This piece carries so much tenderness, and I keep noticing how easy it would be to rush past that. The choice to step away from the prescription wasn’t a small pivot. It struck me as one of those rare moments when you know something in you has shifted, even if you can’t explain what stirred it. The choice was real, and you felt its weight right then, even as the reasons stayed just out of reach. There’s a power in that kind of clarity that arrives without a trail.
But there’s more pulsing underneath it. The way you tell it hints at the deeper story running alongside the decision. The loneliness of those weeks. The cost of holding yourself together for your girls. The quiet strength it takes to walk through withdrawal while still showing up for a life that hadn’t softened yet. That part feels just as alive as the moment you chose to get clean. Maybe even more so.
I find myself wanting to sit with all of it. The tenderness, yes, but also the grit and the ache and the strange holiness of rebuilding yourself in a room where the curtains stayed closed. It’s rare to see someone write about that season without smoothing the edges. You let it stay raw. And the fullness of it is what makes the hope inside your story land the way it does. Thank you for sharing all of it. The beauty. The edges.
Thank you for this, my friend. You have such a wise and thoughtful way of seeing experiences and relationships, and it means a lot to feel that kind of care here. That season was messy and overwhelming in ways I’m still making sense of, so it really matters to me that you took the time to sit with it. I’m grateful for you, the stories and insight you share with all of us, and for the way you show up in these conversations. 🧡
This is such a powerful read. Hope can be so silent for so long as we muck about in darkness, but eventually we open our eyes to what was there all along. Sometimes gratitude is a little like hope--there just waiting for us to open up to it.
Thank you for this, Nancy—you always manage to name the deeper layer. Hope and gratitude are undeniably interconnected, and so often live quietly in the background, waiting for us to see. I’m grateful for your insight, and even more thankful to have your voice here.
Erin, thank you for sharing yourself so generously and so beautifully. In the serendipitous way of such things, your story is one I needed to read today, both for me and for a family member who is struggling to find light and hope in the darkness. I'm so grateful to your courage, your honesty, and your decision on that long-ago Thanksgiving to live your life openly, freely, and authentically. We are all better for it.
Thank you so much for this, Irena. Your words mean more than you know, and I’m grateful you shared them. Know that I’m holding good thoughts for both of you as you walk through the dark toward whatever comes next. 🧡
Erin, I love getting to know you... all the tender stories that made you who you are today. I love how I can feel so connected with your story even with such different life situations. Maybe it is bc we both experience life with a full heart and even when our heart says, sorry i cannot, we keep feeling our way. I feel your commitment and it holds mine. Maybe bc we have a common why: them.
Love this...
"When something bigger grabs you by the collar and turns you toward a door you had no plan to walk through, you remember it. You carry gratitude for it in a way that never fades. Because my girls needed a mother who could see straight—and everything that followed depended on it."
This means so much, Danni—thank you. It’s wild how different lives can still echo in the same places, especially when we lead with an open heart, even on days it feels too heavy.
And I agree entirely—the “why” has a way of pulling us through things we never thought we’d survive. I'm grateful for you. xo
Wow, I’d read part of your journey in other posts, Erin, but this one grabbed me. It’s a testament to you as a person, to you as one who mothers your daughters, to you as one who cares for herself, and one who serves others. As one who lives with courage, intention, and vulnerability. You are a role model for all. 🙏❤️
Thank you for saying this, James. I never assume anyone sees the whole picture when they read pieces of my story, so it means a lot that this one landed the way it did. I’ve done plenty of things the messy, backward way, but I’ve tried to live it honestly, especially for my girls. If that comes through—to you especially—I’m grateful. Truly.
Wishing you and your family a wonderful Thanksgiving! 🧡
thank you. i do think that while you wrote that you did not have answers, i feel that your decision to “cold turkey” was an answer. without the clarity that comes from leaving addiction behind, no other answers will follow.
there must be a first step and at the risk of being obvious, it does not have to involve cold turkey from meds, prescribed or otherwise. that’s a step you took alone; that was your answer, and it required strength without support.
Well said—so often, the first step is its own kind of answer, even if we don’t recognize it in the moment. And you’re absolutely right that “cold turkey” isn’t the only path (nor am I recommending it); every story has its own doorway.
I’ll take your wish with me and savor every forkful this year. Thank you!
PREACH! Thank you for sharing and giving better words and sentences to the last several years of my life! No one gets out of life unscathed. No matter what puts you in that dark place, there is a way out to something even better and really even more interesting because it is a life you NEVER saw coming. Thanks
Thank you for this—and it's so true. We don’t choose the dark seasons, but we do get to choose what we carry out of them. Life on the other side is rarely the one we pictured, but somehow it fits better than the version we were holding onto. 🧡
A beautiful, real story of darkness to light. Thank you for reminding us of that hope. Happy Thanksgiving with love.❤️
Thank you, sweet Gail... for this note and all of the love and support along the way. ❤️
This piece carries so much tenderness, and I keep noticing how easy it would be to rush past that. The choice to step away from the prescription wasn’t a small pivot. It struck me as one of those rare moments when you know something in you has shifted, even if you can’t explain what stirred it. The choice was real, and you felt its weight right then, even as the reasons stayed just out of reach. There’s a power in that kind of clarity that arrives without a trail.
But there’s more pulsing underneath it. The way you tell it hints at the deeper story running alongside the decision. The loneliness of those weeks. The cost of holding yourself together for your girls. The quiet strength it takes to walk through withdrawal while still showing up for a life that hadn’t softened yet. That part feels just as alive as the moment you chose to get clean. Maybe even more so.
I find myself wanting to sit with all of it. The tenderness, yes, but also the grit and the ache and the strange holiness of rebuilding yourself in a room where the curtains stayed closed. It’s rare to see someone write about that season without smoothing the edges. You let it stay raw. And the fullness of it is what makes the hope inside your story land the way it does. Thank you for sharing all of it. The beauty. The edges.
Thank you for this, my friend. You have such a wise and thoughtful way of seeing experiences and relationships, and it means a lot to feel that kind of care here. That season was messy and overwhelming in ways I’m still making sense of, so it really matters to me that you took the time to sit with it. I’m grateful for you, the stories and insight you share with all of us, and for the way you show up in these conversations. 🧡
This is such a powerful read. Hope can be so silent for so long as we muck about in darkness, but eventually we open our eyes to what was there all along. Sometimes gratitude is a little like hope--there just waiting for us to open up to it.
Thank you for this, Nancy—you always manage to name the deeper layer. Hope and gratitude are undeniably interconnected, and so often live quietly in the background, waiting for us to see. I’m grateful for your insight, and even more thankful to have your voice here.
Erin, thank you for sharing yourself so generously and so beautifully. In the serendipitous way of such things, your story is one I needed to read today, both for me and for a family member who is struggling to find light and hope in the darkness. I'm so grateful to your courage, your honesty, and your decision on that long-ago Thanksgiving to live your life openly, freely, and authentically. We are all better for it.
Thank you so much for this, Irena. Your words mean more than you know, and I’m grateful you shared them. Know that I’m holding good thoughts for both of you as you walk through the dark toward whatever comes next. 🧡
Thank you, Erin.
Erin, I love getting to know you... all the tender stories that made you who you are today. I love how I can feel so connected with your story even with such different life situations. Maybe it is bc we both experience life with a full heart and even when our heart says, sorry i cannot, we keep feeling our way. I feel your commitment and it holds mine. Maybe bc we have a common why: them.
Love this...
"When something bigger grabs you by the collar and turns you toward a door you had no plan to walk through, you remember it. You carry gratitude for it in a way that never fades. Because my girls needed a mother who could see straight—and everything that followed depended on it."
Beautiful essay. Love and more love. xo
This means so much, Danni—thank you. It’s wild how different lives can still echo in the same places, especially when we lead with an open heart, even on days it feels too heavy.
And I agree entirely—the “why” has a way of pulling us through things we never thought we’d survive. I'm grateful for you. xo
What a gift this writing is! Thank you!
Thank you, Elizabeth! 🧡
Powerful stuff, Erin. Much love.
Thanks so much, Lou. Wishing you and your crew a wonderful holiday! 🧡
Wow, I’d read part of your journey in other posts, Erin, but this one grabbed me. It’s a testament to you as a person, to you as one who mothers your daughters, to you as one who cares for herself, and one who serves others. As one who lives with courage, intention, and vulnerability. You are a role model for all. 🙏❤️
Thank you for saying this, James. I never assume anyone sees the whole picture when they read pieces of my story, so it means a lot that this one landed the way it did. I’ve done plenty of things the messy, backward way, but I’ve tried to live it honestly, especially for my girls. If that comes through—to you especially—I’m grateful. Truly.
Wishing you and your family a wonderful Thanksgiving! 🧡
thank you. i do think that while you wrote that you did not have answers, i feel that your decision to “cold turkey” was an answer. without the clarity that comes from leaving addiction behind, no other answers will follow.
there must be a first step and at the risk of being obvious, it does not have to involve cold turkey from meds, prescribed or otherwise. that’s a step you took alone; that was your answer, and it required strength without support.
this year, enjoy every fork-full.
Well said—so often, the first step is its own kind of answer, even if we don’t recognize it in the moment. And you’re absolutely right that “cold turkey” isn’t the only path (nor am I recommending it); every story has its own doorway.
I’ll take your wish with me and savor every forkful this year. Thank you!
PREACH! Thank you for sharing and giving better words and sentences to the last several years of my life! No one gets out of life unscathed. No matter what puts you in that dark place, there is a way out to something even better and really even more interesting because it is a life you NEVER saw coming. Thanks
Thank you for this—and it's so true. We don’t choose the dark seasons, but we do get to choose what we carry out of them. Life on the other side is rarely the one we pictured, but somehow it fits better than the version we were holding onto. 🧡