I'm and Addict & I'm NOT Sorry 2.0 · the skool CLASSIFIEDS

I'm and Addict & I'm NOT Sorry 2.0

If you’re reading this, chances are you or someone you love has been through the wringer of addiction. And if that’s the case, you know the worst part isn’t the withdrawals, the broken promises, or those gut-wrenching moments of clarity on the bathroom floor. It’s the shame. Oh, the shame. The kind that soaks into your bones, the kind that makes you believe every awful thing you’ve ever heard about yourself.

But I’m here to tell you something: fuck the shame. No, really. Fuck it right in the ear. You don’t need that poisonous garbage holding you back anymore.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it. I’m an addict. I’ve lied. I’ve stolen. I’ve woken up in strange places with even stranger people. I’ve done the kind of things that should’ve written me off for good. But you know what? I am still here. I am still a person, no matter what I’ve done. And I deserve to be happy, to love and be loved, to leave something better than I found it.

You can’t change your past. That ship has sailed, baby. But you can change your now. And your now is the next decision you make. Is it a step toward the light, or back into the dark? That’s yours to choose—every single day.

Two years ago, I wrote those words and people took notice. It was the first time I felt like maybe, just maybe, my story could matter. Since then my world has cracked wide open. I got married. My husband adopted my two kids—last week, we sat in a courtroom and listened as a judge, in a court of law, told us how amazing we are. Full circle, all the way. I used to stand in front of judges praying for mercy. Now I’m standing there being told I am more than my past. That my family, built out of all this chaos and hope and hard work, is something to be celebrated.

I left my safe clinical job. I started my own business—Progress is Progress—because I was sick of the one-size-fits-all recovery bullshit. I wanted to be the person I needed when I was clawing my way out. Now I get to do that. Every day, I get to show up for people the way I wish someone had shown up for me.

I’m not just talking to the people in the trenches. I’m talking to the families, too. The ones who sit up at night waiting for the phone to ring. The ones who love us even when we’re impossible to love. I see you. I know how hard it is, how lonely and helpless it can feel. But there is hope. There are full-circle moments. There are days you’ll walk into a courtroom and hear someone in a robe and a gavel call you amazing. That can happen. That’s real.

And to anyone out there still struggling, still hearing “junkie,” “meth head,” “lost cause,” every time you look in the mirror—listen to me. Those words are lies. You are not worthless. You are not broken beyond repair. You are a human being who deserves peace, love, happiness, and a damn good night’s sleep. You deserve a life, just like anybody else.

Yeah, there will be setbacks. There will be days when standing up feels impossible. But you get back up anyway. That’s what matters. You keep moving. You keep choosing the next right thing, even if it’s just eating a vegetable or showing up to a meeting or hugging your kid a little tighter.

Now, let’s get something straight for the haters, the doubters, the ones who whisper that addicts can’t change, that we’re doomed to screw up forever: you don’t get to write my story. You don’t get to decide what’s possible for me, or for anyone like me. Every time I fall, I get back up. Every time someone says I can’t, I prove them wrong just by living, just by loving, just by building something beautiful out of the ashes.

If you’re ready to leave the shame behind, if you’re ready to take your power back, come find me. Read my blog. Join our Progress is Progress community. This is how I’m supporting my family—by showing up, by telling the truth, by making the world a little more beautiful than I found it.

crew the shame. Screw the labels. We are warriors. We are survivors. And we are not sorry.

Let’s get on with the living.

— Belle

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