Tuesday, October 13, 2026

Why I’m Putting on a Free Recovery Day at a Casino Resort in the Northwoods

Why I’m Putting on a Free Recovery Day at a Casino Resort in the Northwoods

I used to make that almost-hour drive with the windows cracked and the radio low because the quiet made my head louder. Northwoods quiet. Waiting list. Then a room full of people who either already knew me or looked at me like they did. I don’t know how many times I sat there thinking the same thing: if somebody could just let people in who weren’t already somewhat fixed. If the door could have been open when I was really a mess. If something had been closer. If the stigma and the shame hadn’t drowned me before I could even walk through. Maybe my life would have changed a lot sooner. Now that I’m well, all I can think about is how many people could still be here and alive today if this had been possible.

That’s the short version of why Saturday, November 21 exists.

I’m putting on a free, full-day recovery event at the Lake of the Torches Resort Casino Conference Center in Lac du Flambeau. 8 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. Doors open at 7:45. Completely free. Everybody is welcome—people still using, people in recovery, families, people who lost somebody, professionals, neighbors, kids who need a safe room. No suits. No lectures that pretend recovery is neat. Just real talk, practical tools, and a place to sit without performing.

Register free here:

Real Talk Recovery: Progress in the Northwoods – Eventbrite

Some people have already named this and called it out. Facebook messages. Local feedback. How dare you put on a recovery event at a casino? They were up on their high horses, and even after I stayed calm and walked through it, they still didn’t get it. There are not a thousand locations north of Highway 8 where you can do something like this—especially not somewhere you can get funded, in a community you’re from. You take what you can get.

Up here our bars, our taverns, our grills have always been more community centers than pure businesses. I grew up in Winchester. Presque Isle, Manitowish Waters, Boulder Junction. Pretty much every local event I went to as a kid had a bar involved. Beer or liquor was how a lot of those organizations raised the money to even exist. I’m not pretending that makes every choice perfect. I’m saying the idea that a recovery day at a casino resort is somehow uniquely wrong doesn’t match the way this place has always worked. The point is the people in the room, not the building.

I’m white. Caucasian. I’m not pretending I’m Native. My kids are tribal descendants. My husband is an enrolled member. I grew up with the stigma that was just in the air—my dad would still be rolling in his grave about some of this, and that’s who he was in the world he came from. Does that make the old lines right? No. But the racial divide shouldn’t still be running the show up here, especially not with the newer generations that are a lot more blended than people want to admit. Our sense of community, of helping the neighbor who lives on the same roads we do, has to go beyond those lines. Especially when we’re talking about who gets to stay alive.

I started this by myself. It grew. We built a nonprofit underneath it because the day got bigger than one person. Every board member is someone touched by mental health or addiction—lived it, loves somebody who has, lost somebody who did. Licensed people. People who work with kids. People who show up on your worst day when the emergency hits. People fighting for the rights of kids—mine, yours, all of ours. Before anybody snaps to judgment, that’s who’s in the room building this.

Tom Farley said yes. His family used to camp at Trout Lake in Boulder Junction. That yes was a catalyst. It’s wild how deep the roots and the connections run up here once you start asking. The networking these past months has been real. Local businesses, local support groups, local community groups, local people—thank you. You showed up.

Why free? Because cost is still one of the biggest reasons people don’t walk through a door up here. Because “come if you can afford it” is just another way of saying some people don’t get to come. Because I spent years in the Grey Zone—after the crisis had quieted but before anything felt like a life—and I watched how many people stayed stuck because the next step required money, transportation, or the energy to explain themselves to a system that didn’t have room for the millimeter version of progress. I left the safe clinical job and built Progress is Progress in that exact stretch. Not because I felt ready. Because the thing I needed when I was clawing out didn’t exist in a form I could actually reach.

What I wish had existed is a day where you could show up exactly as you are—still foggy, still angry, still not sure you belong—and leave with one real connection, one practical tool, and the knowledge that the people in the room had already been through some version of the same hell. Not a conference. A full day in the middle of the Northwoods where the point is progress, mile or millimeter.

That’s November 21.

Register free (and share it):

Real Talk Recovery: Progress in the Northwoods on Eventbrite

If you’re in the area, or if you can get here, come. If you can’t, tell me in the comments what would make a day like this matter where you are. This is the first of the build-up posts. The day is real. The work that got us here was done in the Grey Zone, by people who’ve been touched by this, not after some dramatic finish line.

Progress is still progress. Even when you’re building the thing you needed while you’re still figuring out how to stay—and even when some people don’t like the building you found to do it in.

Tuesday, October 6, 2026

The Blood Was Hot






This post describes domestic violence. If you need help right now: National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-7233, or text START to 88788. In danger right now, call 911. In the Northwoods, Tri-County Council’s 24/7 line is 1-800-236-1222.


October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I am not writing a PSA. I am writing the night I drove myself to the hospital with my face split open and told them I tripped over a dog.


The blood was hot.


That is the part nobody puts in the pamphlets. When it starts coming, it is warm. Not movie-warm. Actual heat on your skin, soaking the front of your shirt, hitting the floor in little drops that keep going after you think they should stop.


We had a little mirror hung on the wall so the toddlers could look at themselves and freak out. The drops went across that mirror. All the way to the bathroom. I turned the corner and looked down, and my youngest had a spot of it on his cheek. He was barely walking. Maybe two.


I said oh my god. Out loud. To nobody.


Then I drove myself. Seventeen stitches. I told the staff I tripped over a dog and hit a glass table. He was texting the whole time. You’re not calling the cops, are you? You’re not calling the cops, are you? I texted back no. Everything’s fine. I’m just gonna get this shit fixed and come home.


And then it was like nothing happened.


That scar was not new. Years before that, he had punched me in the face and put my tooth through my lip. The night with the blood on the mirror, he hit me in that same spot. It ripped open. A jagged tear down the side of my face. He did not hit me with the mirror. The mirror was just there. I noticed it because the blood had reached it.


I had hit him first that night, with a pair of baby jeans. I am not cleaning that up for you. By then he had me so spun out that I looked like the crazy one, which is the whole point when you live with somebody who has those traits. He was trying to leave with the kids. I said no. I swung a pair of jeans. He split my face back open.


I went to work like that. More than once. On auto control. Trying to figure out what to tell people about my face. Eventually I stopped inventing it. I told them my husband beats the shit out of me. I know it’s stupid. I know I look stupid. I am still here to do my job.


If you are in it, I am not going to tell you that line fixed anything. It didn’t. I stayed.


Domestic abuse is not one kind of story, and mine was not clean.


The first real relationship was high school into my early twenties. He had the anger. He was the aggressor. I fought back. A lot. Verbal. Emotional. Cheating. And the domestics. I called the cops. We went through the system. It was bad every time, and it did not end the relationship. I stayed in that for about ten years.


When I finally left, I did the thing people warn you about and I did not hear them. I had already been talking to somebody else online while I was still in it. My dad had just died. It was 2008. I wanted somebody to love me. We went on a date, drank, spent the night. My ex found out and kicked me out. I moved into a 10-by-10 shed in the new guy’s parents’ backyard. Then my own place, which did not hold. Then his place. Then ours.


He was charismatic. Sweet. Attentive. A six-year-old daughter. A family that let me in. Every article I have read since calls that love bombing. I could not see it. I was grieving and dysfunctional and freshly out of one bad thing, which is not the same as being ready for a good one.


The first time it got violent, it was not a punch. He threw a can of orange soda. It exploded in the kitchen. Window, table, walls, floor. Orange and wet and sticky. Then he pushed me around. Then he said, “This is where it starts. It never ends.”


He was telling me the rules. I heard it as a warning. It was a permission slip he wrote for himself.


We lived in a trailer park. At night I would run the length of the trailer turning lights on, because we did not really have curtains, and I thought if the lights were on somebody outside could see him beating me and help. Then I would turn them off. Then on. He chased me. I got knocked down. Grabbed by the hair. Dragged down the hallway. Gotten on top of. Strangled.


That relationship ran, on and off, from 2008 until 2015 or 2016. Pregnant. Babies. The fights. The leaving and the going back.


Here is the part the awareness-month posts do not like. I did not pack a bag and walk out because I had finally had enough. I reached out. I emailed his probation agent while he was in meth psychosis. He had domestic charges from the fights. His probation got revoked. He went to prison. That is how I got out. It was not neat. It was not a movie ending. The door opened because the state opened it.


My kids were little. They remember pieces. They are older now, and the effects are longer than I understood when I was just trying to get through a night. The effects on me are long too. I have a marriage now that is violence-free. We fight. We do not fight like I might die, and we do not fight like I need a plan for the kids if I do.


I am not writing this so you can clap for the survivor arc. I am writing it because October shows up every year and the posts get soft, and soft did not help me.


If you are in it, I get the knot. You know you should leave. You do not want to leave. You know you need to go. You know you might stay. Your brain and your heart are not on the same side, and nobody on the outside can untie that for you by telling you how obvious it looks. It did not look obvious from inside the trailer with the lights going on and off.


What I can tell you is the smaller thing. The blood is hot. The text messages while you are in the emergency room are part of it. The story you tell the nurse is part of it. Going to work the next day on auto control is part of it. Calling it stupid, calling yourself stupid, is part of it. None of that means you are too far gone to get out. It means you are in it.


I got out messy. Progress was still progress. It counted.


If this is your night, or close to it, these are the numbers I wish I had trusted sooner.


If you are in the Northwoods, 54568 and the towns around it, Woodruff, Arbor Vitae, Minocqua, Boulder Junction, St. Germain, Manitowish Waters, Lac du Flambeau:


Tri-County Council on Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault covers Forest, Oneida, and Vilas Counties. Shelter, safety planning, legal advocacy, restraining-order help, medical advocacy, emergency transportation. Free and confidential. The shelter runs out of Rhinelander. The Eagle River outreach office is closed right now. They are doing mobile advocacy, so call. Do not drive to the courthouse expecting a walk-in.

24/7 crisis line: 1-800-236-1222

Office: 715-362-6841

3716 Country Drive, Suite 6, Rhinelander, WI 54501

tricountycouncil.org


Lac du Flambeau Domestic Abuse and Sexual Assault Program, Benase Equay Wakaigan. 24/7 crisis line, on-call advocates, emergency shelter, restraining-order help, court accompaniment.

24/7: 1-800-236-7660

Office: 715-588-7660

P.O. Box 67, Lac du Flambeau, WI 54538


If it is happening right now, call 911. Vilas County Sheriff is 715-479-4441. You can also dial 211 for Wisconsin resources any time.


National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233, or text START to 88788, or thehotline.org.


You do not owe anyone a clean exit.


Belle

Progress is Progress

Sunday, October 4, 2026

BUY NOW

 Four books. One honest voice.

Written by Belle Morey, BS, CSAC. Radically honest. No sugarcoating. Mile or millimeter, progress is progress.

Friday, October 2, 2026

Weaponized Self-Talk: Your Daily Dose of Don’t Give a F*ck October 2, 2026



Weaponized Self-Talk: Your Daily Dose of Don’t Give a F*ck

October 2, 2026

Trigger:

You’re treating rest like a character flaw — while your body is already keeping the score. 🔥


Rewrite:

You don’t just dislike slowing down. You resent it. So you stack one more task, one more person to fix, one more crisis to outrun — and call it strength. Your nervous system keeps the score anyway. Cortisol up. Sleep trash. Old injuries loud. Eventually something breaks: mind, gut, heart, or the wall you swore would hold. Rest is not a reward you earn after the fire. It is the thing that keeps the fire from becoming you. Answering your body before it has to scream is not lazy. It is recovery with a pulse.


The Move:

Pick one body signal you’ve been bulldozing (tight jaw, skipped meal, third coffee, no sit-down since 7am). Give it ten honest minutes today — sit, eat, stretch, or close your eyes — without earning it first.


Progress is progress — mile or millimeter. 🌱


#WeaponizedSelfTalk #ProgressIsProgress #MileOrMillimeter


If you or someone you love is in crisis: 988 | SAMHSA 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Thursday, October 1, 2026

Real Talk Recovery: Progress in the Northwoods



Free tickets still open — Real Talk Recovery · Sat Nov 21, 2026 · Lake of the Torches, Lac du Flambeau WI.


Keynote Tom Farley (author of The Chris Farley Show). Youth drum. Resource fair. Feast. Northwoods-real, not hotel-brochure recovery day.


Grab (or share) free tickets: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1993505330106?aff=oddtdtcreator

Help / partner form: https://forms.gle/63vMtbe5ThsUBHgeA

Phone/text: 715-892-5310 only

Weaponized Self-Talk: Your Daily Dose of Don’t Give a F*ck October 1, 2026




Trigger:

You’re waiting to look like a better candidate for help — while the thing running your life still has the keys. 🔥


Rewrite:

You looked at the help on offer and realized it was built for a version of you that doesn’t exist. So you did what high-functioning people do: you managed. You performed unbothered. You became very good at looking fine. And the bottle / the bets / the phone / the rage / the silence kept driving. You are not too complicated. You are not “not sick enough.” You have not used up your one allowed collapse. The admission ticket is one honest sentence: this is running me. That is enough. You don’t have to match anyone’s picture of an addict, a depressed parent, or a marriage on fire before you get a chair that can actually see you.


The Move:

Write one true sentence about what’s driving that isn’t you — private notes only. No polish. No audience. Just the keys back in your hand for ten seconds.


Progress is progress — mile or millimeter. 🌱


#WeaponizedSelfTalk #ProgressIsProgress #MileOrMillimeter


If you or someone you love is in crisis: 988 | SAMHSA 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Wednesday, September 30, 2026

Weaponized Self-Talk: Your Daily Dose of Don’t Give a F*ck September 30, 2026

 



Trigger:

You’re treating the Grey Zone like proof you’re failing — because nothing is on fire and nothing is finished. 🔥


Rewrite:

You are not dying. You are not glowing. The house is not on fire — and you’re also not the person you thought you’d be by now. That’s not a verdict. That’s the stretch nobody puts on a flyer. Life isn’t a shitstorm anymore and it isn’t the mountaintop either. A Tuesday that feels like progress. A Thursday that feels like you wasted the year. Then you look up and realize you built something while you were busy calling yourself behind. Ready would be a lie. Ready is what the Grey Zone takes from you and then charges rent on. Stay in it long enough to build the thing. Then give the thing away.


The Move:

Name one thing you built (or kept) in the last 90 days while you were “behind” — one line in notes. No polish. Just evidence.


Progress is progress — mile or millimeter. 🌱


#WeaponizedSelfTalk #ProgressIsProgress #MileOrMillimeter


If you or someone you love is in crisis: 988 | SAMHSA 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Why I’m Putting on a Free Recovery Day at a Casino Resort in the Northwoods

Why I’m Putting on a Free Recovery Day at a Casino Resort in the Northwoods Belinda (Belle) Morey 4 hours ago ∙ Paid I used to make that alm...