When ever I would think of a “relapse” I thought of my dad drinking. Yelling. Destruction. I thought if I ever relapsed it would have been out loud, in your face, and blatant. I didn’t think it would creep up on me slowly and confuse me. I don’t think it would come from “home”.  I imagined it would have come from “Gabe”. I guess a relapse is something that can look different to everyone. Just like recovery is a different path for everyone. Well I had a relapse and this is what it looked like for me…

Weeks before I released my book, life was great. I was about to transform from writer to published author. Published author. For a writer those two words carry so much weight. It is not easy to become a writer, nevermind be good enough for anyone to read, let alone a publishing company want to publish you. The weeks and days leading up to my release were full of excitement. Terror. Fear. Happiness. I had no idea what to expect, but each night, as the day grew closer, I went to bed and fell asleep to the thoughts of the unknown. I dreamed of success and failure. I woke up with cold sweats because of the nightmares of retaliation. But each day brought new life to me and I let myself feel excited. I knew some of what I wrote would strike a cord with some personally, but I moved forward with my name and my picture on the book regardless. I wrote my words and I stood proudly next to them in hopes they would help others to find hope and healing. Comfort and sympathy. Inspiration and truth.

With the day approaching I was feeling stable. My recovery was going well. I was in a good place mentally. I was working out and I started cooking food that my kids liked. I was moving forward and I was dating here and there. I worked with my publicist to put together radio interviews. I had a marketing person marketing my book and I had a book tour set up. Airline tickets were bought and invitations for my first reading/signing were sent out. I had no idea how my book would be perceived. I had already received my fair share of hate messages so I had no idea what to expect. But the book was ready. The date was set. It was releasing whether I liked it or not. Now the next step was to sit back, get my popcorn, and watch how the world accepted or rejected my words.

April 3, 2018….my book is released. Amazon was now selling my words and people were buying it. I was proud but still fearful of the unknown. I surrounded myself with my people and we celebrated so much. Success. Independence. Freedom.  Happiness. I had calls and texts to respond to. I had interviews to give and I had to get my workouts in, and I did. But then days later I woke up in my bed, in my room and checked my emails. I had received an email that I didn’t expect and I didn’t expect it to destroy so much I had worked so hard for.

In order for me to get to a point where I could write my story, I first had to live it. I first had to abuse my ex husband and then I had to endure years of abuse from my ex. I had to heal and recover from it. Then and only then from a healthy place could put pen to paper and write my story. But before I could abuse or be abused I had to learn how to ruin someone’s life from my mom. My mother. My ground zero. I wrote in my book about this damaging relationship.  My mother read the words I wrote in my book and sent me an email about her thoughts. Although I will not go into detail about what she said, I will say she told me I was unlovable and I always have been.

For years and years I believed I was unlovable because of her. I chased love and begged for it. In my recovery program I learned that this is not true. I learned how to love myself. It took years and years to build that up in me. I was now able to date and walk away from someone who was not good for me. I did it a few times. I no longer chased or begged. I was secure in myself and I was living a life I truly worked for. But then the email came in and I relapsed. My world was shattered and I again, in that instant, I  believed I was unlovable. I had no time to process any of it because right after that email came in I was off promoting my book.

I sat in front of people reading and talking about my book all the while pieces of me were falling apart and I had no idea how to stop it. I started drinking more than usual. I stopped working out and I stopped cooking. My time was now spent at home wondering why I was alone. Day by  day her words got more and more under my skin and embedded in my brain. As the days passed I could not figure out what was wrong with me. I felt as if my world was spinning out of control and I blamed my book. I blamed myself. The self loathing set in and I knew it was getting worse. In order to cover it up, I drank. I stopped writing. But I tried. I tried to “fix” whatever it was but I failed. I explain it as being super intoxicated and trying to manage your bills. You may get something done but mostly you are creating a mess. I didn’t  want anyone to know I was feeling this way. I had just released a book about recovery and successfully walking away from a toxic relationship with my ex, myself, and my mom and here I was relapsing like a pro.

My world was dripping. I was drowning. My world was crumbling. I was falling.  I knew it was getting to difficult for me to carry on as if I were ok. I called my therapist. I called him just in time. I made an appointment and I fell apart in his office. When I told about the email, I could hear and see his heart breaking.

“ You have been carrying this on your own”? He asked with a sad face.

I have been. I felt that I had no choice but to be strong. I didn’t want anyone to know how much I was hurting. I don’t want to explain how someone who just released a book was what I thought of as weak. So here I am now. Starting over in a sense. I had a break down the night before I saw my therapist, one very much like I had while in my recovery meetings. Yelling. Screaming. Crying. I am now back to if your mom doesn’t love you, no one will.