Parenting
By Emily Roberts
Updated: August 20, 2015
Originally Published: November 11, 2014
I’ve always had a spirited side, but I constructed a façade that suggested I had everything under control: a husband, a child, a picket-fenced yard. Sunday roasts in the oven and neatly packed lunches for my son, Noah, each night, sandwiches perfectly halved. Beneath this cheerful exterior, however, lay a dormant beast, waiting in the shadows. It chose the most fragile moment of my life to reveal itself. It transformed me. When I reached for it in trust, it shoved me into darkness.
When I hear someone say, “I conquered my addiction,” I can’t help but chuckle. You never truly “conquer” an addiction. It’s not a game to win or a phase to outgrow; it’s an ever-present force, like a linebacker always two steps behind, ready to bring you down. Sobriety is a fleeting gift, not a badge of honor. It feels like an emptiness only those who mourn can understand—the friend who vanishes when you need them most, the cowardly lover who only surfaces when you’re at your lowest. Addiction is a selfish and unloving foe; you can never fully defeat it.
You might learn to navigate around it, hoping today isn’t the day it strikes, but you never truly overcome it.
I can’t recall my first drink, but I vividly remember my last: a Bud Light Platinum on December 31, 2013. I consumed much more that night, but that was the final sip of alcohol I took. I wish it had been something more memorable—perhaps a vibrant margarita enjoyed on a sunlit beach in Waikiki. If you’re seeking inspiration for your last drink, I recommend something like that.
Addiction is a relentless cycle. Wine became my evening companion; we’d meet after a long day at work. We’d prepare dinner together, laugh at celebrity gossip on TV, and share moments with Noah. Sometimes, my companion lingered into the late hours, keeping me company long after Noah had drifted off to sleep, as we scrolled the internet or reminisced over old videos. Do I miss that relationship? Every moment of every day.
My life now consists of surviving each hour, one minute at a time. I breathe, I calm myself, I exist.
Finding joy without substances is a challenge for those of us with addiction. The warmth from opiates once filled me with a false sense of happiness. They made me feel like a better boss, mother, and wife. I won’t lie—when I wasn’t drinking, I was likely under the influence of something else. I saw nothing wrong with this lifestyle; it felt normal. And when my supplies ran low, finding more became my second job.
Pride is a foreign concept for many addicts. With racing thoughts and keys in hand, I was always on the move. But those dark days were not always easy, and that’s when my struggles hit hardest.
One night, in the depths of withdrawal, I fell into a disturbed sleep filled with nightmares of my desperate plans to end my suffering. I envisioned Noah, now 27, in a tuxedo with a yellow rose pinned to his lapel. I saw my husband, Jason, enter the room, pride swelling in his chest as he beamed, “Your mom would have been so proud of you today.” Noah’s eyes, once bright and full of life, were now clouded with sadness. “Yeah…I’m sure she would have,” he replied.
I don’t have the option of giving up because I am determined to dance with my son on his wedding day.
Entering rehab was the best decision I ever made. Initially, I walked in with my head held high, thinking I didn’t belong among these individuals. There were people from all walks of life—street dwellers, those who had been exploited, men avoiding jail time, and housewives like me. I quickly learned how faceless addiction truly is; we all shared the same beast.
In a room filled with 25 strangers, I spent each night listening, learning, and rediscovering my will to live. The individuals I shared that experience with became my lifeline. Each of us had a unique story; some had been through rehab before, while others were just beginning their journey. It felt like a dormitory for misfits, and a fortunate few of us emerged with newfound knowledge.
I won’t claim that the past year has been smooth sailing; it hasn’t been easy, and it doesn’t always get simpler. But each morning, I wake up to another sober day. I strive to find joy in life’s simple pleasures. The key to sobriety is not to shun all forms of happiness; rather, it’s about seeking out the natural highs that don’t involve drugs or alcohol.
Children possess a blissful innocence, seeing the world as new and beautiful. They are untainted and unjaded. Every day, I channel my inner nine-year-old, the girl who dreamed of being a writer, adored chocolate milk, and found joy in being pushed high on the swings. I take it one day at a time, waking up, living, and waking up again.
The Beast no longer holds power over me. My shield is Love, and my sword is Hope. Even if I stumble in the final battle, I will keep fighting.