When addiction first crept into our household 11 years ago, I started keeping a journal. Retreating to clean white paper became my refuge. The blank pages stared back, non-judgmental and welcoming. On their unvarnished surface I poured out my anguish, fear, confusion and shame. It was the only place – until many years later – …
My son and daughter hate how I pepper them with questions. Whether it’s the journalist in me or just overanxious mothering, I have so much to ask them. Always. They just roll their eyes – there goes Mom again – and balk. When Jacob entered his senior year in high school, my habit got worse. …
I still hear it. A mother or father whose child is abusing drugs or alcohol, locked away in a basement bedroom at home, is terrified lest anyone find out. Maybe they will share it with a counselor or a physician. But never to a relative or friend, and certainly not to a neighbor. What if …