Standing in my friend's garage at fifteen-years-old, I had my first taste of vodka. My friend's brother told her to chug it as he handed her the bottle. I watched her put a little drop on her tongue before handing the bottle to me. Not knowing what I was getting into, I took a big swig of the clear liquid that burned through me like nothing I had ever consumed. I nearly coughed up a lung. Gasping for air, I chugged through the water my friend had handed me. We continued drinking late into the night. For a moment, all the pain I was holding felt as if it dissipated into the bottle.
After that night, I kept coming back to numb myself from the pain and the brokenness I felt at home. Concerned, my friend told me that this wasn't a good way to deal with life. She stopped letting me drink from her brother's stash. But it didn't stop me from finding it elsewhere. I didn't want to feel, I couldn't feel the pain of my very existence without feeling like my whole world was collapsing. So I chose to numb it instead of facing it; not knowing at the time I was falling into an addiction that would steal over a decade of my life.
I started down the road of recovery in spring of 2023
I never imagined the path recovery would take me down. A beautifully difficult journey that has come with grief, moments of joy, and grand adventures. Leading me down roads I would have never imagined walking down and bringing me back home to authenticity.
"Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations."
Zig Ziglar
recovery.
April 2023
"I want to get sober."
When I first accepted the hold alcohol had over me; recognizing now how I abused it to numb the pain I didn't know how to cope with and the damage that it caused. It felt like a wave of clarity mixed with a hurricane of heartache crashing into the ruins my life had become. I hadn't realized until now the way this substance was poisoning me and everything in my life; my creativity, my relationships, my jobs, and the little girl within me who was once so full of life and dreamed big. In spring of 2023, I was driving back from Florida with a good friend. I looked out the window in the passenger seat of his car as we drove over the border back into Michigan. I looked over at my friend, mustering up every ounce of courage, I declared "I want to get sober."
May 2023
Nightingale Nomad
Nearing my twenty-eighth birthday, I stumbled down an unfamiliar path of recovery. It felt uncomfortable; more like breaking apart than restoration. I experienced a loss of identity; not recognizing who I had become, I started from the beginning on the road to not only recovery, but self-discovery.
home on wheels
Living in my Pontiac Vibe, I began embracing every opportunity that brought me closer to feeling alive without the influence of a substance. I was pursuing photography again, documenting the real and raw moments of stories unfolding before me. I began connecting with nature again. I was finding my way back home to myself. Peeling back the layers of everything I had lost to my own inability to cope with life's challenges.
working on the homestead
While living a nomadic life between my Pontiac Vibe and couch surfing with friends and family. I started working on my parents' homestead; returning back to my roots, the place I was born and raised.
Working on the Homestead helped me grow in many different ways; teaching me different skill sets. Everyday was different; some days I was a gardener, some a painter, others a lumberjack. Homesteading comes with numerous job titles. The work kept my mind busy and focused on whatever task was at hand.
Returning to the Homestead was a pivotal point in my recovery. Repairing the deck where my little barefeet once ran across with my siblings, clearing brush to plant this year's garden, painting the barn where my siblings and I would climb the rafters of as children, painting the house where so many of my childhood memories were held.
Carrying deep imbedded wounds from childhood; returning home was a difficult journey. But being back integrated a fragment that held the joys of childhood. A piece of me I had long forgotten.
Working on the Homestead was a rewarding experience. Seeing the projects we started in the spring come together showed me that the hard work always pays off in the end.
June 2023
connecting with my inner child
A vital step in recovery was connecting with my inner child; giving me the ability to heal emotional wounds and teaching me to express myself authentically.
If I could travel back in time to my eight-year-old self, I would meet a colorful, vibrant soul who spent hours belting out song lyrics she pulled from her emotions in the fields and forests on the 40 acres of land she grew up on. She was imaginative, creating worlds of fantasy with her siblings. She was creative and felt deeply. She invested much of her time into singing, dancing, coloring, and drawing. She was so full of life; somewhere down the road the words of others began seeping in. Shrinking herself to fit into a space; fearing that she would be too loud, too annoying, too much.
I remember as a young girl, climbing to the tippy top of the great pines in the forest. I would gaze out at the fields and forests far beyond the property's edge; feeling as though I was on top of the world and all my worries and fears lay beneath me on the ground.
When I embraced the loneliness of living on the road, I was able to sit with my inner child; discovering ways to express myself without fear or shame.
In my experience, fear or shame of emotional expression often comes from a place of hurt. As we navigate our inner and outer worlds, we face criticism. These outer voices then become our inner critiques that move through life with us, making it difficult to find our own voice in the noise. Before you know it, these inner critiques turn inward to self-sabotage.
The journey back to my inner child integrated a piece of me that held my sense of adventure and curiosity. My creativity cracked open; I became driven with passion and purpose.
December 2023
Saying goodbye to 2023...
2023 was a year of trials and triumphs. Growth and transformation. It was both the hardest and most fulfilling year of my life. I found joy in solitude and discovered peace in nature. I had moments of failure; yet each of those moments were brought with a lesson. I experienced sadness and loss; yet each loss brought me closer to happiness. I learned to let go of fear, embrace chaos, and accept change. I learned that going with the flow always brings me to where I'm meant to be. I became self-sufficient in picking myself up when I fall. Ending 2023 on a positive note, I was eager to welcome in a new year with excitement for what the future would hold; the challenges I would face and overcome, the memories I would make and hold dear, and the beautiful souls I'd meet along my path.
January 2024
9 months into my recovery journey, I solo traveled across the country in my red pontiac vibe to start over. Looking back, I did it to prove to myself that I could be on my own and be this independant person I was forced into being most of my life. I knew only one person in Florida, a good friend who moved from Michigan a few months before I made my journey down. I stayed with him and his family. He too struggled with addiction, but he knew and respected my recovery journey. But I could have never prepared myself for how difficult it would be to remain sober in an environment where alcohol was so heavily influenced.
One week into being in Florida, my friend invited me out to the bar with him and his buddies from work. I didn't even hesitate to say yes, thinking I would be fine knowing that I had spent the last year in bars taking photos of bands all around Michigan and had the will power not to drink. This was different I quickly learned. I didn't have my camera attached to my hip and I didn't have the responsibility to be in my professional work mode. I ordered a lemonade, thinking to myself the entire time how much better it would be with vodka in it. My friend was wasted and his buddies were visibly drunk. They kept telling me how amazing it was that I could be in that environment and stay sober. How I was their inspiration. I didn't say anything. I simply looked down and sipped my lemonade, continuing to wish there was vodka in my glass. "How could I be an inspiration? I'm fighting myself not to go up to the bar and ask the bartender to add vodka to this boring lemonade."
I felt like I was barely holding it together. I walked out of the bar and called my best friend back in Michigan who had also recently began walking the road of recovery. I told him how difficult it was to be in a place like this and have my entire support system so far away. I began missing home and I had only been away for one week. I felt like a failure. I felt weak.
After hanging up the phone, I went back into the bar to tell my friend I was leaving. He stumbled to my car. Driving back to the hotel we were staying in, I looked over at my passenger seat to see him slumped over. His body moved like a rag doll with every bump. It broke my heart; I broke down in tears. He was too unconcious to notice how difficult it was for me to be in this environment, to be driving his limp body home from the bar. My heart was broken to see my friend in this unconcious state, but my heart also broke for the people in my life who witnessed me in this same unconcious state. I wanted to call everyone I knew who once had to care for me in that state and appoligize.
The next day we drove back to his house, me carrying the weight of the night while he couldn't recall the events from the night. I didn't go home back to Michigan after this night, I stayed. I understood addiction all too well and who would I be if I abandonded him in his time of need. Only, in choosing to stay for him, I ended up abandoning myself.
relapse.
February 2024
I relapsed on February 9, 2024
Recovering from a relapse, I turned to my journal to find clarity. I wanted so badly to burry it in the back of my mind and pretend it was a nightmare. I had come so far to fall so hard. My friend consoled me, gently reminding me, "Today is a new day." - in that moment I was still living in the pain and mistakes of the previous day. I knew I couldn't remain here. I picked myself up with forgiveness and grace as I continued to walk down the road of recovery.
In the following days after my relapse, I took the lessons I learned in the previous year to enter back into recovery. I sat in meditation often, connected with nature, and focused on gratitude. I took myself on an artist date, a concept I had learned from reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron back in December; something I hadn't done since I arrived in Florida. Though more homesick than ever, I was determined to build a life for myself here. I began experiencing a sense of deep peace; grounding myself in the present moment.
Disrupted by my environment, this peace didn't last long. I was proud of myself for the way I got back up after my relapse, but I was still living in an environment where alcohol was the focus.
One of my last nights in Florida, I went with a group of people to a comedy show; everyone around me was drinking. I sipped on a lemonade through the whole show, fighting the urge to take a sip of my friend's drink while he was focused on the comedian on stage. Surrounded by alcohol, I struggled to enjoy the show. After the show, everyone came back to my friend's house. I sat out on the porch with everyone as they all continued to drink. One of the girls in the group held to my nose her glass filled with peanut butter whiskey. I declined and walked inside to remove myself from the environment. I was finding it more and more difficult to remove myself from the environment, when it was the same place I was living.
Knowing I needed to make changes, I made the difficult decision to pack my bags and move back into my car. I knew I needed to go home back to Michigan before I relapsed again. I'll never forget driving to a park where I had come often while in Florida that gave me a sense of peace. The first person I called was my best friend. I sat in my car in tears as I told him about my relapse and how I was struggling to remain in recovery in Florida.
After hanging up the phone with him, I crossed over a small wooden bridge over a canal and walked to the end of a little island where sat a picnic table. I looked out to the water holding back tears. I picked up my phone and called my parents. My mom answered, with a shaking voice I told her, "I need to come home. I'm not doing well down here without my support system. I relapsed. I have no money to get home." She told me she was proud of me for reaching out. It felt weird to hear those words, "I'm proud of you." How could someone be proud of me right now? I failed at going off on my own, I relapsed. After talking to her about how badly I had been struggling she handed the phone to my dad. With my sister's help, my parents wired me money to come home. I drove back to where I was staying and told my friend that I was going back home. I could see in his eyes how sad he was, but he understood. He knew in that moment, he was a threat to my sobriety and he didn't want to be that.
Admitting that I needed help was one of the most difficult turns in my recovery journey.
On February 19, 2024, I began my journey home. There was a part of me that was happy to be going home, but there was still this part of me that felt like a failure. Courageously facing the journey ahead, I reminded myself that it is not about the fall, but how we rise from the fall.
Determined to make my journey home a grand adventure, I drove down roads that weaved me through mountains and little towns I would have missed if I had simply drove the interstate all the way home. It made me think of the movie Cars; the way veering from the rushed interstate can hold so much beauty in the twists and turns and little towns.
returning home
recovery.
Arriving home to Michigan, I landed at my brother's home where him and his wife wrapped me in love and support. I stayed in their guest room for a few days, recovering from the long journey home to Michigan.
I jumped right back in to concert photography a few days after returning home, documenting the band Julie's Bones in Saugatuck, Michigan.
I spent the following weeks visiting friends and family who had supported me in my recovery journey the last year. I began rebuilding a more stable life for myself in Michigan where I was surrounded by love and support.
Coming home was not going backwards, it was moving forward in recovery. I am immensely grateful for every piece of my journey, for it has led me to the most beautiful destinations.
"Life is a balance; we cannot appreciate pleasure without experiencing pain."
Lea Maclean
If you have read this far, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for taking the time to read my story of recovery. ♡
Love always,
Lea