Yesterday I laid out the raw truth — the diagnoses, the years of addiction, the children I lost, and the guilt that still takes my breath away. Today is about what recovery looks like in real time. It’s not pretty or polished. It’s one day at a time.
I’m at 62 days clean and sober now. Some mornings I wake up feeling hopeful. Other mornings the weight of everything I’ve done hits me before my feet even touch the floor. ADHD makes it hard to stay consistent. Complex PTSD makes trust feel dangerous. Bipolar can pull me into darkness when I’m already grieving. But I’m showing up anyway.
The hardest part right now is my boys.
My twins are 18 and both want to graduate high school. They’ve already been through so much. But it’s my oldest twin who carries the deepest scars. He’s angry — rightfully so — and unforgiving, even while part of him seems to be forgiving. One day he says he wants me by his side. The next day he tells me he doesn’t want anything to do with me, that it’s all my fault. I feel both sides of his heart and it breaks mine every single time. I don’t always know how to respond. I just keep showing up, apologizing, and staying sober even when he pushes me away. Love right now means respecting his space while refusing to disappear.
I caused this pain. I know that. And I can’t rush his healing or force forgiveness. All I can do is keep choosing recovery and trust God with the rest.
But here’s what I’m holding onto: God is not limited by my mistakes or my sons’ anger. He sees the young man my oldest twin is becoming — strong, honest, still standing even while he wrestles. He sees the resilience in all three of my boys. Psalm 147:3 says, "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." I’m praying that promise over them daily.
I’m also learning to accept that rebuilding relationships may take years. There may be more rejection. There may be long seasons of silence. But I’m committed to consistency — not perfectly, but faithfully. My part is to stay clean, stay honest, and stay open whenever any of them are ready.
Jesus, thank You for carrying what I cannot. Protect my boys. Protect all my children & grandchildren. Soften hearts where they need softening — including mine. Give them everything they need to heal and thrive. And give me the humility and endurance to keep walking this road, even when it hurts.
This journey is slow and heavy. Some days I feel like I’m barely moving forward. But I’m still here. Still fighting. Still believing that God can redeem every broken piece.
If you’re a parent who failed your children, or a child carrying the weight of your parent’s failures — you’re not alone. The road is long, but we don’t walk it by ourselves.
Tomorrow is Day 4. I’ll still be here.
— Still Standing, By His Grace
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