Justine almost lost her son to a heroin overdose. Almost. He survived. She still feels the need to reassure herself of that fact every day. And, yet, she wonders why she trips a little bit over that thought: he survived.
He hasn’t been himself for a long time—even before the overdose. And for most of that time, she has been completely focused on his story: his scares, his apparent improvements, and anything that might be a good diversion from the drug and the culture that surrounds it. She can admit that she hasn’t been thinking about her own health. And she hasn’t been considering the possibility that her well-intentioned efforts of support may not have been altogether helpful for her son. It’s incredibly challenging to gain perspective from outside the box of substance use disorders. And it’s difficult to accept that surviving overdose and addiction is hard work for everyone involved.
Fortunately, Justine has a chance to consider carefully what life after an overdose looks like for a parent. A friend encouraged Justine to get some professional help of her own from a therapist. For the first time, she is able to recognize certain important boundaries between her son and herself. She is able to witness the powerful grief she has been going through, as well as the trauma and depression she has been unable to process up until this point. Just as her son’s best hope of recovery is in a healing community, so is Justine’s best hope of recovery in the context of compassionate and knowledgeable support.



