My name is Nikole, and I am a grateful, perfectly imperfect addict in recovery. My recovery birthday is September 11, 2013, and I will celebrate 12 years of sobriety this year. There is always so much that I could share, so many details that, looking back, were monumental moments in my journey. I’ll do my best to keep it simple. I’ll share what it was like before I came to The Haven, what happened at that turning point, and how my life is now.
I was born to two heroin addicts and I am also an identical mirror image twin. My mother found her way to recovery when I was four. My father never did. We shared time between the two homes, and I was a very meek and voiceless child. I was just happy to go along with whatever the people I admired were doing. At my mother’s home, there were strict rules, boundaries, and guidelines, and I was raised with faith. At my father’s home, there was no supervision or guidance, he made fun of my mother’s beliefs and regularly challenged the way she was raising us.
From a young age, although I didn’t know it yet, the choice was laid out in front of me. The two diverging paths, side by side. I had no clue who I was or what I wanted yet. Nor did I understand the impact those two opposing examples would have later in life.
Another piece was that I did not have my own identity as a twin. As children we were referred to as “the girls” and as teens I was Natasha’s twin. I was the introvert to her extroversion. I struggled as a kid to find my own identity and dabbled with partying, but nothing really gripped me.
I was pregnant at 19 and married at 20 to a severe alcoholic and abuser. We had three children before I was 24. The drinking and abuse increased over a span of seven years to a point where I didn’t have the tools or proper support to manage. At that point I had turned off all the partying and entirely dedicated my life to being a mother and a wife. I was also raising my twin’s two boys, as she was in active addiction at that time. I had five kids, a husband, and a home by 24.
I was a stay-at-home mom, and I loved every moment of it, until my husband came home and cracked the first beer. The gaslighting, name calling, physical intimidation, threats, manipulation, and infidelity was too much. And I fell. He eventually quit his job, and I was forced to leave our children with him to make the bills. I worked three jobs round the clock and would come home exhausted to clean up cans and vomit, put him to bed, and then wake up the kids for breakfast and school. There was little time to sleep and when I could he would wake me up to fight.
One night, I fell asleep at work, and a coworker handed me a capsule, saying it would help me stay awake. Energy drinks had stopped working for me, so I took it without knowing what it was. For the next three weeks, I kept asking for more. Eventually, I finally asked where I could get it myself. That is when I found out what I was actually taking. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t good, or he wouldn’t have handed it to me secretly or pulled me aside when I asked for more. Survival mode chose not to acknowledge the quiet warning signs in my mind. The voice in my head convinced me “you need this right now. The kids need to eat. It’s just for a little while until you can figure something else out”.
That is far from how things worked out. One day, while I was asleep before my shift, my husband found the capsules in my purse. He tucked that information away and picked up a huge fight seemingly out of nowhere. That night he tried to hit me, and I threw him out. The next day, he used the information to file for emergency full custody of the kids.
Nikole’s mugshot and a picture of her after 11 years of sobriety.
I felt so betrayed, devastated, and ashamed. After everything I had endured in his hands and all the begging and crying for things to change he used the one thing I had relied on just to function against me. And he used it to take away the only thing that mattered to me more than my own life. I didn’t know then what I know now. If I could go back, I would do so many things differently. But at the time, he won. And for the next 15 years, he did everything he could to make me pay for daring to stand up for myself. But justice and Power Greater than Myself would have His say when I was ready.
I spent that night with my first needle and many nights afterwards on the bathroom floors of old trap house or motel bathrooms, begging God to just take it all away. The pain, the shame, the need for the next fix. I was as high as I could get without dying for three years, except for a few hours on Sundays when I would beg whoever I could to take me to my children. On Sundays I would put on the mask for them until the screaming in my brain or sickness in my body got to be so much that I couldn’t take it anymore and the beast needed to be fed again.
I was in prison of my own creation and I knew it. I suffered many violent traumas on the streets, sometimes dealing, sometimes homeless, many times sure I was going to be murdered, and I couldn’t stop. Against all reason I couldn’t stop, no matter how badly I wanted to. Each trauma killed another part of me and drove me into the needle deeper. Then toward the end, I was kidnapped and held for around three weeks. The dissociation and masking that I had learned in my marriage helped me to survive. I was able to earn enough trust to find a way out.
Shortly afterwards, two friends, both dealers at the time, took mercy on me. They were the only humans on earth who knew the depth of my suffering. They attempted to get me to my mom twice to get me clean. Both times I was arrested for things I had nothing to do with. I was simply in the car, but in justice, I should have been arrested a hundred times for things I had done.
I was OR’d twice and the same two friends took me to a hotel and wouldn’t let me out until I kicked completely. They saw something in me I thought had died a long time ago. They gave me a place to stay and tried to keep other junkies away from me for fear they would get me high, and they made me call rehabs daily. Days passed with no bed available, and I couldn’t take it anymore. When the opportunity came, I used and nearly died from an overdose. One of my friends brought me back and got me into detox immediately. After detox, I had to find a safe place to go to wait for a bed. One of them took me back in, again locking me in the back room until a bed came open at The Haven.
I can still physically feel what I felt in my body crossing the threshold to the office where a woman named Mary told me I couldn’t have my Twizzlers in there. An epic internal battle began that day. I felt the true weight and awareness of the chaos I had become and the damage I’d done. I had to get clean, but I wasn’t fully resigned to this yet. I had reservations.
During my first week, all I did was distract myself by trying to help others who had just arrived like I was some kind of expert with three days clean. The staff saw it, and I was put on a 72-hour silent discipline. I was not allowed to speak, nor be spoken to for 72 hours.
It sounds simple now, but at the time, it was hell. It felt like the last shred of power I had was being taken away. I had two choices: submit and surrender to a directive I didn’t understand or walk out and make everything worse. Deep down, I knew this was my one shot at making things right. Something in my gut told me I wouldn’t get another.
So, I surrendered that day and every day since. That first act of letting go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There was no certainty anywhere, in anything. I didn’t trust anyone, especially not myself. But what choice did I really have? So I took my first suggestion. Albeit resentfully.
Many God shots have happened since then. They were confusing at the time, at times infuriating, but I see the value in them now. I was not able to complete the program at The Haven. There were rumors flying and no way to disprove them. The staff at the time felt I was not serious about my recovery. I was tempted to give up, but dammit I KNEW I WAS SERIOUS.
Instead, I asked the house mom to wipe my phone and give me an AA list. A little old man named Frenchie, who had the pleasure of a peaceful passing 30 something years sober a few years back, took me in. He took me through the book the first time and introduced me to my first sponsor. I would get up at 5am every morning for the early riser meeting and he’d say ‘no, I won’t give you a ride to work. Your legs worked fine to get a fix, they’ll work fine to fix it!” He was exactly what I needed at that time, and I was so proud the day I earned his respect enough to hear him speak my actual name. I found a sponsor and worked my steps, honestly, brazenly and as a result my parental rights were eventually restored.
I immersed myself in the fellowship and in service and somewhere along the line it changed me. I am no longer a meek follower without identity or voice. Today I am Nikole. Today I am a good friend who keeps her promises. Today I am a strong and compassionate wife who sets boundaries and will not tolerate abuse. Today I am an active, full-time mother and I have amazing relationships with my children. I have made my amends and found my voice.
Nikole with her children who are now young adults.
Today I use that same voice to help and advocate for others and have succeeded in a 10-year career in behavioral health, working seven years with the same clinic. Today I own my own business as a life coach, helping woman with trauma find their way. Today I am a woman of integrity and joy. A Power Greater than Me is directing the play and I have deeply experienced that when I trust God and get out of His way, life is beautiful, and my heart is at peace. Today I have found forgiveness for my abusers and most importantly for myself. Today all the pain makes sense and has purpose.
I’d like to share a couple words of wisdom with anybody who’s struggling. Keep your seat. Take a suggestion. Fight through doubt like your life depends on it, IT DOES. Don’t pick up no matter what. Trust God, clean house, help others. The promises DO come true. It truly works if you work it.
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