One Addict’s Road To Redemption
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Disclaimer: The content of this blog may discuss sensitive topics that could be distressing to some readers. The discussions are intended for informational purposes only and are not a substitute for professional advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you are in need of support, please contact a professional healthcare provider.
In order to protect the privacy and anonymity of the individuals mentioned in this article, some names have been changed or altered. The events and details described are factual, but certain identifying information has been modified to respect the wishes and rights of those involved.
Trigger Warning: Please be advised that the following content contains topics that may trigger adverse emotional responses in some individuals. This includes discussions about drug use, domestic violence, self-harm, and sexual relations. Reader discretion is advised. If you or someone you know is struggling with these issues, support is available:
For self-harm concerns, contact the National Helpline at 800-662-HELP (4357) or visit FindTreatment.gov
For domestic violence, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE)
For sexual assault, contact the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673 (HOPE)
For mental health crises, call or text 988 or chat at 988lifeline.org
I welcome you to join me as I share how I navigated through the darkest moments of my addiction, sought help, and found the strength to break free from the cycle of substance abuse. Uncover the pivotal moments, support systems, and self-discoveries that paved the way towards my healing and the life I have today.
I hope this message can serve as an inspiring narrative of redemption and renewal. You’ll witness firsthand the power of perseverance, self-reflection, and the unwavering human spirit in conquering addiction.
This blog post aims to uplift, educate, and inspire readers who may be facing similar struggles or seeking motivation to overcome their own challenges.
My story is not just a chronicle of the challenges I faced, but a testament to the resilience that we all withhold.
By sharing my experiences, I hope to offer a message of hope to others who are currently battling their own demons, or for those who are baring witness to a dear loved one’s all consuming destructive tactics.
My journey to sobriety has been anything but a straight shot, but it has also transformed me in unimaginable ways. I now understand the true power we all possess to overcome even the darkest of circumstances and reclaim our lives. It is my sincere wish that by sharing my story, I can inspire others to embark on their own path of healing and self-discovery.
Dear younger me,
I see you. I see the innocence in your eyes, the boundless curiosity, the pure heart that yearns to explore the world. You are so full of wonder, so eager to learn and grow. You have big dreams and a fierce determination to make them come true.
I know the day will come when the troubles of this world will threaten to overwhelm you. When the darkness of addiction will try to consume you; to steal your light.
The journey ahead will be arduous, filled with obstacles and setbacks. There will be times when you feel like giving up, when the weight of it all becomes too much to bear. But I promise you, that if you keep pushing forward, if you hold tight to the strength that burns within you, you will emerge from the darkness stronger than ever before.
I want you to know that no matter what happens, I will never stop fighting for you.
You are a warrior. You are a survivor. And though the road may be long and the battles many, I know with every fiber of my being that you have what it takes to overcome. I will be your light in the darkness, your voice of encouragement when you falter.
You are loved. You are worthy. You are destined for greatness. Never ever forget that.
With all my heart,
Your Older Somewhat Wiser Self
The Very Beginning
I grew up in what most would call a “normal” family. I was born in Connecticut, but shortly after my parents decided to relocate and I was raised in Upstate NY. My dad was a farmer and my mother a stay at home mom for most of our lives. I have one younger brother, Mark. Life was good. Our parents made sure we always had what we wanted. My younger years were filled with the most amazing memories. My parents had me involved in dance, cheerleading, gymnastics, and 4H up until about middle school. I had friends that I grew up with in the neighborhood that I enjoyed spending a lot of time with. I always did well with my academics and for the most part enjoyed school.
I remember I always was a bit defiant growing up. I would butt heads with my mother. I would get grounded or disciplined like every other “normal” adolescent does for petty little things. Nothing major.
I would say right around middle school was when I can pinpoint the shift in my personal life. My parents ended up getting a divorce. Even though their best intentions were always set for my brother and I their separation still drastically impacted us.
I lost all interest in continuing on with sports or extra curricular activities. I just wanted to hang out with my friends. My group of friends changed. I always felt like I wanted to fit in. The friends I started to make I made for the wrong reasons. I knew they genuinely didn’t have my best interest at heart. I knew that I was always considered a bit of an outsider within the group. I felt like I was always trying to impress them with materialistic things or with my sense of humor. I was always the funny one. The one that never took anything too seriously, was goofy, and provided everyone with a good laugh. In most cases I was always being left out of things or felt genuinely uncared for.
I started partying at age 14-15. It started with sporadically stealing my friends moms cigarettes to randomly partying with an older group that supplied us with alcohol. It went from drinking to smoking weed. Then smoking weed to trying cocaine. I didn’t see anything wrong with it. I obviously wasn’t the only one doing the shit. No harm done. Right?
My parents started noticing the difference in me. They tried everything to correct my behavior. They saw through every lie that I told. They discovered I was smoking weed and doing things I shouldn’t of been. They were clueless as how to fix my defiance and means of self-destruction. I know I didn’t make it easy on them.
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My parents hands were tied. They chose early on to reach out to get help through other resources. You can image I handled that rather well. They involved me with a program called PINS. Which is ultimately juvenile supervision. Since they couldn’t get me to listen to their rules, maybe someone else could. Oh, how wrong they were.
I had not a single care in the world about potential consequences. I was enraged that my parents were out to get me and to make my life difficult. I wanted nothing more than to be out there doing what all my other friends were doing. They weren’t forced to go through all the bullshit that I was. I didn’t get it.
I continued to party. I was out drinking every weekend. I was skipping school any chance that I got. I was smoking weed on a daily basis. Stealing from my parents to support my habits. I had zero remorse for a single thing. I didn’t regard any instruction from counselors or court appointed officials.
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Being on PINS and juvenile probation really put a damper on things. I was constantly trying to sneak under the radar. I was consumed in how I was going to pass my next upcoming drug screen, or what lie I would create to get myself out of trouble. I was always fighting with my parents. I was never not “grounded.” Getting my phone taken away, loosing all privileges. Nothing stopped me, nor phased me.
The courts ended up putting me on house arrest and dressing me up in a snazzy black boxed ankle monitor for what they stated would be for a duration of 30 days if I complied with my stipulations. I’m assuming you already know that DID NOT happen.
I ended up being on that ankle monitor for 10 months… if that tells you anything about my ability and willingness to listen to authority or rules. I was still smoking and drinking and skipping school. I got in trouble for shoplifting from Walmart. Then the cherry that just topped the cake was taking my dads truck in the middle of the night with no license or permit, getting wasted with a group of friends and ramming it into a telephone pole.
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Ya. I got in some trouble for that one. My dad woke up for work like any other typical morning and walked outside to see this sitting in the driveway. I was no where to be found. I panicked. I left the truck parked back in the driveway at the house. I had a friend come and get me and I still went to school. Banged up to all hell. I was sure a sight for everyone. Immediately my guidance counselor pulled me aside and next thing you know I was in the principals office with the police and my father.
The courts sent me to a juvenile non secure detention facility for several months called The House Of The Good Shepard’s. It was a coed facility. 8 girls and boys that were considered “troubled youth” lived in one house. We attended school and everything within the confides on the facility. There was structure. We were responsible for chores and following the rules. It was far from a great time.
I returned home after my extended stay there with a changed attitude for about one solid week. Then we were back to the same shit. Returned back to public school. Had the same friends I wanted to spend all of my time with. I was still involved in every program imaginable. I was on probation. They had me going to outpatient groups several times a week. I saw a counselor separately for one-on-ones. It was nothing but a giant pain in my ass.
While everyone else was planning for college and doing productive things with themselves, I was digging myself farther into this hole I was sure I was never ever going to get myself out of.
Around age 16 I started struggling with self-harm. In those moments it was almost a cry for attention, but at the same time it embarrassed me. I marked up both of my arms and my inner thighs. I knew the marks were there, but didn’t want anyone else to know that they were. Over the course of my years stuck in active addiction it’s almost like my desire of self-harming came as a result or form of self-punishment. My scars became a major contributing factor in my self-confidence. I always had to wear clothing that hid my scars. I was always fearful of other’s judgement.
High school continued to be a nightmare. It was almost unheard of for me to attend a full day without skipping out. I was smoking and drinking before and after school, some days even during my 7th period lunch break. I’m still very surprised I even stayed on course to graduate. The last thing I gave a shit about were my classes and grades. I never participated in accomplishing a single monumental milestone. I didn’t play any sports, wasn’t part of any groups or clubs, never attended one school dance or special event.
May 23rd 2011 - I woke up to two random strangers in my room ordering me to get up and to come with them. It was the ass crack of dawn; still dark outside. My dad stood in the corner of my bedroom. All he said was “I’m sorry Heidi” as these two individuals went on to escort me from my house and into their vehicle. I had no idea what the hell was going on. I sat in the back of this vehicle for hour after hour not having the slightest clue as to what the fuck was going on.
We finally arrived at my final destination. They brought me into a house in town and geared me up with new clothes and a backpack. Still not knowing what the hell was happening. Afterwards, back in the car we go. We park at a trailhead, get out of the vehicle and start walking. To this day when I mentally revisit these events it’s still very much traumatizing.
After hiking into the woods for what felt like miles, I come to face 8 other girls out there. It finally occurred to me that there really was such a thing as Hell on earth… and I was there.
No one would tell me where I was, what day it was, what time it was, or when I would ever go home. I later would be informed that my father generously signed me up for this shit. It was a “therapeutic” and disciplinary boot camp for troubled youth called Adirondack Leadership Expeditions.
I would end up spending 97 days there until the moment my father walked out there to watch me graduate the program and I was released to go home. 97 days I spent hiking morning, noon, and night. 97 days I spent going to the bathroom and sleeping outside. 97 days I lived outside in the Adirondack mountains in all of the elements. The humid days and mosquito filled nights. It was quite the experience.
I thought along with my parents that after finishing that program that I for sure would be “fixed.” I made an effort to return home and establish a new routine. I was waking up early, staying away from the party scene, helping my dad on the farm, etc. The novelty wore off. Boredom set in. I was restricted to my old environment. I had not been able to obtain my license and driving privileges. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have a long list of things that I think would’ve helped tremendously with keeping me on track.
Went right back to my normal scene. Full force this time around. Went back to using. I was off of probation for a very VERY short amount of time. My dad finally helped me purchase my first vehicle. Thinking that it would help me gain some sort of independence and responsibility. It did not. I got my very first job at Subway. I was working bare minimum hours and still prioritizing friends. I ended up barely ever coming home. I stayed in an apartment with several other friends of mine. Started messing around with what I would consider “hippie drugs” DMT, ketamine, shrooms, acid, extasy… I was of course considering this to be the “best time of my life.” Ha!
Wasn’t more than a few months after my dad bought me my car that I got my first OWI charge. I was drinking with friends the night before. I knew I was too drunk to drive. I stayed where I was at and got a few hours of sleep. That clearly helped nothing at all. I was still bombed in the morning. I got in my car and started driving. I don’t remember anything else after that. I woke up to an officer tapping on my window. I was passed out at the wheel, pulled over on the side of a major highway. I was completely out of it. I was so confused. By some miracle I had managed on this busy road with non stop traffic to pull my car over? Both me and my vehicle were completely in tact. I have no recollection of how I even managed to do that. This was the first time I can honestly say I blacked out. This was also the first indicator that God had been present in my life.
I grew up going to church on major holidays and maybe one or two sporadic Sunday’s a year. I grew up in a household where a relationship with God was pronounced important, but honestly I never gave a rip. God was someone I prayed to when my life was a mess and He was failing to do His job and fix it, or the one I called on when I was face deep in a toilet bowl drunk off my ass puking making empty promises to never drink again if he helped save my soul in that exact moment. Never anything more than that.
I remember being blown away at the fact I somehow managed to avoid getting into a serious accident, or killing myself or someone else. I still go back to this moment now and can’t explain it other than I know someone was watching out for me that day. There’s no other explanation than that.
My dad was livid. Big surprise. He sold my car. I now had new charges I had to go to court for. Right back on probation I went. Luckily I was under the age of 21 so the drinking and driving charge would eventually fall off my record. But don’t you worry… there would be more.
Once I lost my car, my job followed shortly after. I was pocketing my dads cash whenever I got the chance. I was still focusing on nothing but getting fucked up. The more time I spent in a mental fog the less time I had to face the reality that my life was a total and utter shit show.
Heroin My Hero
The booze and weed were never enough to do the trick. So, I found it rather easy the day someone offered me that small light brown line to do. I had already been deemed a disappointment to everyone around me, what difference would this make? I’ve heard through the grape vine that this shit was no joke. You hear in health class and D.A.R.E presentations about the true potential of it…. but did I listen? No. Did it almost intrigue me to dance with danger? Of course.
Before this moment I knew what it was like to feel hung over, or feel like shit tied to my use. For some reason I though withdrawals were just a taunting term used to turn people away from wanting to ever pick them up in the first place. The people I knew that did it that claimed to be so sick without it, I felt that was their way of glorifying their use. That them bragging that they needed it and messed with the stuff meant they were ranking higher than me in the drug user world. ( Don’t ask why things computed mentally to me in this way, they just did). I found out rather quickly this was not the case at all. I can so vividly remember waking up at my friends house feeling like I had a cold. Before this point, I had made efforts to not touch the stuff multiple days in a row. I would make excuses that messing with it wasn’t bad at all if I could manage it. And, because I wasn’t getting sick like others claimed they did I was winning in my book. Until this one specific morning. My friend looked over at me and goes, “here do this.” She lays out a line on her vanity. I do it and instantly feel better. Fuck.
Nothing made me feel like heroin did. It made me feel like everything in this world was just wonderful. I was thinking I was in my prime. Meanwhile, I was roaming around like a literal mess. I was living in filth, stealing, drooling on myself and passing out. It took no time at all for me to start putting a needle in my arm. Something I always reassured myself that I would NEVER do. My parents picked up rather quickly that I had gotten myself into something horrific.
My dad ended up kicking me out of the house; unable to control my using. He was finding needles all over the place. I did nothing but sleep on his couch and steal his shit. He had had enough.
While I was still out partying and “living my best life” I ended up meeting AJ. We shared the same group of drinking friends, he however did not mess with any of the things that I was. I fell for him really hard. He made it very clear from the beginning that he didn’t want anything serious. This was the first time that I tried to conceal or stop my heroin use. I wanted so badly to be the girl he wanted to be with and I knew that would never happen if I was on the stuff. We hung out for while, partied every weekend, were hooking up, and being careless.
Close to a year of seeing one another on and off I found out that I was pregnant. He was NOT happy. I was currently couch surfing. I had nothing to my name. I was neck deep in my everyday using at this point, and totally and utterly fucked.
For the first time I remember being so scared. I didn’t know what I was going to do. After telling AJ and hearing his hurtful opinion on the situation I knew he was going to be no help. I called my dad and told him. His response was, “good luck with that.” before hanging up the phone on me. I had no idea what I was going to do. The only thing I was sure of was that I was going to have this baby and figure it the fuck out. I feel that everything happens for a reason and even though I had not the slightest clue as to what that reason was, I knew it would eventually be shown to me. I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do what I needed to do for myself and this baby.
I did some searching online. I knew that I was going to have to get clean. I knew that I needed a place to live. I didn’t know where to even start to help myself. I came across information for a place called Evelyn’s House. This program stated to help woman ages 16-21 who have children or are pregnant and needed assistance. Perfect. I made the call. I went through the application process. I was accepted. Here started my next chapter…
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I moved into the woman’s shelter. They helped set me up and get me prepared to be a new first time mom. They helped me get a job, seek treatment, get to all my appointments, etc. I thank God every single day for that program and the wonderful staff that worked there. I started going to outpatient treatment several times a week. It was decided that due to my chronic use that the best choice would be for be to be put on a maintenance program. I was monitored closely and upheld all my counseling responsibilities and remained on Subutex for the duration of my pregnancy. I was taking the public city bus to my job working at the mall at Payless. I made friends with the other girls that resided in the home. I was exactly where I needed to be; even though it was a difficult choice to make and took a lot of adjusting. I knew that’s exactly what I needed to do for me and the baby. This was the first time I had ever genuinely attempted to get help or get sober.
My daughter was born October 16th 2014. Fallon was perfect in every single way. They monitored her as discussed prior to her arrival due to me being on the medication that I was. She showed no signs or went through any known withdrawal symptoms, by the grace of God. I promised myself when I first got put on them that after I had her I would focus on tapering off of them completely. I didn’t care for the fact that I was fully dependent on them. If I didn’t have them then I was unable to function. Shortly after I had Fallon the decision to move back home was made. My parents had come around and were involved in her life. AJ was present and played an active roll as her father, even though we were not together. I packed up and headed back to live with my dad.
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Only weeks before Fallon was born we experienced tragedy when AJ’s sister Deanna was killed in a car accident. In the midst’s of grief and heartache Fallon came at the perfect time to help everyone heal, grow, and find happiness again. AJ was a wonderful dad. He was present for Fallon in every way I could of ever asked of him. We for the most part were getting along and making the best of the dysfunctional dynamic.
We both knew we didn’t want to miss out on any part of our daughters life. We slowly but surely started to explore being in a relationship and starting to establish a family. We started living together. Things were good for while, until they weren’t. I was as a stay at home mom; he worked. My mom would come and give me a break and take Fallon for a day or so at a time. Since leaving the woman’s shelter with her I had no longer been attending my outpatient groups, nor was receiving my Suboxone. It was a far distance away from my parents house to get to the treatment center. I went through two weeks of literal hell being sick in my moms guest bedroom withdrawing while she helped me take care of Fallon.
I had nothing set in place for when I relocated. I knew I knew better, but at the same time I thought I was going to be just fine. I was wrong. As much as I clung onto the special moments that AJ and I had raising Fallon, my demons came back to approach me real fucking fast.
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In the moments I was without my daughter or had any amount of void time, I found myself right back dipping my toes in the same ugly shit. I started using again. Making excuses that it was fine because I wasn’t using around my child. It was fine because I wasn’t shooting it up right away. It was okay because I was still balancing some sort of "normalcy".” You and I both know that shit didn’t last long.
My World Stopped Turning
AJ surprised me July 4th weekend 2015 when he came home early from work one day and told me to get in the car. He drove us out to Sylvan Beach and we pulled up to this little cute house. He said, “Do you like it? Because it’s ours.” We moved into our new place together, and I remember being on cloud nine. This was it we were really going to be a family. That’s all I ever wanted. As much as I was upholding all my duties as a mom and partner; taking care of our daughter full-time, keeping the house immaculate, catering to whatever needs Fallon or him had… I was failing to take care of myself. I was doing nothing to maintain or work on my recovery. Day by day I was playing Russian roulette with abstinence. It didn’t take long for the depressive episodes to arrive, the boredom to strike, and my addictive mindset to settle right back in.
I was lying and sneaking behind AJ’s back. He assumed I fell off, it’s not hard to notice the signs. I would lie right to his face. I was sneaking stuff into the house, I was drinking liters of vodka and hiding the empty bottles. We would fight and argue. My mom would have to come and get Fallon; as we never wanted her to be consumed with any of those toxic and harmful scenes. Things had gotten really bad. It turned into constant chaos. We were beating one another up. I ended up in the hospital on a 72 hr psych hold. I was not able to make the difficult decision to separate from him. I never even wanted to consider it.
He made it rather easy for me, when he went unknowingly to the courthouse and had me served with an order of eviction. The police came to the house and informed me that I had an hour to get my belongings and remove myself from the home. That shit broke me. There I was all over again. No where to go, had no idea what I was going to do. The one thing I knew was that Fallon couldn’t come with me. I was not going to rip her away from her stability and her home for us to end up God only knows where.
There are no words I can put to the emotion I felt. Knowing that I had to leave her there when I had just become so accustomed to taking care of her every single day. Waking up to her smiling face and falling asleep each night with her safe and in her bed. Despite the things I had been battling, she was the ONLY thing that gave me the drive to open my eyes and get out of bed in the morning. And now that was gone.
We had to go to court right away for her. I was bouncing around from friends house to friends house. Unable to see her and getting word that AJ had already moved on and had another woman living in our home. I willingly gave him custody and placement when we went before the judge. I knew that I always wanted what was best for her, and knowing in that moment that it wasn’t me emptied my heart right out.
My drug use went from having a good time, to using to obtain functionability, to using in hopes that I would die.
I felt like my entire life was over, and I had no purpose. I went full force with numbing out all of that shit.
Heroin meet meth.
Different Demons
In a few short months after loosing my daughter I found out rock bottom had a basement. I was introduced to meth after a friend of mine had been witness to my dazed out demeanor. He recommended I balance myself out with some speed. Great choice. Thanks buddy. It was off to the races.
Come to find out I enjoyed the meth more than the heroin. Using both together had put me in the position to overdose several times. Not my proudest moments, but for sure wasn’t enough to ever make me quit.
I ran wild. I got another drinking and driving charge. Was somehow miraculously avoiding problems with my probation officer. I was coming and going from my parents house’s, robbing them blind of everything that they had. I had pawned thousands of dollars worth of my dads items. I emptied out his bedroom safe. I was stealing gas from his pumps down at the farm to fuel up friends cars for rides. No one wanted me around, and with very good reason.
I failed several drug screens for probation, my officer giving me leniency each and every time to implement some sort of change. I went to several 30 day inpatient treatment programs. I got out and went right back. My dad checked me into a detox center. He carried my limp body in there wrapped in my bedroom comforter, paid $2,000 a day for a bed, just for me to sign myself out 2 days later.
Things came to a halt the day I was with a friend shooting up in the local grocery store parking lot and an undercover police officer ripped us both out of the vehicle and put us under arrest. We were both booked into the jail and then released. I called my dad to tell him that I got in trouble and it was only a matter of time before my probation officer was informed and they’d be looking for me. My dad was not even the least bit phased. He allowed me to come back to his house were I ended up crashing. I woke up the following morning to an investigator staring me in my face, telling me to get up and that I had to go with him. Fuck.
Jail Bird
I proceeded to follow the officer out of my house. Rode in the car with him to the station where I was led into a room and sat down. I assumed I was there for the incident that just happened yesterday. Wrong. The investigator proceeds to tell me I’m being charged with stealing my dad’s shit and pawning it. AWESOME. Thanks dad.
It sill didn’t set in that I was in any sort of serious trouble. For as long as I went on my reckless streak I have never been forced to face anything that was all that serious. You’d think I would stop playing with fire or pushing my luck ? Nah.
I thought I was about to go right back home after this clown was done asking me a million questions. Nope. I was placed under arrest and brought to the jail. They told me I would have to wait until I saw a judge. Little did I know that wouldn’t be for some time. I was held at the Oneida County Jail. First in strip. Detoxing half naked in a velcro suit on a metal bed. That was wonderful. Then being moved to general pop. What a bunch of characters I thought to myself. This was not a place for me, this was a place for criminals.
Finally, the day comes to see this judge. I’m thinking this entire time that he’s going to send me home. I figured the time I sat waiting to see the idiot that was punishment enough to show me that jail wasn’t the place I wanted to end up. That’s what I get for always thinking I know everything.
I had stood in front of this judge before, so I knew he was probably going to be ecstatic to see me once more. It sent me for a loop when he looked me dead in my face and max sentenced me on all my charges. He knew I had a daughter and even though I wasn’t in her life in the way that I wanted to be, the thought of being locked up and being away from her for that long was enough to knock the wind right out of me. The judge looked at me at said, “Mrs. Pawlowski you are of no good use to your daughter at this point in time, enjoy your year long stay at the Oneida County Jail.” Asshole.
It took me a long time to fully accept where I was and the actions that resulted in me being there. It gave me plenty of time to reflect and clean myself up. It took me a long time to see things from a different perspective. I now know that both that judge and my father were not doing this as a form of punishment, it was a call to action to save my life.
No one came to visit me the entire time that I sat. Not a single one of my “friends.” My dad was the only one faithfully that showed up every single Monday morning for his 20 minutes. I did not live lavishly in there. There was no one putting money on my books; no honey buns for me. My dad told me, “It’s jail, you’re going to sit and feel like you’re in jail.” That’s what I did. He would help me with minimal money just for my hygiene products. I didn’t see my daughter that entire time. Not only did I not want her to ever be exposed to the conditions I put myself in, but I knew her father would agree. I wrote her letters, drew her pictures, and tried to call on holidays and her birthday. She never stopped being my motivation to me wanting to find my way out of the hell I resided in.
While I adapted to my new surroundings, I told myself I was at least going to try to make the best of it. I signed up for every program they offered. I was a trustee and worked doing laundry every day. I went to church, AA and NA meetings, and every behavioral modification class they had. I was able to take several college classes earning a certification of completion for advance manufacturing and CNC machining. Our graduating class was presented on the local news channel and in the Observer Dispatch Newspaper.
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I remember sitting in my cell counting the cement bricks from the floor up to the ceiling over and over again when I first got sentenced; asking God if he was real to help me get through this because I genuinely had no idea how I was going to. Then just like that, my door was being buzzed and I heard, “Pawlowski pack up!” My time had been served.
I was ready to get out. I had thought I made great strides to getting better. I didn’t think that when I got out it would be like nothing changed. I failed to realize that just because I did some work on myself while I was gone, it didn’t dismiss the mess I left out in the real world. I had hurt people, broken trust, and had nothing to really start rebuilding my life on. My dad did not want me to go back to living under his roof. He wasn’t willing to risk going through the same hell. My mother had separated herself from me long ago. I had no friends left, no good one’s at least. I was right back where I was before I went in. Defeated.
An old friend had reached out to my dad. He heard that I was released and offered me a place to stay in Indiana. He told my dad that he had recently gotten his life together since moving out of New York and he thought it would be a good option for me to go out there and do the same. I didn’t see what other options I had. My dad informed me he purchased my plane ticket and told me to pack my bag.
Knocking On Deaths Door
Following my story you can probably gather that being independent and upholding any sort of “normal” adult responsibilities has never been something I’ve been able to successfully fulfill. When you spend all of your young adult life messing up, it doesn’t give you time to really learn all the necessary skills. For those who haven’t struggled with addiction maybe this doesn’t make much sense. But for me, the basic shit was hard. I never had a bank account, never held a job, never had a credit card, never took out a loan, never had my own apartment, you get the point. So throwing me out to fend for myself in Indiana I should have assumed might not end well. I knew I was at least going to give it my best.
Your best is really hard to show when you’re greeted with a bag of dope the minute you get off your plane. It always seems any time you stand back up, the plummet down is ten times worse than the time before. Why is that? From March 2017 - June 2017 those months were the closest I can confidently say I was to losing my life. I was in a completely different state where I knew no one including my own surroundings. I had not a penny to my name. I had no job. No family. Literally nothing. My stay with my friend that invited me out there was cut short when he decided head back to New York and leave me behind.
Now I was really screwed. I’ve put myself in plenty of sketchy situations and nothing scared me as much as realizing that I was literally all alone on the streets. I had nothing at this point but the clothes on my back, a bible that was gifted to me while I was in jail, and my cellphone which was currently deactivated due to my dad shutting my service off. I had reached out to family and old friends seeing if someone would help me figure something out, and no one wanted to hear it. I was to fend for myself.
I wandered around on foot in 100 degree weather. Tried to use whatever Wi-Fi was available in the public places that would let me sit there for a little bit. I never knew what laundering was until I found myself getting kicked out or removed from every place I went to sit my ass down for a minute at. I was able to search and find a shelter that seemed like it was in walking distance, so that’s where I set out to go. I walked and walked and walked. One of my flip flops snapped right in half, and a blister formed on the bottom of my foot that made me sick to my stomach to even look at. But there was nothing I could do besides tough it out and hope that I didn’t end up with some sort of infection and have the thing fucking fall off or something crazy and right up my alley.
I made my way to the shelter. The line outside the door was a mile long. Great! I find out that it’s a ‘first come first serve basis.’ The doors opened 6pm-9pm once the beds fill up the doors close. I wait in line for shits and giggs anyways. No bed for Heidi. Wonderful. I begged the lady at the door. I explained my situation and that I had no where else to go. I wasn’t from the area and I needed to stay there. She kindly gave me a smirk, shrugged her shoulders, and closed the door in my face. A guy came up from behind me and introduced himself. He said that he couldn’t help but overhear my story and he wasn’t going to let me stay out in the streets alone. He told me to just stay with him. That’s exactly what I did.
I know what you’re thinking, “Heidi, that doesn’t seem like the smartest choice.” In the moment it felt like the only one that I had.
Days I spent attached to this man’s hip. And thank the Lord for him because I really don’t know what I would’ve done. He managed to get us food, and water, and a spot where we rested our heads. Regardless it was under a bridge. I still had a sense of peace with him by my side; weirdly enough. We got to sharing stories back and forth. Spending that much time with someone and under those circumstances you get to know someone rather quickly. My heart went out to him finding out he had been on streets himself for some time, struggled with addiction, and had a daughter somewhere in the world that he was not able to see. We weren’t all that different.
Of course he was also magically pulling drugs out of what seemed like thin air. I didn’t ask questions. Just did them. I recall sitting cross legged on this big rock underneath the bridge we hung out under during the nighttime hours, doing a shot, and talking to God in my head. I had finally reached the point that the drugs no longer worked. Getting high didn’t allow me to push my reality to the side anymore. I sat there in silence staring straight ahead and telling God that it was okay. That I take full responsibility for where I ended up. It wasn’t my parents fault, my ex’s fault, my probation officers fault, my friends fault…. it was my fault. I remember telling my self, “You really did it Heidi. You’ve come face to face with your end.” In that moment I so vividly recall coming to terms with my life ending and in that exact way. I took a deep breath and made peace with the fact that I was going to die strung out and on those streets. I remember all I had left to say to God was, “It’s okay.”
I immediately snapped back into reality when my cellphone rang (yes the same one that had been deactivated for some time.) I look at my phone, didn’t recognize the number. Went to pick it up and what happened next was the most pivotal moment of my entire life.
Answered Prayers
I pick up the phone to a man on the other end. He goes on to explain that his name is Brad and he’s an old friend of my fathers. He tells me that my dad had reached out to him in hopes that maybe he could reach out to me and be of some help. He goes on to explain that my dad knew he had been sober for 20+ years and maybe he could be of good service to my situation, because my poor father had just ran out of options.
When I recently called my dad to help me and explained my situation of being out on the streets his response to me was, “I’m not going to fly you back home Heidi just to watch you die in front of my face here.” I hated him for that. Looking back now I get it. The tough love my dad had to put into effect in hopes that it would in the long run save me is something I don’t know if I myself would ever have the strength to do. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now.
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I sat there on the phone trying my best to take in all that was being said. I was given the opportunity of a lifetime. Brad said, “I’m gonna ask you one time kid, do you want to change your life?” I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, all I knew was it sounded a lot better that being under that bridge. I stayed silent on the other end of the phone. “All I need you to do is get on the plane. I will call a cab to come and pick you up right now.” The call ended.
I had no idea what was really going on. I was scared. Not for my safety, or because I was headed to God only knows where, but because I knew in my gut that this was it. My life was about to change in a really big way. I knew no matter where I was headed, that it would require me to sober up and the thought of that alone was enough to make me not want to go.
I got in the cab at 2 am on June 7th 2017 and headed to the airport. Ran straight to the bathroom, did the last of my shit I had on me, and disposed of all my contraband. I counted each and every step I took from the gate to my seat on that plane. Sorry to the lady sitting next to me. I apologize for smelling like a bag of hot trash and falling asleep on your arm.
This was it. I was really doing the thing. I made it to my destination.
Hello Wisconsin
Welcome to my brand new beginning. I was greeted by Brad as soon as I got off the plane. He brought me to his home where I met his wife and two amazing step children. They welcomed me with open arms. I was able to take a shower. They provided me with all new clothes and amenities to get comfortable in my new environment. It still didn’t feel real that all of this was happening to me. Maybe that was due to the fact that all of the junk I had been pumping into my body was fully wearing off at this point. I told myself I wouldn’t screw this up.
Brad had his own race team called Racing 4 Recovery which I quickly became a part of. I found joy in my days working with him at the shop and traveling with the team.
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Brads family quickly became my family. I couldn’t ask for better people to surround myself with. The love, support, and guidance I received is something I can never thank them enough for. His wife Melissa became my very best friend. His step daughter Gracie even though younger in her years than I was, taught me so much throughout our time together.
With their help I was able to focus solely on my recovery for the very first time. I lived in their home. They helped me regain my faith in myself when I thought it was long gone. I started to believe that I really was deserving of a life outside of my addiction. They provided me with a safe and supportive space to start rebuilding.
I arrived in Wisconsin with nothing but the shirt on my back. As time went on and I stayed sober I was able to be a part of the Racing 4 Recovery team. I spent a lot of my time in the beginning at the shop. I was able to explore new interests and hobbies. Melissa has her own photography business and she allowed me to go with her to shoot multiple weddings. I found great joy in taking pictures. I was able to express myself through my artwork. Making designs and banners for Gracie’s high school sports teams to display. I was finally starting to feel like I belonged and like I had things to offer this world.
I stayed busy. That helped me a lot. Life started to finally feel better sober than it ever did being high. I’ll always remember feeling the little glimmers of happiness come back. From even the smallest of things. Waking up to a sunrise, a morning walk, a cup of coffee, reading a book… all of these little moments I would recognize and feel such joy. It overwhelmed me with gratitude, because for so long I thought I would never get that back.
Over the course of the first year I remained sober. I got my first job. I opened my first ever checking account. I was able to get my license and purchase a vehicle. They helped me fly back to New York to go to court for visitation with my daughter; which I was granted. I made new friends. I got to learn and experience so many new things. Life was good and only getting better!
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Brad and Melissa surprised me with both my dad flying out to visit me in August 2017 and then my mother and daughter in September 2017. I had not seen my father since right after I got out of jail. And I had not seen my now 3 year old daughter since before I went into jail.
“When You Love Someone, They Become Your Reason”
It had been a very long time. I didn’t even realize how much my heart needed this.
I finally hit the one year mark! Who would’ve ever thought? Not Me!! I regained such newfound hope for myself within the first year of my sobriety journey. I never thought I would come close to accomplishing even half of what I already had. I was finally excited for what the future might have in store for me.
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Addictions A Bitch
Shortly after my one year mark, I relapsed. It was not pretty. I know what you’re thinking, “Heidi how could you do that ?! How can you go from describing how incredible you were doing and how much you had finally turned things around just to go back down that path?” That’s the thing with addiction…. it doesn’t care.
It happened so fast. One moment I was great, the next I started feeding myself the typical addict bullshit. “You can drink. You’re not on paper? You’re above the legal age. It’s not hard drugs so really there’s nothing wrong with it.” I started with joining in on the fun with “casual drinks” at the bar with a few acquaintances. Of course I tried to hide this from Brad and Melissa knowing they would be disappointed. The guilt from my slip up was the main factor in what made me continue faceplanting down that hill… and FAST. I started drinking non stop to try to avoid the reality of what I had done. I was ashamed. I was angry with myself. I was sad. I felt like I let everyone down.
About one month into my drinking and here comes the consequences of my own actions. I’m drinking vodka from the time I woke up till the time I passed out at night. I was struggling to make it to work every day. I was not pleasant to be around. I would drive around with a liter of vodka underneath my passenger seat of my car. I always promised Brad and Melissa that I would be honest with them. Getting honest with myself and others was a crucial piece of what helped me get sober in the first place. I knew I did not want to end up back where I just fought so hard to get myself out of. So I told them the truth. They were of course saddened, but they made it very clear that they were not giving up on me and that they would do whatever it took to help me get back on my feet. They also made me promise that no matter what they did not want any drugs or alcohol coming into their home. I promised.
I lied. In no time at all I was finally forced to face the music and got arrested for drinking and driving. At that point all I remember thinking to myself was, “I already fucked everything up, what’s the point anymore.” As an addict I’ve always had a tendency to go on and make things worse. This was no different.
My solution was to go right off the deep end and start smoking meth. 5 gold stars for you Heidi. While my drinking and driving charge was still pending and I was awaiting my court date. Brad and Melissa’s home ended up getting raided due to my ties to the people that I was using with for that very short amount of time. I’ve never felt like more of a failure than in that moment when I was being removed from their home by an officer in handcuffs.
I remember Melissa looking at me with such sadness in her eyes “I thought you promised me you would never bring anything in this house.” I didn’t have a single word to say back to her. Addiction can bring us to some really dark places, and make us do some really rash and deceitful things. All of which I’m far from proud of. It still pains me to know that I betrayed the people who cared for me and tried to help me the most. I sat in the back of the cop car with tears streaming down my face. Knowing now, this was truly unfixable.
They brought me to jail. I made myself at home; assuming I would be there for awhile. A new felony possession of methamphetamine charge on top of my recent OWI. Cute combo.
I sat in jail for roughly two weeks before a woman came to get me and discuss a potential offer. She mentioned that they would be willing at my upcoming court date to except me into the Hybrid Drug Treatment Court Program. If I took the program I would have to successfully complete a minimum of 18 months of their programs requirements and stipulations, I would be placed on 2 years supervision, and if I fulfilled all that was requested my felony would be expunged from my record. Count me in.
I didn’t know the extent of what the program would really require me to do, I just knew I didn’t want to be in jail. Brad and Melissa gave me another chance. They invited me back into their home. I promised them that I would put all I had into this program and make them proud. That’s exactly what I did.
Treatment court is no joke. If you are not serious about bettering yourself and striving for recovery then I’ll save you the trouble of ever weighing your options. It’s not for you. I was required to go to constant outpatient groups, individual counseling, probation check-ins, weekly court check-in’s, daily drug screens, etc. My entire every day all day life for a good portion of the program was consumed by actually doing the program. I told myself in the past no program I had ever went to worked. The more I thought about it I came to the conclusion that maybe they didn’t work because I wasn’t really trying. My goal had always been to trick the system or use tactics to still go about living my drug induced life without them knowing or paying the price for them. My focus was always on enduring the punishment and riding it out until it was over. But what if I really did try? What if instead of thinking the whole world has it out to get me, I accept the help they say they’re trying to give me ? What if instead of thinking I already have all the answers, I actually listen for once?
Game Changer.
No matter how challenging it was at times, or uncomfortable, or undesirable I did every last thing that was recommended or asked of me throughout that program. Low and behold some truly beautiful things came of it.
I stayed 100% clean, no slip ups. I made it to all of my groups. I went to every meeting. I started going to NA and AA meetings. I followed all the stipulations of my probation. I got a sponsor. You name it, I was doing it. As if my life depended on it, because it did.
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18 months later I received my certificate of completion for Treatment Court. I really did it! Crazy to see what can be accomplished when you truly apply yourself and are willing to accept the help being offered to you.
Life went on. I was working full time as a waitress. Still living with Brad and Melissa. Religiously was attending meetings every single week. Built an amazing relationship with my sponsor. I was able to travel several times back and forth to New York and visit with my family and my daughter. It finally seemed like I got myself right back on track. Hallelujah!
Love Blinds
Right around the time I was wrapping things up with Treatment Court, Hunter came into my life. Since the relationship several years prior had ended with Fallon’s father I had not even considered being with anyone else. I was always consumed entirely in my own mess or the work I was putting in to getting out of my mess. I never felt I was in a good position to pretend like I had a lot to offer another person. I never had the desire to drag someone else into my constant chaos. So, I’ve always been okay with the solitude. When it came to relationships I really had no desire to be with anyone. For one, because of the hurt I felt from my last relationship. And two, because I genuinely knew the type of man I wanted for myself and I felt that the path I took in life would restrict any man of good quality from ever wanting to be with me or build any sort of future together.
Hunter and I met when he started regularly coming into my restaurant each day on his lunch breaks. We clicked right away and became good friends. I didn’t think too much into it at the time. We never saw one another outside of my work setting, but I would be lying if I said seeing him wasn’t the one thing that I looked forward too every single day.
We got to know one another rather quickly. I never thought it was possible to really adore every single part of a person until I met him. Every negative thought that I had about love and relationships prior to meeting him went right out the window. We started dating in the summer of 2019. He was perfect in every way. He was everything I thought didn’t exist in this world. I’ve never let anyone know me in the ways I allowed him to know me. He treated me better than I could have ever asked for. After spending countless years battling my addiction, I can honestly say that left no room for me to really be out living my life. I was stuck in darkness for so long that now being with Hunter was like some sort of fairytale. I always told him he helped me fall in love with life again. We did so many things together; everything together. We traveled and went on so many adventures, I tried new things like fishing, jet skiing, and kayaking. I was sure I never wanted to know what life without him would look like. He was it for me.
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Life was great. Hunter had known all about my sobriety journey. He supported me fully. He met my family and my daughter back in New York. While we were together, I ended up setting out to find a better job. I started going to college for my degree in SUDC ( Substance Abuse Disorder Counseling ). We started to build our life together, and I could’ve never asked for anything more. I can so vividly remember taking mental photographs of all the places we went and all the wonderful memories we shared. I would find myself constantly saying, “This is it Heidi, all the shit you’ve gone through…it was all for something. It was all to lead you to this right here. Your happiness.”
Hunter made me want to be the best that I could be. I wanted to be someone he was proud to be with. I was happy with all the accomplishments I set out to achieve and reached. I was able to get a new vehicle without a co-signer (big deal for me) I got my first credit card, I started working a “big girl job” which offered insurance and 401K. We bought a house together. We both continued to make amazing strides forward.
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Roughly 2 years into our relationship things took a turn. I started turned my head to some red flags that made themselves very apparent. I pushed things under the rug that I knew could potentially hold a detrimental outcome. And ultimately they did. Long story short things went from day to night in a literal flip of a switch. I didn’t even know where to begin to process what had happened. And, I didn’t really.. I ended up drowning myself in booze.
There was a domestic dispute that broke out between the two of us that resulted in him receiving a 5 year prison sentence and the state of Wisconsin issuing a life long no contact and restraining order.
I felt like my entire world was just gone. Everything I wanted for myself. Everything I wanted with him. Gone. At the same exact time that this was all going on and I was trying to process my break up, packing up and moving out of our home, and trying to come up with a plan for the rest of my life…. tragedy hit me once again. And hard.
All within the same month, two of my closest friends Doug and Cody passed away due to drug related incidents. Then, I received a phone call from my mother telling me that my Nana had passed away. My nana was my whole heart. My entire life she was who I called on for anything and everything. We spoke daily on the phone. Growing up I spent every summer at her house. I’m the oldest out of four grandchildren and the only girl so, it’s safe to say we had a very special bond. Her passing hit me very hard. I was ready to be laid to rest right along side her.
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I continued to drink. HEAVELY. I couldn’t even fathom trying to emotionally work through everything I was going through. I didn’t want to. However, I also knew I so desperately didn’t want to go right back down that road I just recently re worked my way back out of. This couldn’t be happening to me. Again.
My drinking caught up to me. Fast. As it always does. That brand new trailblazer I just bought was gone in the blink of an eye. Right out the fucking window along with my driving privileges after receiving back to back OWI charges. If you’ve lost count this would be #3 and #4 on my record now. Perfect. I started preparing myself for what I assumed the final outcome would be. Jail. Prison? Who knows. I just knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
As much as my actions portrayed that I wanted to give up, I kept telling myself I knew I couldn’t allow myself to do that. I worked too hard. I was better than this. I didn’t have it in me to let it all fall apart again. Even though my circumstances seemed unbearable, I knew in the past I’d already proven myself wrong. I knew I fought like hell and I knew that I overcame challenges I never thought I would. This would be no different. So, just like that, I decided to take ownership of the choices that were already made. I couldn’t do anything to change them. I did however have the power to pull my head out of my ass and start making things right. I had the power to start moving forward and not allow myself to stay stuck.
“The world keeps turning, it is you who decides to stop.”
Even though the thought of potentially being locked up was in my near future, I knew in the meantime I couldn’t add more fuel to the fire. I knew if I didn’t focus on doing right that things would continue to crumble. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I took my days one by one as they came. One right decision after the other. “I didn’t come this far to only make it this far.”
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I ended up moving out of my dream home that Hunter and I had purchased together into a tiny one bedroom studio apartment above a bar. That’s all I could afford and I made it work. Now that I was without a license and a vehicle I had to figure out what I was going to do for work. I walked to every place imaginable in town and put in applications. I knew financially I was going to struggle due to all my legal fees tied to these recent OWI charges.
Down the road from my apartment was an assisted living facility. I knew with my record that working in healthcare was probably not a possibility, but I was desperate. I walked in there asking to fill out an application. I was given a brief interview on spot and was beyond transparent with the director. I explained my situation and that I was desperate for work. I went on to tell her that I was a very good worker and her giving me an opportunity to prove it would not lead to disappointment. Shockingly enough I was hired!
So, that’s what I did. I started working full-time as a caregiver. That job was truly life changing for me. Working with residents that are coming to the near ends of their lives and that rely on you for their basic needs and cares made me feel like I had a purpose again. I put everything that I had into that job. It was rewarding on so many levels. It challenged me greatly. I was given the opportunity to take certain trainings and fulfill my certification in medication administration. Who would’ve thought! Not me. By one person having a little bit of faith in me, it became the starting point of me regaining my faith in myself.
I walked to and from work every single day. For close to two years straight. I started bartending downstairs from my apartment when they needed extra help, as well as waitressed at a different restaurant every Saturday and Sunday. In the meantime I had gone to court for my drinking and driving charges. By the grace of God I was able to avoid no more than 48 hours in jail. I was granted the option to have an ankle bracelet slapped on me for a year. That’s what I chose to do. My ankle monitor cost me $200 a week. I had court fees to pay, fines to pay to both courts, a payment plan set up to take care of my lawyer…. on top of all my normal household bills and rent. So, yes I worked my literal ass off every single day, knowing that if I slipped up I was headed straight to jail.
A year had come and gone. I was able to get my ankle monitor off. In that years time I learned a lot about myself. I grew tremendously as a person, even in the midst of what felt like one of my toughest storms. I spent that time working and sitting with myself. I spent little to no time with friends. I used that time to really dig deep and address some things within myself. I learned how to be settled in the silence and ok being within my own company. I started practicing proper self- discipline and using any void time doing things that would help me on a personal level. I started reading again, I was journaling and writing a lot, I focused on rebuilding and restoring my relationship with God. I separated myself from all the unnecessary noise.
Here Comes The Sun
I met Nick back in 2018 when Brad and Melissa’s house got raided and I received my possession charge. We both went to the same outpatient facility when I was in Treatment Court. He had quite the eccentric personality; it wasn’t hard to be his friend. We remained friends throughout the years. Keeping in touch here and there, offering kind words of encouragement to one another as we both went our separate ways navigating our personal recovery journeys.
I now believe in divine timing. Nick had reached out to me as I was just regaining my freedom from my ankle monitor and what had now been almost two years that I had been separated and healing from the entire Hunter situation. Nothing out of the “norm.” He had asked how I was doing and we spent some time catching up texting back and forth. Before then we had never hung out or spent any time together just the two of us. Like I stated before I was so accustomed to spending all of my time alone. Every day entailed me waking up going to work, coming home, going to bed, and waking up to do it all over again. I shut myself out from the rest of the world.
I felt strangely inclined to ask Nick if he wanted to hangout. I thought he would kindly decline. He didn’t. The first time he came over to my place to hangout he was more than respectful. Spending time with him was genuinely the first time I really smiled or laughed since all that I had gone through. The few short hours that we spent talking, catching up, and goofing around was what felt like my first breath of fresh air in such a long time.
I knew and thought to myself that I didn’t possibly have anything to offer any guy, let alone him. Nick had struggled himself with mental health and substance abuse. We connected and related on so many levels when it came to hardships we both endured. I felt like that’s what made things between us so special. However, I have learned some things along my journey. When two individuals share similar demons; that can easily be a door many might agree not to open. Nick and I continued to hangout, and found no reason to label or categorize what we really were in the beginning. We both knew we just enjoyed spending time together. We clung to one another. We depended on one another for happiness that we were lacking beforehand and we depended on one another for accountability with remaining sober.
I unloaded all of my baggage on Nick. He knew all there was to know about me. I expressed how I felt after trying to navigate the hurt after Hunter and what that looked like and why I had chosen for some time to not give anyone the right time of day. I had currently at the same exact time found out that I was now pregnant along with discovering some severe underlying health issues. I’m telling you my life has never been boring. It’s one thing and then on to the next. That’s what it certainly felt like.
Without any critique or judgement Nick was all in. He was willing to work on the things he needed to for himself, while I stood along side him and did the same. He did not for one moment fail to love me for what I was. He did not hold my circumstances or things that I lacked above my head what so ever. He showed me probably the rarest and purest form of love I will ever get the pleasure of experiencing in this lifetime.
Nick had moved into my studio apartment with me. We spent the entire summer together. We weren’t able to go on lavish vacations, and take one another out for prime rib dinner every Friday night but our time together was not any less special.
I knew some changes were in store for us, as I was expecting this baby in a few short months now. I was sure I couldn’t bring her home to the apartment we were currently residing in. I had to figure out how I was going to take care of her and work at the same time, all the while still not being able to drive. I was very VERY stressed out.
Things began to line up. I was able to find us a new apartment. We moved in September 1st 2023. I found an at home remote position that I felt would be perfect; allowing me to stay home and hopefully pay my bills. I was excited for this new chapter for us.
I missed it. All of it. All of the signs I dismissed as nothing serious. All of the episodes that I deemed were him just having a bad day. I let average and mundane stressors blur my sight. The person I loved needed me, and I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it. And now that things turned out the way that they did I’m working on forgiving myself for that.
September 16th 2023 my entire world stopped. It has never been the same since. Nick walked out of our apartment to head across town to his parents house; which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He gave me a kiss goodbye, turned around to come back to give me a second one and then he was gone. I waited at home anticipating for him to come walking back through the door, and he never did.
September 16th 2023 Nick took his own life. I lost my best friend and my mind that day.
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If there was ever an appropriate time to fall off the deep end this was it. But I didn’t. I felt like me crumbling and going back to drinking or the drugs would’ve been the ultimate betrayal to Nick. I felt like that would be the biggest slap in the face after all we had talked about and planned for our future. I knew I needed to be strong. For myself, for him, and for my baby girl.
I made a promise to him that I would go on living this life in all the ways we both wanted to. I would go on to do all of the things he consistently tried to remind me that I was capable of doing. And here I am.
Only Up From Here
I miss Nick more than I ever thought imaginably possible. I carry him with me in every single thing that I do. He is what gives me strength on all of my hard days. He is what pushes me to keep going. He is what has made me cling onto my faith for dear life. He is what drives me to challenge myself when facing life’s obstacles. He is my motivator in everything.
I now find myself always breaking things down into two categories: Before Nick and After Nick.
After Nick
I’ve remained sober. I work on my recovery every single day. I have always found great joy and a sense of purpose from sharing my trials and tribulations to help serve others. Since Nick’s passing I have made immense efforts to share my story. To share a message of hope for the next person who might be struggling. To open the door to make connections with people that can relate.
3 months exactly on the date after Nick passed I gave birth to my beautiful daughter… Lilly-Jo Nickole.
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Today I am a fully participating parent to both of my girls. They are what reminds me of everything that is still beautiful in this world and worth fighting for.
I went on to finish my schooling and set out to start my journey of becoming a certified peer specialist. I also rather recently was accepted to become a member of the CPSAC (Certified Peer Specialist Advisory Committee).
I created Celebrate You as a safe and informational space to share with others all that I have learned, overcome, and gained from never giving up on my sobriety. I created this platform as a means to continue working on my own recovery and healing. My hope is to connect with others and share a message of hope and inspiration-that you truly can do this thing! No matter what cards you are dealt, you hold all the potential in the world to overcome anything. This life might not always be easy, but I promise you it’s worth it.
@hpawlowski It’s been a long road but nothings ever been more worth it ❤️ #soberjourney #thisbeautifullife #mystory #wedorecover #gratefuleveryday #recoveryispossible #fyp ♬ Beautiful Things - Benson Boone
I wish you all the very best on your journey! If you or anyone you know is struggling please know at any time you are more than welcome to reach out to me! You’ve got this shit xoxo
