How Becoming A Mom Changed My Recovery Journey

I never thought I would be a mom. I always held myself to the standard of not wanting to welcome a child into this world unless I was stable (unlikely), married (even more unlikely), and completely sober (never gonna happen).

For the longest time, I asked God why He would allow my life to unravel in the way that it did.

Now that I have spent multiple years in recovery, am a full-time mom to two perfect little girls, and have taken full responsibility for my own actions — I’m now pretty sure of the reasons.

As it almost always does, my addiction took away everything I ever cared for.

In the beginning, it ruined relationships, broke my family, and stripped me of my morals. It would later then lead me down the road of repetitive overdose, lock up, and ultimately homelessness.

I gave up on myself somewhere far back along the way. My parents disappointment felt permanent. I watched friends of mine move on and build lives for themselves that I never felt I could have. I had nothing going for myself.

The drugs and alcohol helped me forget that I was on a self decided path towards death. That was the only outcome I was sure I could control, and I grew to become okay with that.

I was tired of letting everyone down. I was tired of trying to manage my life. I was tired of searching for a reason to fight. I didn’t have one. I was confident that the world would remain the same with or without me in it.

2014: I was in the midsts of my chronic IV heroin addiction. Using everyday, all day, whatever I could afford, just to avoid being sick.

I was actively seeking love and validation from a man that only bothered with me out of convenience, and after about a year and a half of sneaking around, I ended up pregnant.

When I took the test in my friend's mom's bathroom I almost died. How could this happen? What was I going to do? Even though we took no preventative measures, I never ever expected to actually get pregnant. That shit happened to other people. Not me.

The drugs had my body so out of sync, that I stopped getting my period completely for about 2 years prior to this. None of it made sense to me. I took at least 5 more tests after the first, to really scar myself, and make sure I was certain this was really happening.

It was.

I called Mr. Wonderful to inform him he was going to be a dad, and wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Cuss words and a quick hang up. Slightly disappointed, but not at all surprised. I had no job. No place to live. No money. Nothing. How was I going to have a baby?

Yet, these weren’t even the first things that crossed my mind…

How was I going to stop using drugs?

Instant panic.

I already carried the everyday guilt from the destruction my using had caused. I knew I’d never forgive myself or get sober if I made a selfish decision that harmed or eliminated the baby.

I knew I had to do something.

Something different.

And something fast.

I sought out help. I went online. Made phone calls. Asked around.

I found a women’s shelter that housed young mothers ages 16–21 who were homeless. I called. Filled out the application and was accepted.

Thank God.

I moved into Evelyns House and knew I had to make this program work. I had to accept the help. I had to be honest. I needed to do this if there was any chance of bringing an actual human being into this world and not failing terribly.

Photo By Author: Evelyns House 2014

They helped me get a job. Set up prenatal care. Get outpatient counseling and addiction services. I was put on Subutex (MAT) the duration of my pregnancy (as recommended by my physician) with a goal set that after birth I would taper off completely.

I successfully reestablished myself. Stuck to my program. Stayed clean. Took my medication. Went through the rest of my pregnancy hitting all my goals and milestones.

October 16th, 2014 Fallon Lynn was born and I was officially a mom. Who would’ve thought!? She was born healthy and experienced little to no withdrawal symptoms from the medication I was on.

We were released and I brought her back home to the shelter. Adjusting to motherhood was a bit of a struggle, but it helped to be in a facility where the staff are there to help and guide you. The support I received was amazing.

Shortly after having Fallon, the addict in me resurfaced.

My mind started to tell me that I could go back to using, because I was no longer pregnant. That I’d be able to control it. Now, that my tolerance was down, I won’t need as much to feel it.

You know, all of the sickening thoughts you use to persuade yourself it’s a good idea. Never once weighing out the potential consequences. Typical addict behavior.

I would leave the shelter during the day, and go to Rite Aid to buy rigs. Go back to the shelter and wait until it was time for meds. Pretend to put it in my mouth, bring it back to my room, and shoot it up. That was short lived, before I got caught, and was evicted from the shelter.

And there’s the consequences of my own actions…

Society likes to ask,“Isn’t your child enough to stop using?” those comments usually come from people who have no idea how shitty it feels to have a substance over power your ability to show up as a good parent. 

The reality is heartbreaking.

Being taken over by addiction, doesn’t mean you don’t love your child(ren).

I was afraid to admit I might need help, never mind actually asking for it, because I didn’t want to lose my child.

My parent’s initial rage over my pregnancy subsided when Fallon was born, and despite what happened in the shelter, my dad offered to let me move back into his house with the baby.

I had since reconnected with Fallon’s father and he had shown interest in being present for his daughter’s life, and seeing where things would go as far as us being a “family.”

Oh, if I could just go back in time and talk some sense into myself. Jesus. Would’ve saved myself a lot of trouble.

Anyways… I moved back into my dad's. Got together with Fallons father. That turned out as ugly as I should’ve assumed it would. Fast. He wasn’t into hard drugs like I was, but come to find out cocaine and alcohol equate to the same destruction.

We partied. We fought. Beat each other up. You know, living the “American Dream.”

After about a year of trying to raise our daughter together, he decided someone else made him happier, and told me to get out of the house. I had 30 minutes, a piece of paper thrown in my face, and a police escort.

Here I was, once again, back to square one.

Using, broke, homeless.

I had to make, what still today, remains one of the hardest decisions of my life — leaving Fallon with him in what she knew to be her home.

The only reason I felt I had for getting up in the morning, the only purpose I felt I had… at all, the only reason I had for not falling completely off the deep end, was no longer there — that broke me.

Instead of immediately focusing on what I could do to put myself in a position to get her back, I fell.

Hard.

I had her and I lost her. All because I couldn’t figure life out. I couldn’t detach from my desire to want to get high. I couldn’t make the right decisions that allowed me to be the best thing for her. That realization hurt.

I watched from afar and through mutual connections, another woman step into my role. He closed off all communication or my ability to be able to see her.

Drugs and alcohol were my only way of being able to cope and forget what utter shit things had turned into. The more I numbed myself, the more I wanted to believe it’d help me forget how much I missed my daughter. I lost all hope.

Around this time someone introduced me to meth. The lethal combination of substances I was taking daily were enough to end my life on multiple occasions - instead it landed me in the Oneida County Correctional Facility.

Not the place anyone wants to be, but there I was. It’s honestly what I needed to sober up and help me start thinking clearly. The year I was ordered to serve really allowed me to reevaluate what I was doing to myself, and my daughter.

I had no contact with Fallon that entire time. There wasn’t a day that passed where she wasn’t on my mind. The thought of everything I was missing out on, the void she would experience from not having her mom, the thought of what her future would look like if I didn’t fix myself..

I would visualize her growing up and having to tell people that her mom wasn’t in her life, her mom was an addict, or her mom was dead — it instantly made me want to throw up.

Even though I couldn’t see her, and she was still very young at the time, I would write her letters in hopes she’d read them in the future and know how much I loved her.

I knew letters could never suffice. The only way I could prove and make her feel the love I carried for her was to sober the fuck up and show up.

She was all I ever really had to fight for.

I was released from jail and didn’t know what to do. I had no opportunities presented to me that allowed me to start rebuilding my life. The desire was there, but it quickly faded.

When all you’ve known is functioning with drugs or alcohol, being a “normal” adult is really hard.

After being released, I was back to staying at friend’s houses, searching for ways to make a dollar, surviving.

Getting high is part of the all too familiar cycle. I went back to using because it seemed easier to suffer and be high, than suffer and sit with it.

Fallon never stopped being my motivation. While on the streets, I envisioned a life of coming home and her greeting me with a hug. Birthdays celebrated with me next to her blowing out the candles. Sleeping in a warm bed and kissing her forehead goodnight.

God heard my prayers, after believing for so long He’d given up on me.

I was unexpectedly presented with an offer to relocate to Wisconsin and receive help getting sober. I didn’t know what was in store for me, but fuck it! What else did I really have to lose?

June 7th, 2017, I got on a plane. Sick as hell, withdrawing. Pouring sweat, unshowered, and with only one flip flop. Heading towards my “new beginning.”

Moving halfway across the country from my child was scary. Even though she wasn’t in my care, moving away surely meant I wouldn’t see her. But, I just knew in my gut if I was ever going to get better, I had to do this. For her. And for me.

I started from nothing in Wisconsin. With just the support of a loving family that took me in and believed in me. I was able to get sober, get a job, start saving money, make friends, and learn what a life outside of substance abuse and struggle could look like.

The longer I stayed sober, burned bridges started to repair. I had made contact with my parents. I reached out about my daughter. I was able to communicate via phone and FaceTime regularly. Small things like that started to re establish my sense of faith and give me hope.

Around my 90 day sober mark, I got the surprise of my life when my mother and daughter flew out to surprise me. Nothing will ever compare to the feeling of having her back in my arms.

Photo By Author: Reunited With Fallon

Our visit came and went. Saying goodbye was beyond difficult. However, I was sure I was finally in the right place. I would see her again.

I resided in Wisconsin for 8 years. Over those 8 years, relationships were slowly mended. My parents and I grew closer. We traveled back and forth to visit. My daughter and I remained in contact and I put all my efforts into being as involved as I could be from 1,000 miles away. She was able to come out to Wisconsin during the summer months or over school breaks. While I also returned to NY to spend time with her sporadically.

Any time I was tempted to resort back to my old ways or revisit substances, I would imagine everything I worked so hard for being ripped back away. That certainly helps you stay clean.

But doesn’t fully prevent relapse.

I fell off a few times after moving out to Wisconsin. I’d get a year clean, then resort back to alcohol. Face the consequences of my actions, and then get back on track. Two years sober, then make a fucked up choice, and get back up.

That was the biggest change I noticed over time. Relapse doesn’t have to be a part of everyone’s story. Unfortunately, for me, it was. I fucked up more times than I can count. However, after my daughter came into the picture, my desire to get back up was restored.

No matter how bad things got, I knew I had get myself out of it. I knew I wasn’t going to allow drugs and alcohol to win.

I couldn’t.

A lot of people questioned what kind of mother I was. How could you have a daughter that lives 1000 miles away from you? How does it not bother you that you’re that far away from her?

I learned early on to let outside narratives fade to the background. If I listened to that shit I’d be back to getting high in no time. I had to remind myself daily that being away from her wasn’t selfish — it was what I needed to do to be the mom she deserved.

I was a better mother to her from 1000 miles away, sober, than I ever was when I had her and I was making destructive choices, stuck in toxic love, and dying a slow death in front of her face.

I held on to the idea that someday I would have her. I would be sober and stable. The distance was only temporary.

And, it was.

Some patterns are harder to break than others. Healthy romantic relationships have always been a low scoring area for me. I’m working on it.

After remaining sober for several years now, at this point, in 2023, I found out unexpectedly(once again) I was pregnant. This time not so much in a panic due to substances, but because I allowed another cycle to continue.

Photo By Author 2023

I went through my second pregnancy (once again) alone. This time in better standing than with Fallon. This time sober, with a job, and a roof of my own over my head.

Super grateful for that.

Even though it came with its own set of challenges, it was hard not to reflect back and cry happy tears seeing how far I had come in the 9 years between having both of my girls.

Another promise I made while carrying my second daughter. More of a reason to never turn back. Motivation to not stop working hard, clinging onto my recovery for dear life, and drive to provide a happy home for both of my girls. One with a mom they don’t regret having.

Addiction doesn’t only affect the person using. It touches our children, whether we want to admit it or not. It shows up in inconsistency, emotional distance, missed moments, and broken trust.

Facing that truth was one of the hardest parts of my healing. There was guilt. There was grief. There was heartbreak. But there was also growth. Acknowledging how my addiction affected my children became a huge part of learning how to forgive myself and become better for them.

Lilly-Jo was born December 16, 2023. Perfect and healthy. Both of my girls came at a point where God knew I needed them most. Might not have been a time I hand picked, but He knew better than I ever could’ve.

They both saved me, completely.

I once again readjusted to being a new mom. I soaked in all of the moments I felt I missed and that were muddled from my addiction when I had Fallon.

God gave me a second chance.

Fallon was able to come out to Wisconsin to visit her new sister. So much love filled my heart.

It wasn’t long before I made the decision and knew I was finally in a position where I felt comfortable moving back to NY. I would be closer to my parents. They would have both of their grandchildren close by. Both of my girls would grow up together. I had been sober for long enough to feel secure in returning to an old potentially triggersome area.

October 2024, I packed up, my dad came to help move me and we started the 16 hr track back to NY. Closing the chapter on Wisconsin was hard. That was the starting point to the rest of my life. It was a hard goodbye.

But, just like it was difficult to move there in the first place, I knew the move back to NY was another stepping stone towards where I was meant to be.

I wasn’t wrong.

Me and the baby lived with dad until I found an apartment of my own. I started working. Now that I’m back in the area, I get equal time with Fallon. Built up trust over the years and with my recovery as a whole, have made placement and custody agreements a breeze. Both of my girls get to enjoy being raised together — in a home where there’s no angry man or unhealthy relationship I might add.

Whenever I feel like my prayers aren’t being heard, I remind myself that where I am now was once a prayer too. Today my life looks exactly how I prayed it would while I lived strung out on the streets. The life I thought was so far out of reach, that I kept reaching for substances instead. The life I shed tears over being infinitely lost while I sat in jail.

When you become a parent, everything shifts. Suddenly, it’s not just your own life in your hands. It’s theirs too. Tiny eyes are watching how you cope, how you speak to yourself, how you handle stress, and how you treat the world around you. That realization is both terrifying and powerful.

Sharing the intimate parts of my journey, especially when it comes to the shame and truth tied to my using and my children, is to hopefully spread a message of hope to the next person that’s lost their way.

The moms who feel like….

they’ve failed

they won’t ever be forgiven

they can’t get better

they lost too much time

that your children would be better off without you….

Watching my kids grow while I grow in my sobriety is the greatest gift recovery has given me.

This is your reminder that’s there’s nothing farther from the truth. No matter how lost you might be or if you’re just trying to get over a recent stumbling block - pick yourself back up.

Your babies need you ❤