks later, I would move into a downtown hotel for about six weeks while we prepared for the build. Once we were camera ready, we brought our skeleton crew back to film the building of the house’s bones with a few host cameos throughout. Finally, when the home was almost finished, we brought in the full crew in to work our magic. Over the course of these weeks, I got to basically design and direct the entire project. Start to finish, the house was completed in less than three weeks. (Not gonna lie, I still think it was a miracle to get it done that quick!)  To say I felt like a kid on field day, would be an understatement. 

The really cool thing about my job was that I knew what had to be done and because I'm super detail oriented, I was always over prepared. For some, I'm sure my perfectionist tendencies drove them nuts, but for me, if I could arrive in a new city fully prepared, I was happy and I could take a day or two to really enjoy my new surroundings without worrying that I was neglecting my responsibilities. We were fond of coastal towns on TTR, so that often meant I got paid to spend the day at the beach relaxing the day before we would start a six day shoot. If you've ever worked in TV, you know what a treat a day of relaxation, before going all out for six days straight, can be. With the New Orleans project things were a bit different. There were four of us from Knoxville who basically camped out in NOLA for the duration of the project. It was myself, Stephanie (my right hand for all things DTTR), Brud (the most amazing camera guy EVER), and Chris (our Audio tech). For the first two weeks, it was just Stephanie and I. And every day was an adventure. I'll never forget the first day Brud and Chris arrived, we were scheduled to shoot some foundation and framing, but it was late August in New Orleans, and the weather was treacherous. Steph and I went to meet with the contractors and just as we pulled up to the site, the hardest rain I have ever seen began to fall. We were stuck in our rental car for what felt like hours. I was a smoker then, and I don't know how Stephanie put up with me -- I am such a planner that when unexpected and uncontrollable things like the weather derail my plans, I kind of spin out. I bet I chain smoked half a pack of cigarettes while we waited that storm out and tried to readjust our shooting schedule. Things didn't always go according to plan, but we always made the best of it. 

We spent weeks preparing for this project in Knoxville. We spent days at Home Depot and Lowes picking out everything from door knobs and drawer pulls, to paint, and bathtubs. If it went in the house, it had to go through us. In the end, I had the final say on design, and that was probably the most fullfilling part of this project for me. I took a few big swings -- particularly with the colors I chose to paint the walls -- but in NOLA there's a tradition of painting the walls of a home bright and inviting colors. I wanted to stay true to that, even if I wouldn't have chosen it for myself. The preparation we did during pre-production freed me up to focus on the day to day progress during the build. And once it was finished, a truck arrived with all the furniture we picked out! It was amazing. Almost all of the interior decor and furniture was donated -- another thing the team pulled off to make this extra special for Ms. Marion. The one thing we forgot, was the thing all new homeowners seem to forget... the little stuff. The pots, pans, utensils, toilet paper, dishes, towels... you know -- EVERYTHING you use every single day. So, during the last few days of filming, Stephanie and I took our small SUV rental car to the nearest Target (about 20 minutes away), pulled out our company credit cards, and filled seven shopping carts with every single thing we could think of that Ms. Marion might need. It should come as no surprise that we could not fit seven carts worth of stuff in our rental. Three trips back and forth later, we managed to get it all home! 

Sidebar: Spending thousands of dollars, of someone else's money, at Target, is a rush like you wouldn't believe. If you ever get the chance -- DO IT! 

We worked hard and we played harder! After that first day of rain, we consoled ourselves by taking in the best blues Burbon Street could offer. Eventually, we found our way to the Kat's Meow -- a karaoke dive bar that would become our home away from home. We were close enough to the French quarter that we could walk anywhere we went. Which meant we didn't really spend much time in our hotel rooms. We worked with the National Guard to access some of the more dangerous parts of the city, and even earned a commemorative coin only given out by high ranking officers with the NG. I chartered a helicopter to get b-roll, rode in a tank, scheduled interviews with the Governor, and spoke with local press. I wish I had kept a journal during this time because I'm sure there's so much more that I'm forgetting. It was the first time I took on the role of field producer, and it all happened so fast I never had time to overthink and ruin it! It just all came so easy. Not because of anything I did, but because the entire crew was so in synch, we could anticipate and react without even talking about it. I may never have another work experience like this one, and I'm fully aware that at times, we caught lightening in a bottle. 

I've worked on some really neat projects, but this one will always hold a special place in my heart. 

In Over My Head

 SOTD - Today Has Been Okay

It's been a while since I last put my thoughts together here. I could make up a few excuses, but the truth is, I lost interest and assumed most of you did, too. Which is kind of ironic, because this post is going to be about how I've lost interest in nearly everything. 

A professional would call it depression; a term that carries lots of preconceived ideas and implications, but truthfully, it's accurate.

I've struggled with some form of depression since I was 12. If you know me, it might not always be apparent, but I am always trying to manage my emotions. Lately, this has become a real challenge. 

I could blame it on the ripple effect of Covid-19 -- the isolation, the constant worry, the daily adjustments to the new "normals" of life -- but that wouldn't be fair. My depression comes from a lifetime of behavior and thoughts that started long before Coronavirus was something we talked about at the dinner table. 

For the last month of so, things have really been rough. For me, that means not wanting to talk to anyone or do anything. Many days I experience panic attacks which look a lot like an emotional breakdown where I can't catch my breath and cry for no reason at all. They are triggered by thoughts and are completely out of my control. 

Control is another issue. I am the kind of person who needs to feel like they have control over everything and lately -- I have control over NOTHING. It's a bit of a relentless cycle that feeds on the insecurity of not having control and makes everything seem so much worse than it might actually be. 

Last week I attempted to seek professional help, contacting three different mental health facilities; one over an hour away. None of the clinics I spoke with were accepting new patients. I have a doctor in my hometown who prescribes an antidepressant, but as the song says: the drugs don't work anymore. 

I am not writing this for sympathy. Quite the opposite, actually. Today is #WorldMentalHealthDay and I want to share my story for anyone who might be going through something similar. With depression and anxiety there is a natural pull toward self isolation. Shutting down and keeping the dark parts secret is completely normal. But this is also what makes going through depression so challenging and lonely. 

I am fortunate that I have family and friends who I am comfortable with, who know about my depression, and love me anyway. I talk to my mom and a good friend daily. They let me fall apart and don't try to fix it -- because let's be real, fixing it isn't exactly an option (or I would have already). Being able to experience my struggle without judgement is one of the few good things about going through it, but I still feel guilty when they have to take that journey with me. 

I don't have the answers for how to solve the problems I -- or anyone else -- face. I won't even pretend to try. But I know that you can beat loneliness by surrounding yourself with others. You can beat hopelessness by reminding yourself of what you've overcome, instead of focusing on what you still have to achieve. You can bring yourself out of the darkness by shining a light on the things you think have to stay hidden. And maybe most importantly, don't try to do it all alone. Life is meant to be shared and experienced with others -- we were never meant to do any of it alone. Let people in. Let them help you. Let them love you. 

Obviously, I'm still working on taking my own advice, but it felt important for me to share this. If I know you in real life, I hope you know that I am always here for you. Even in the midst of my own struggles, I would rather listen to your problems than attend your funeral. And I mean that. 

I hope to add more stories to the rabbit hole in the weeks ahead (hopefully, more fun and less heavy...) so stay tuned. 

xo