Where to begin? It has taken me one year, two months, and 24 days to write this first post. For the last 6 years I have been navigating life with a spouse, (now my ex), with a meth addiction. To say my life has been tumultuous is putting it delicately. It’s been a dumpster fire of emotions brought on by circumstances out of my control. Addiction; a monster that wraps its fingers around a person’s throat and digs in until there is nothing left, but the shell of their former selves.

I had my version of a fairytale. My ex was kind, thoughtful, always did what he said he was going to do, and most of all, my safe place. Six months after the birth of our son, I had a Multiple Sclerosis relapse that rendered me unable to work. It shook me to my core. I had this little baby to raise, a household to maintain, and my rapidly developing career at Nordstrom to juggle. I went from being on top of the world to feeling as if the world was suddenly on top of me. The weight was heavy and the stress exacerbated my symptoms to the point where it was difficult to walk, focus, use my right hand, or feel my right leg.

With the help of my extraordinary doctor and therapist, I made the decision to be taken off of work permanently. It was financially challenging, but I had faith that everything was going to work out. Little did I know as my condition worsened; my husband’s addiction grew stronger. I was so involved with researching MS, trying to heal, and caring for our son; I completely missed ALL the signs.

Life went on and seemed “normal”. In 2017 he moved us from a two-bedroom apartment to a three-bedroom house. At first I was excited to see the growth of his company. It allowed us to move into a bigger space and purchase a large company vehicle, but something seemed off. He began working through the night. It became common practice for him to stay on the job-site for days on end. When he would come home from a finished project, instead of resting from days of work, he would still stay awake. He was constantly drinking energy drinks. I figured his circadian rhythm was off and he just needed to get back into a normal routine. At this point he had not become verbally or physically abusive yet. That came later.

One sunny morning in August of 2017, after being gone for three days, he arrived in a state, which I can only describe as panicked and erratic. He was going on and on how someone on his job-site had “drugged him”. I was trying to make sense of everything he was saying. Then he suddenly blurted out he had been using meth for over a year.

My body has gone into shock before due to incredibly high-stress events. I recognized my body’s involuntary response immediately. All at once, the last two years became abundantly obvious. In that moment I did what I had become accustomed to do. I called my doctor and asked if I could come in. Being the amazing man he is, without ANY hesitation, he said of course. We ended up being in his office for close to four hours. They examined my ex, ran labs, and had a lengthy talk in private while I waited in my doctor’s office. When they returned, I was so angry, my MS symptoms began to flare up. My doctor did his best to counsel us, but most of all attempt to calm me so my body would not respond with a relapse. At one point I recall lunging at my ex. However, being in the presence of my doctor gave me the strength to reel it in. (I was in therapy at the time. One of the issues I was working through was anger. Let’s just say I’ve gone through some shit.) We left his office and headed to the sitter’s house to pick up our son. The drive to her house was nauseating. I found myself fantasizing about crawling out of my skin and jumping through the car window. This, however, was not a viable option.

How the hell did I wind up in this situation? Was I that idiotic? That naïve? That would be a resounding HELL NO! I’m a badass, intelligent; failure is never an option, type of woman. I pick myself up by the bootstraps whilst still having a manicure type of loba. (Yes, I am quoting the iconic Shakira.)

Seriously, what in the actual fuck was going on? I called my therapist as soon as I got home and decided to increase the frequency of our sessions. At that moment I made a vow to myself that I would not let his addiction accelerate my MS. FUCK THAT. I had worked endlessly to get to a point where I looked “normal” and could function again. If my disease did not break me, his addiction would not break me either.

The months that followed were a blur. The first two weeks, post-world-being-shit-upon, was full of promises and apologies like only my ex could do. One of his love languages is gift giving. He is a generous man, at times to a fault. It is not unusual for him to sacrifice his own comfort to help another. I feel the need to reiterate that my ex is a good man. He is also a man plagued by a meth addiction. I am convinced, and no clergyman or theologian could convince me otherwise, that meth is the devil in tangible form. What else could convince you to throw away the life you have always dreamed of? To walk away from those that needed you the most? Abandon your family in the most vulnerable of times… TELL ME! Enlighten me! Take my ass to church! What else could it be?

I did my best to squash the anger and not let it commandeer my soul. What I was not prepared to feel was the throat-punching shame from all that had transpired. Shame from events that I had absolutely nothing to do with; now I was grouped into this shit storm whether I wanted to or not. (Or so I thought.)

I remained hopeful. A trait that is burned into my being. After all hope floats right? I did my best to forgive him. I am not going to pretend the gifts were not a distraction from the actual issue at hand. In case any of you didn’t know, this a huge red flag for a multitude of reasons. Anytime someone is trying to silence another’s anger, by force, gifts, what have you, pick your poison; it’s just plain wrong. The world needs to understand we are not born with anger. People are angry for a reason. I was angry for a reason. But, like I said, the gifts were a distraction.

At the time, I had no idea the type of dementor I was dealing with. Meth is a conniving foe. Where was Dumbledore when I needed him? There was no Batman coming to rescue me. No knight riding in on a white horse coming to slay my dragon. What I needed was to become my own hero. And so, I did. I became the “Wonder Woman” that saved my own ass. (Gal Gadot would be proud.) I slayed the dragon. I bought the horse the knight rode in on. ME. I DID. And I did it while having Multiple Sclerosis, Hashimoto’s Disease, and raising my son.

This blog is my 40th birthday present to myself. It only came to fruition because I am surrounded by an exceptional group of women that would lay down their lives if the situation called for it. My real-life Cable Girls (Las Chicas Del Cable). There will be no shopping sprees, luxury vacations, or time laying out on a yacht for this milestone birthday. It will be spent celebrating this. Grit. Gratitude. Grass. A place where I will write openly about what it is like being a single mother with multiple sclerosis, leaving a domestic violence situation evoked by meth addiction, but not being defined by it.

I will do my best to post on G.G.G. once a week. In addition to my own story, I plan on writing about others that inspire me. The every day heroes. The small business owner dealing with a post-Covid economy and inflation abyss. The mother who advocates tirelessly for the needs of her children, despite feeling as if her concerns only fall on deaf ears. Most of all it is for the domestic abuse victim who hides in her room, behind locked doors, binge watching MAID on Netflix, manifesting the day she will make her escape.

Grab your bong, throw on a sheet mask, and enjoy the shit show that makes my life beautiful.