by Kayla Myers, Peer Support coordinator

July 21, 2025

Every year, National Parents’ Day comes and goes, and honestly, I didn’t even know it existed until a few years ago. There are no balloons or wrapped gifts. No themed parties, school plays, or glittery cards like we see on Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. And honestly? That’s what makes it feel more real to me.

Parenting doesn’t usually look like a greeting card. It’s unfiltered. It’s behind the scenes. It’s deeply personal. It’s also the hardest, but most sacred, thing I’ve ever done.

Parenting is early mornings with tired eyes and late nights filled with worry. It’s asking myself, Did I say the right thing? Was I too soft? Too strict? Too distracted? Too emotional? Am I giving them enough? Am I enough? It’s making a thousand decisions a day and second-guessing at least half of them. It’s pouring from a cup that sometimes feels empty, and still showing up the next day with whatever strength I can find. Because their love keeps me going.

And yet, even in the chaos, there is so much beauty.

There’s laughter that echoes through the house, sometimes because of something silly, sometimes for no reason at all. There are milestones—and messy milestones. Little victories that might go unnoticed by the world, but mean everything to us. There are those quiet, sacred moments when I look at my kids and catch a glimpse of the people they’re becoming, and I think, “I get to be their mom.” That thought alone has carried me through some of the toughest days.

Parenting doesn’t come with a manual. I learned that fast the day I brought my oldest home from the hospital. And no two parenting journeys look the same. There are seasons of pure joy, and there are seasons that feel like sheer survival. I’ve had to learn to let go of the idea that I need to do it all on my own. I’ve leaned on the support of other parents. I’ve asked for help, even when it was hard. And I’ve reminded myself that perfection isn’t the goal, presence is.

So this month, in honor of National Parents’ Day, I want to pause and recognize all of us who are simply doing the best we can.

Whether you’re a birth parent, adoptive parent, foster parent, bonus parent, grandparent raising grandchildren, or a chosen parent, your love matters. Your consistency matters. YOU matter.

Let’s keep building each other up. Let’s offer grace instead of guilt. Let’s remind ourselves—and each other—that even on the hardest days, we are doing something deeply meaningful.

Because at the heart of parenting lies a quiet, powerful truth: we are shaping lives with our love. It may be messy. It may be imperfect. But it is real and it is enough.

From one parent to another: Happy National Parents’ Day. You’re doing better than you think.

With love and solidarity,
A fellow mom who gets it

(Edited and Enhanced by ChatGPT)

by Nikki Russell, CBHPSS
March 19, 2024

My story is under eternal construction; another layer reveals itself as soon as I assemble it. Writing my recovery story is compelling and something I would like to present in a way that an audience would understand transformation. I immediately reverted to childhood, to one of my saddest moments, and began from there. I revisit emotional wounds that blend into this NOW moment and start composing. I realize the pattern of my life as I attempt not to retraumatize and dull the harsh edges of my traumatic childhood. I retell the same sad story I have uttered thousands of times, one that imprisoned me in unworthiness.

My first lesson in writing came from my therapist, who used narrative therapy, where I documented my past and became an expert in my own life. I had constructed stories that showed my unworthiness and influenced how I saw myself. I observed my life in this exercise, writing it as an on-looker. I could see this person as a characteristic of trauma, somebody I had created not to feel pain; her name is Gertrude. Some of Gertrude's patterns would take years of writing to unravel because they were so engrained that I could not separate them from myself. I learned a lesson in writing that inspired change and would become an instrument of healing in my life.

I had a mountain of journals when I entered recovery. I spent hours writing about the things I was unwilling to change. My journals had my deepest and darkest secrets; they held the pain of my past that regulated my current life. Step four of Alcoholics Anonymous taught me a new way to write. It recommends taking a personal inventory and conducting a fact-finding and fact-facing process. My sponsor told me to pray and meditate before I write, to put my pen on the paper, and to write until I lift the pen off the page. This process influenced a higher power to join me in writing, rather than Gertrude writing alone to ease the discomfort. I wrote for weeks, thinking about all the people I had resentment against and how it affected me. It was a systematic form of writing; I was not to believe, only pray and write. I could feel the weight of the world slowly lifting off my shoulders. This writing technique taught me that writing my story can connect me to something bigger than myself, and when I let that take over, my life transforms.

Meditation and journaling were my recovery routine. I would wake up at 5 am every morning to start my day. After a few years of this practice, one morning, I began writing, but it wasn't me; something was reaching through me as the words poured onto the page. I recognized my pen was not the instrument of a message, but it was I. Reading what I had written on paper but reading it for the first time was an awe-inspiring experience. I researched what had transpired and learned that automatic writing is a form of channeling where you allow a higher power to guide your words. Looking back through my healing process, I expanded my consciousness and cultivated creativity through meditation and writing. Automatic writing began a new path of spiritual exploration that led me home. Being in the flow of writing is what some call a runners-high; you lose yourself in the process, and something beyond the physical person takes over. The automatic writing technique combines being the observer, which I learned in narrative therapy, and systematic writing, which I learned in my fourth step of AA.

It's all about patience, precision, and trust; honing a skill can sometimes take a lifetime, and we may only understand the process once it all comes together. At that moment, you realize the reason everything happened in the exact order it was meant to. Today, I utilize all three forms of writing; they offer different perspectives at different points in my life. As I pondered my "under-construction" recovery story, a poem came to me; when I finished and read it through, I recognized my life as the recovery journey meant to be told through me, not from me.

See, I will tell you a sad story and patterns from my past, but a higher self sees potential and creates poetry from trauma.

Breaking Free

It is hard to break free

Mentally,

Once your THERE the damage is done

The destined path; unsung.

Society blames you for not conforming,

Being your own person breaks norming.

Alcohol and drugs free the pain,

but your soul cannot be tamed.

A mental health disorder labels this disdain

that keeps you trapped without a flame.

The prognosis is grim, and the ache remains

as recovery whispers your name.

Healing is only a dream

as you are enslaved mentally.

Through the prison bars, you try with all your might

to see the sun that's lost its light.

Convincing your free,

you move around your cell willingly.

Hopes and dreams are told to you,

luring you to a sun that reflects the system.

To be truly free,

one must move beyond recovery.

Where the wild unknown unleashes truth,

but the world views you as aloof.

Remaining true, you break the chains of conformity.

Kicking and screaming, yet singing your song

Finally, ending up where you

Belong.

The sun, you realize, was a fluorescent light

that lit the path of society's expectations so bright.

At once, you turn around and finally see

the essence that is truly me.

Abandoned dreams that fueled this life

were internal voices screaming with strife.

They meant no harm, you see,

for they were reacting naturally.

The light that lives inside was buried in a hole

I was filling with external soul.

The journey unknown, I tread lightly

uncovering layers that suppressed my brightly.

Uniting with life creates a storm of emotion,

the system never taught to hear.

Their beliefs so loud, they planted them with fear.

Diving deeply inward I go, following the voice of my KNOW.

The shackles of life, trap me

when I believe in their destiny.

But there is a place within

an unlikely entrance to freedom.

Stand in your truth; let it be known

Use your voice and sit on your throne.

Listen to the echoes that blow in the wind

they are your truth from far within.

Looking through the window of the soul

I see the bars put there that kept me from being whole.

This truth holds the key,

for the sun always lived inside me.

Let it be known that shining bright is to stay true,

not to dismiss you.

An essence I discovered

you may believe to be untrue.

Yet, for me, I live this life beyond recovery

standing tall and empowered by all

who are breaking free

and living a life of integrity.

     -Nikki Russell

by Nikki Russell, Recovery Coach

November 21, 2023

Any story worth its weight on paper is a hero's journey, where a person ventures toward empowerment—the gumption to take a leap of faith into the unknown to discover themselves. Entering recovery is a yes to the call of becoming real; the story of Nikki becomes real; conquering fears takes courage and unlocks gratitude. The profound transformation from something unreal to something tangible is an innate drive within us to become whole and authentic. Love attaches to many things that provide instant gratification, preventing us from letting the flood of emotions wash over us. Grace is the root word of gratitude; an intellectual approach to spirituality produces positive change, yet heartfelt choices align with purpose and develop gratitude.

Grace has religious connotations and valid beliefs for those who resonate with a heavenly father. Yet, for others who pursue a grittier view of spirituality, I offer a different perspective. Grace is the sudden spark from an elevated perspective that inspires change. A gentle yet dignified openness to what is real. The willingness to participate in the mystery of life through trust versus comprehension. Grace is the internal impetus toward change, and gratitude is the emotion felt when the ordinary becomes enough. The value gratitude holds in my life is evident in everything I do to cultivate it. I cannot control grace, but I can offer my ability to move toward behaviors that show appreciation. Examples include setting daily intentions for mind, body, and spirit. Tithing to organizations that inspire positive change, simple acts of kindness, and mindfulness activities that support thankfulness for this moment. Understanding that everything in life is here to help me, I can acknowledge my viewpoint of things as good and imperfect as things that support my healing journey. I leave the door open for grace to enter with my attitude and actions.

When I began recovery, I intended to quit drinking; my goal wasn't what my life has become. Spirituality was not on my radar; I spent many years spiritualizing addiction, substituting one addiction for a more acceptable one. I jumped from a bottle of Gin into a concept of spiritualness, anything to take the pain away. The behavior had improved, and I was better equipped to manage my life, but the underlying problem remained. Self-medicating trauma was something yet to be learned. As I healed past hurts, meditation became a habit that transformed my life. This is how grace works; the energy I used to numb pain transformed into a higher purpose that gives life meaning. I am amazed at the mystery of grace and the feeling of gratitude, for what was once a debt to society with rebellious behavior rooted in shame has become a process of transforming lives.

Allowing grace to propel life into gratitude masquerading as ego-centric pursuits, my experience shows me it is possible to become something I cannot imagine or understand. Dedication to recovery expands Gratitude is a daily commitment to learning, a radical acceptance of reality, a willingness to live an authentic dash, and a belief in the mystery of life. Spiritual practices serve a gritty grace, the kind that finds you in the depths of darkness as the thing that raises you up. Grace is given, and recovery pulls grace forward as if to beckon us further on the journey, offering gratitude as the reward for a moment spent well. Respect for the journey that burned my life to the ground and the process of rising from the ashes reminds me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Hindsight has the benefit of lessons learned that become the foundation for wisdom that reminds me there is always opportunity for growth. Grace shows up to help me along the way, allowing my past self to show me the way forward. What made me sick cannot heal me, yet it reminds me of the places I can go when I am not devoted to recovery. I do not know what the future holds, but gratitude gives me emotional hits that I am on the right path.

The story of The Velveteen Rabbit offers a spiritual perspective about becoming real. The skin horse responds to the rabbit's question of becoming real: "Real isn't how you were made; it's a thing that happens to you." He says, "It doesn't happen all at once; you become. It can take a long time." The recovery journey begins with what some would call tragedy, but I have learned recovery is a gift of grace. Gritty, yes, but every step has helped me learn how to love, to become real, and to allow grace the opportunity to transform my life in all the creative ways it shows up. Becoming real does not suggest that my life before recovery was not valid; it was; it showed me my strength and offered up gratitude as a vital emotion to support me on my hero's journey.