New Blog Platform @ Substack!

Big News: We’re Moving (But Don’t Worry, It’s Not Far)

Hey, friends. After a lot of thought (and probably too much caffeine), I’ve decided to move my blog over to Substack. Same soul, new address: progressisprogress.substack.com.

Why the move? I want to keep the conversation going—about addiction, recovery, mental health, stigma, connection, and all the messy, real-life stuff we’ve always talked about here. Substack just makes it easier for us to connect, comment, and build a community (plus, you can get posts straight to your inbox, so you don’t have to remember to check in).

If you’ve found something here that made you feel seen, made you laugh, or just made you think, I’d love for you to come along for the next chapter. Head over to progressisprogress.substack.com, subscribe (it’s quick and painless, I promise), and let’s keep this thing going.

Thank you for being part of this journey so far. Seriously. I couldn’t do this without you.

See you on the other side,

Belle 

The Secret Life of Reoccurrence of Use (Relapse): Why It’s Not Just ‘Using Again’

The Secret Life of Reoccurrence of Use: Why It’s Not Just ‘Using Again’

Let’s be honest: the phrase “reoccurrence of use” (aka relapse, but we’re trying to sound fancy now) carries a whole emotional freight train loaded with disappointment, guilt, and the kind of frustration that makes you want to hide under the covers forever. For a lot of people, it feels like hitting the reset button on all the progress they’ve made—like waking up from a dream where you finally had your life together, only to realize it was just a cruel joke.

But here’s the kicker: for those juggling addiction and mental health issues (the lovely co-occurring disorders combo), reoccurrence of use is way more than just a “whoops, I messed up” moment. It’s a complex signal screaming, “Hey, something’s seriously off in here,” and if you listen, it can actually teach you something valuable about your recovery journey.

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Reoccurrence of Use Is a Signal, Not a Moral Failure

Picture this: your brain’s running on anxiety fumes, depression’s crashing the party, and trauma’s banging on the door like an unwanted guest who just won’t leave. Suddenly, the coping toolbox you swore you had? Yeah, it feels like a leaky bucket. So the brain thinks, “Maybe a little substance will shut this noise down.” Boom—reoccurrence of use.

This isn’t about weak willpower or being a “bad” person. It’s a biological and psychological SOS. And spoiler alert: not everyone’s recovery includes a reoccurrence of use. Some folks skate right through without a single stumble. For others, these moments are inconvenient but important data points—kind of like your GPS recalculating the route after you accidentally take a wrong turn.

For the professionals reading this: ditch the “failure” narrative. What helps isn’t judgment or punishment—it’s compassionate curiosity and smart clinical moves. When someone comes back after a reoccurrence, they’re handing you clues. Pick them up.

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Shame: The Unwanted Sidekick

If reoccurrence of use had a mascot, shame would be it—lurking, heavy, and ready to crash the party. Shame tells people they’re weak, broken, or just plain hopeless. And guess what? That shame is often more dangerous than the reoccurrence itself because it locks people in silence and isolation.

Clinicians and support communities: your job is to kick shame to the curb. Create spaces where people can be messy, human, and honest without fearing they’ll be branded “lost causes.” Because let’s face it, nobody’s recovery story is a Hallmark movie.

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Self-Sabotage and Mental Health: The Ultimate Frenemies

Reoccurrence of use is often tangled up with self-sabotage—sometimes unconscious, sometimes screaming “why am I doing this?” from the depths of the brain. When anxiety spikes, depression drags you down, or trauma flashes back like bad movie scenes, substances can look like the only way out—even if they’re the worst way out.

This means recovery isn’t just about saying no to drugs or alcohol. It’s about untangling the mess of mental health symptoms that drive those urges. For professionals, integrated treatment approaches that address both addiction and mental health aren’t a luxury—they’re essential.

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Brain Science, Because It’s Not All in Your Head (Well, Actually It Is)

Addiction rewires your brain’s reward system, stress responses, and impulse control—basically turning your gray matter into a high-stakes game of “will I or won’t I?” under pressure. Stress and emotional turmoil crank up the volume on cravings, making reoccurrence more likely.

But here’s the good news: neuroplasticity means your brain can heal and rewire itself. It’s slow, messy work, sort of like trying to teach an old dog new tricks while it’s still pretty darn stubborn. Educating clients on this can help manage expectations and boost resilience.

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Turning Setbacks Into Setups for Growth

A reoccurrence of use doesn’t erase the hard-won progress of recovery. Think of it as a brutally honest report card pointing out what’s missing or what needs tweaking. What were the triggers? Which coping skills were MIA? What support systems fell short?

For people in recovery, reframing these episodes as learning opportunities can transform despair into determination. For clinicians, it’s a chance to tweak the treatment plan and double down on support without judgment.

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What Now? Moving Forward Without Losing Your Mind

For Individuals:

• Call for backup ASAP. Don’t let shame make you ghost your support system.
• Be kind to yourself while you figure out what went wrong.
• Lean on your network—counselors, peers, or even that one friend who doesn’t judge.
• Rebuild your coping toolkit—mindfulness, grounding exercises, or just taking a damn walk.

For Professionals:

• Get comfortable with the fact that reoccurrences happen. Talk about them early and often.
• Use these moments as clinical goldmines, not reasons to write someone off.
• Push for trauma-informed, integrated care models that meet clients where they really are.
• Keep doors open after a reoccurrence. People need ongoing engagement, not slammed shut ones.
• Employ motivational interviewing and nonjudgmental communication—because nobody responds to a lecture.

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Break the Silence, Break the Cycle

Silence around reoccurrence of use is like pouring gasoline on the shame fire. Sharing stories, normalizing setbacks, and creating communities that say “You’re not alone” are game-changers.

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The Long, Winding Road of Recovery

Recovery isn’t a straight line or a Netflix binge you finish in one weekend. It’s more like an unpredictable road trip with potholes, detours, and the occasional flat tire. While not everyone experiences reoccurrences of use, for those who do, it’s just another twist on the journey—not the end of the road.

To anyone reading this, whether you’re in recovery or working in the trenches supporting those who are: your story, your struggles, and yes, even your setbacks, matter. Keep showing up. Keep learning. And don’t be afraid to laugh at the absurdity sometimes—it helps.

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Got your own stories, insights, or hard-earned wisdom? Drop them below. Let’s normalize the messy parts and lift each other up.

Co-Parenting Through Addiction and Recovery: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, and The Beautiful

Let’s get real: co-parenting is hard enough on its own. Throw in addiction, incarceration, mental health struggles, and a history of trauma, and you’ve got a tangled mess that sometimes feels impossible to navigate. I’ve spent years building a life of safety and stability for my kids—a life where they’re not just surviving but truly thriving. And just as that foundation felt solid, their dad got out of prison.

He just finished a three-year stint, but honestly, it’s been nearly a decade of bouncing in and out of the system—locked up, released, locked up again. That’s a long, painful stretch when you’re trying to build consistency for your kids.

Now he’s back, wanting to reconnect with the kids. I want that too. More than anything. But I’m terrified. Terrified of what could happen if things slide back into old patterns, terrified of the emotional roller coaster my kids have already ridden, terrified of losing the momentum we’ve fought so hard to build.

Because here’s the truth no one tells you: when you’re the “healthy” parent, the one who’s a few steps further on the recovery path, you carry the weight of setting boundaries, protecting your kids, and holding space for hope—all while wrestling with fear, guilt, and the messiness of love and loyalty.

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The Emotional Rollercoaster: Hope, Fear, and Guilt

It’s a daily balancing act between hope and terror. My kids deserve to know their dad, to love him, and be loved by him. But what happens when that love is tangled with substance use, mental health struggles, and legal problems? When the person who’s supposed to protect them sometimes brings chaos instead?

The youngest son almost got run over during a terrifying incident involving my ex’s significant other trying to leave in a car while trying to get him inside. Meanwhile, the oldest was left at his grandparents’ house, unaware of the chaos unfolding. That moment still haunts me. It’s the ugly side of this journey—the fear that no matter how much we try, the past can explode into the present in ways that threaten our kids’ safety and well-being.

At the same time, I carry so much hope. Hope that with healing, with support, with the right boundaries, my kids can have both safety and love. That’s the beautiful and complicated paradox of co-parenting through addiction and recovery.

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The Kids’ Experience: Resilience, Caretaking, and the Desire to Just Be Kids

My kids have been through a lot. Years of counseling, emotional ups and downs, and learning to navigate a world where stability sometimes feels like a fragile luxury. My youngest son has taken on the role of caretaker—a heavy burden for any child. I love his big heart and his compassion, but he deserves to be a kid, free from the weight of looking after others, especially when it comes to the adults in his life.

It’s heartbreaking and complicated. How do you help a child carry love without carrying trauma? How do you protect their innocence while being honest enough to prepare them for reality? These are questions I wrestle with every day.

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Navigating Boundaries: Protecting Safety Without Taking Away Love

When the other parent is healthy—when they’re managing their mental health, staying clean, and showing up—there’s room for connection, for love, for rebuilding trust. But what happens when the mental health dips, substance use creeps back, or new legal troubles arise? How do you set boundaries that keep your kids safe without making them feel like you’re taking their parent away?

It’s a tightrope walk. You want your kids to have a relationship with their dad. They love him, and he loves them. But you also have to be realistic. You have to protect their emotional and physical safety.

Talking to kids about this is a challenge that shifts with age. With an eight-year-old, it’s about simple truths and reassurance—“Daddy is working on being healthy, and we’re here to keep you safe.” With a twelve-year-old, you can start explaining bigger feelings, boundaries, and the complexities of adult struggles. And with a teenager, it’s about honest conversations, respecting their feelings, and supporting their own way of navigating the relationship.

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The Complexity of New Family Dynamics

I’m remarried now. My husband has been a steady, loving presence for six years—homeschooling, managing doctor appointments, supporting my kids through autism diagnoses, meltdowns, and emotional roller coasters. We’re a family rebuilding on a foundation that’s different but strong.

We’re also exploring what it means to potentially terminate parental rights of their dad—a painful, complicated step. How do you explain that to the other parent? How do you hold space for them in your kids’ lives while protecting your family’s stability?

There are no easy answers. Every day is a new challenge, a new chance to learn and adapt.

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The Shame, the Guilt, and the Ongoing Work

The shame and guilt around co-parenting with a history of addiction can be suffocating. It can hold you back from opening doors, from reconnecting, from trusting that healing is possible. But I want to say this loud and clear: none of us are perfect. We are doing the best we can with what we have.

I recently reconnected with my ex’s daughter from his first marriage—someone I consider a daughter too. It’s a reminder that family can be complicated, messy, but also beautiful. I want nothing more than to see those kids connect, to have healthy relationships, and to find joy despite the struggles.

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We’re All Winging It, But We’re Not Alone

If you’re reading this and walking a similar path, know this: you’re not alone. None of us have all the answers. We’re all winging it, learning as we go, making mistakes, and celebrating small victories.

This journey is real, it’s hard, and it’s worth it. And if sharing this helps even one person feel less isolated or more hopeful, then it’s worth every word.

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If this story resonates with you, or if you have your own experience or advice to share, please drop a comment or reach out. Let’s support each other in this messy, beautiful work of co-parenting, recovery, and love.

-Belle-

Recovery: The Gritty, Beautiful Journey to Rediscover Who We Really Are

Recovery is more than a word—it’s a patchwork quilt of stories, each piece stitched with struggle, hope, and grit. I’m a former addict turned substance use disorder counselor, and I’ve been on both sides of this journey—the chaos and the calm. Now, I help others navigate the rough waters toward sobriety, and every day I’m reminded it’s not about perfection, but persistence.

Why do we chase recovery? The reasons are as unique as the scars addiction leaves behind. Some of us want health back. Others want to mend relationships shattered by years of chaos. But beneath it all, we’re chasing something deeper: a piece of ourselves that addiction buried or broke—the part that remembers how to be whole.

At its core, recovery is a radical act of rediscovery. It’s not just about quitting a substance; it’s about reclaiming life’s raw, messy beauty. It’s about facing your reflection—flaws and all—and deciding, “This is me, and I’m worth fighting for.”

Recovery Isn’t a Straight Line. It’s a Wild Ride.

Let me be clear: recovery does not come with a map or a schedule. It’s full of detours, dead ends, and scenic routes you never planned on. Progress isn’t measured in days clean or meetings attended—it’s in the tiny moments you choose yourself over the bottle, the drug, the old habits. Whether it’s a mile or a millimeter forward, it’s still a win.

For those working in the field, here’s a truth to hold close: every person’s journey is wildly different. What works for one might not work for another. If we want to help, we need to meet people where they are, not where we think they should be. That means listening—not just to words, but to silences, fears, and the small victories hidden beneath the surface.

Not Going Back, But Moving Forward: Rebuilding Who We Choose to Be

I hear it all the time—the longing to “just be who I was before addiction took over.” It’s a comforting thought, but here’s a hard truth: the person you were before addiction is part of the story that led you here. Somewhere along the way, something broke. Trauma, pain, unmet needs—whatever it was, it shaped you and pushed you toward the addiction in the first place.

So instead of chasing a ghost, let’s shift the goal. Recovery isn’t about rewinding to a “clean slate” or pretending the past never happened. It’s about building something new—a self that’s stronger, wiser, and more resilient because it’s been through the fire. It’s about choosing who you want to be, not just who you were.

That means embracing the messiness of change, accepting that growth isn’t linear, and knowing that you get to write the next chapters on your own terms—one imperfect, brave step at a time. This is the real freedom: not reclaiming a lost self, but creating a whole new one, built on hope, choice, and determination.

What We’re Really Searching For

Addiction steals a lot—time, health, relationships—but the deepest loss is often our sense of self. We crave a version of ourselves unfiltered by substances, a self that can feel joy, pain, connection, and hope without numbing. That’s the treasure at the end of this hard road: a chance to be fully human again.

The Counselor’s View: Witnessing Transformation

In my work, I see something extraordinary every day: people shedding old skins, reclaiming strength they thought was lost, and piecing together new hope from broken bits. Recovery isn’t just survival—it’s growth. It’s crafting a life where every breath counts, where setbacks aren’t failures but lessons, and where the past doesn’t define the future.

How Professionals Can Truly Support Recovery: Beyond the Basics

If you’re a counselor, therapist, recovery coach, or mental health professional, here’s the real deal:

• Meet clients where they are, not where you want them to be. Recovery is messy and non-linear. Adjust expectations accordingly.
• Listen deeply. Sometimes what’s unsaid tells more than words. Be patient with silences and confusion.
• Validate experiences. Recognize the trauma, shame, and fear that clients carry. Don’t rush to fix—offer presence and empathy first.
• Use flexible, individualized approaches. Not everyone thrives in group therapy or strict schedules. Incorporate peer support, creative therapies, and harm reduction strategies.
• Educate yourself about neuroplasticity and addiction neuroscience. Knowing the science behind brain changes can help you set realistic goals and instill hope.
• Advocate fiercely. Fight for longer treatment stays, integrated care, and trauma-informed systems. Challenge insurance limits and bureaucratic roadblocks.
• Collaborate across disciplines. Work closely with primary care, psychiatry, social services, and peer networks. Clients are whole people with complex needs.
• Encourage client self-advocacy. Empower clients to speak up about their needs with all their providers, not just addiction specialists.

Advocacy for the Future: Clearing the Path for Recovery

Systemic change is slow, but it starts with us. Professionals can:

• Lobby for policy changes that fund longer, more flexible treatment programs
• Push for integrated mental health and addiction services under one roof
• Educate communities to reduce stigma and promote understanding
• Support housing-first initiatives and other social supports that stabilize clients’ lives

Clients can:

• Keep asking questions and demanding personalized care
• Lean on peer networks and advocacy groups
• Share their stories to humanize addiction and recovery
• Remember that their voice matters—always

More Than Just Adding Days—Adding Life

Recovery is about more than just staying clean. It’s about taking back your story, one chapter at a time. It’s about living a life that feels real, vibrant, and yours. It’s about turning the mess of the past into the foundation for something better.

To Everyone Walking This Path

Your journey is yours alone. There’s no right or wrong way to heal. Your progress, no matter how small, lights the way for others lost in the dark. Embrace your story, with all its bumps and breaks—because in those cracks, your true power shines through.

Remember: recovery is the greatest rediscovery of all—the chance to meet the person you were always meant to be.

-Belle-

New logo, same me 

I started my blog a little over a year ago, honestly just hoping someone out there might relate to the chaos inside my head (and maybe laugh once in a while). Turns out, sharing about addiction, recovery, mental health, stigma, and connection has taken me places I never saw coming—both online and in real life.

If you haven’t checked out my blog yet, this is your official invitation. Yes, I write a lot about things people usually avoid at dinner parties. Yes, it can get uncomfortable. But let’s be real: change is uncomfortable, growth is uncomfortable, and pretending we’re all fine all the time? That’s just exhausting.

So, take a breath. Poke around my blog. If you find yourself squirming a little, you’re probably in the right place. I’m a substance abuse counselor, but I’m also a person in recovery, which means I get it from both sides. Stick around. Maybe you’ll find something that clicks—or at least a decent joke about existential dread.

Welcome to the new look. Same mission: real talk, messy feelings, and a little hope on the side.-Belle-

 What I Wish My Therapist Knew About Meth: The Truth About Recovery, Cognition, and the Real Work Ahead

Let’s get this out of the way: Meth doesn’t just wreck your life; it hijacks your brain, chews up your sense of self, and spits out something you barely recognize. For the folks who’ve never used, or for the “old school” providers still clinging to the Big Book and the 28-day miracle cure, meth is just another addiction. But for those of us who’ve lived it—and for the people trying to treat it now—we know it’s a whole different beast.

I’ve been on both sides of this mess: As a person who’s walked into treatment with a brain full of static, and as a clinician watching desperate people try to claw their way out, only to hit the same brick walls over and over. In the world of residential treatment, especially in small clinics (hello, northern Wisconsin), the rules are written by people who haven’t spent a night in their own program. And honestly, it shows.

The Meth Crash: Cognitive Chaos, Raw Despair, and the Impossible Ask

Meth withdrawal is like your brain went through a woodchipper while you were asleep—then someone handed you a clipboard and asked you to recite the alphabet backward in group. Good luck. For the first few days (or weeks, if you’re lucky), your thoughts are scrambled eggs, your emotions are whiplash, and your body is either vibrating or dead weight. Sleep? You want it more than anything, but when it finally comes, it’s thick, dreamless, and never long enough.

Here’s the thing: In most residential programs, you’re expected to hit the ground running. Orientation packet, group therapy, trauma work, relapse prevention, all in the first 24-48 hours. Never mind that you might be hallucinating, seeing shadows in the corners, or forgetting the question before you finish answering it. We write you up for “not participating,” as if this is a choice.

Old school recovery tells you, “Just push through.” New school knows the brain isn’t magic—it’s meat, it’s chemistry, it’s neuroplasticity. Meth fries your dopamine system. It shrinks your hippocampus, it messes with your frontal lobe. You can’t just “snap out of it.” Real healing takes time, repetition, and—here’s a wild idea—a little bit of compassion.

Not All Recovery Timelines Are Equal: The Truth About Brains on Meth

I’ve watched people come into treatment after a six-month run, skin and bones, eyes wide, talking in circles, and we expect them to “get it together” in 30 days? That’s not how brains work. Neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to heal, rewire, and recover—takes time. It takes sleep, nutrition, stability, and, above all, not being shamed for failing to keep up with people who’ve already been sober for months.

This isn’t just about “willpower.” The meth brain is literally different. The reward system is shot, the memory circuits are glitchy, and the frontal cortex (the part that’s supposed to make good decisions) is offline. Some days, you’re lucky if you remember your own name, let alone your treatment plan.

The Unspoken Stuff: Real Thoughts from the Edge

Let’s get super fucking real for a second. Here’s what people in early meth recovery actually think—but rarely say:

• “I think I’m losing my mind. Nobody told me it would be this bad.”
• “Everyone else seems to be ‘getting it.’ Why can’t I?”
• “I want to die just to make this stop. Is it always going to feel like this?”
• “I wish someone would just hold me, or at least tell me what’s happening to my brain.”
• “If I fail here, there’s nowhere left for me to go.”
• “Why do I feel so alone, even in a room full of people?”

We ask our clients to be “honest,” but we don’t always make space for this kind of honesty. The shame is so thick you could spread it on toast.

Early Trauma Work: When “Let’s Talk About Your Childhood” Is the Worst Idea

Here’s a dirty secret: jumping into trauma work too soon can do more harm than good. Meth users fresh into treatment are still in survival mode. Memory is scrambled. Emotions are raw. You bring up trauma, and instead of healing, you get shutdown, dissociation, or total overwhelm. I’ve seen clients nod along in group, totally checked out, just trying not to fall apart.

Real trauma work needs a brain that’s at least somewhat online. Until then? Focus on stabilization. Let people sleep, eat, and learn how to exist without constant crisis. Give them grounding skills, not re-traumatization.

The System: Red Tape, 28-Day Miracles, and Insurance Nightmares

Let’s talk about the real enemy: insurance and red tape. The “28-day” model was never designed for meth addiction. Hell, it wasn’t designed for most addictions. But here we are, begging for extra days, writing desperate justifications, and getting denied because “the client isn’t making enough progress.” Of course they’re not—they barely know what day it is.

Insurance wants quick fixes, measurable outcomes, and cheap discharges. What people need is time. Time for neuroplasticity to work, time for trust to build, time for the fog to clear. We need advocacy at every level—clients, clinicians, administrators—to push back against the bureaucracy that keeps people sick.

What Professionals Can Do—And What We All Need to Try

Let’s get creative, because what we’re doing isn’t working:

• Flexible timelines: Advocate for longer stays, step-down programs, and continued care. If insurance says no, get loud. Use data, stories, whatever it takes.
• Cognitive accommodations: Use visuals, repetition, simple schedules, and reminders. Assume memory and attention will be spotty.
• Peer mentorship: Connect clients with people who’ve been through it and made it out alive. Lived experience trumps theory every time.
• Integrated care: Work with mental health providers, primary care, case managers—meth isn’t just an “addiction problem.”
• Creative interventions: Art therapy, movement, mindfulness, skill-building—things that can reach people even when words fail.

What Clients Can Do—Even When It Feels Impossible

• Advocate for yourself: Tell your counselor, your doctor, your therapist what you’re experiencing. If you need more time, say it. If you can’t focus, say it. If you’re scared, say it.
• Ask for help from everyone: Addiction providers, mental health, primary care—don’t let anyone tell you “that’s not my job.”
• Find your people: Peer support, recovery groups, online forums—don’t do this alone.
• Document your journey: Keep notes, write down symptoms, track your progress. It helps you see the changes (even when they’re slow) and makes it easier to advocate for more care.

We Can Do Better—And We Have To

This isn’t a call for pity. It’s a call for reality. Meth recovery is a marathon, not a sprint, and the system needs to catch up. If you’re a provider, push your supervisors, fight for your clients, and never lose your empathy. If you’re in recovery, don’t let anyone tell you your timeline is wrong. Your brain is healing, and it’s doing it at its own damn speed.

Meth is a monster, but you’re not broken. You’re rebuilding. And if you’re desperate, if you’re lost, if you’re sure you’ll never make it out—hold on. The fog does lift. The thoughts get clearer. The hope comes back, little by little.

Let’s keep talking about this, keep fighting for better care, and keep telling the truth—no matter how hard or how dark it gets. Because that’s how we make it out. Together.

Drop your stories, your questions, or your rage at the system below. Let’s be real. Let’s do better. And let’s give every brain recovering from meth the time, space, and respect it deserves.-Belle-

No Place to Land: Homelessness, Addiction, and the Search for Stable Ground

Let’s get brutally honest. When I was a kid, “homelessness” was a word on the evening news, attached to cities far from my quiet corner of Wisconsin. It was sad, sure, but it wasn’t here. Fast forward: it’s everywhere. It’s my clients, my neighbors, sometimes the people standing in front of me at the gas station—tired, sunburned, bundled against the cold, hoping nobody notices how long it’s been since they had a real shower.

And it’s personal. I spent time in a homeless shelter myself—bunk beds lined up like a prison, the air thick with stress, trauma, and way too many bodies crammed in too small a space. The food was expired vending machine “donations,” the rules rigid (in by 8, out by 7), and the sense of safety? Nonexistent. I was lucky enough to claw my way out, but it was more grit and luck than skill or support.

The Winter “Home”: Campers, Cars, and Nowhere to Go

In northern Wisconsin, the new face of homelessness isn’t always a cardboard sign on a street corner. It’s a camper parked behind a big-box store, or a family living out of a minivan, or someone couch-surfing until their welcome wears out. More and more, I see clients trying to survive winter in tiny, uninsulated campers—spaces meant for summer vacations, not negative wind chills. Water freezes solid, space heaters blow fuses, and frost creeps in through every crack.

I've had clients tell me about using duct tape and old blankets to seal up windows, sleeping in layers of clothes, and running propane heaters all night with the windows cracked just enough to (hopefully) avoid carbon monoxide poisoning. I've seen parents try to homeschool their kids in twelve feet of camper space, juggling recovery, schoolwork, and the daily grind of survival. These are not “lifestyle choices”—they’re acts of desperation.

The Ugly Feedback Loop: Homelessness and Addiction

As a substance abuse counselor (who’s also lived it), I know that addiction and homelessness don’t just overlap—they tangle together in ways most people can’t even imagine. Sometimes the addiction comes first, burning through jobs, relationships, and apartments until there’s nothing left but a car and a habit. Other times, homelessness comes first, and the despair, boredom, and trauma drive people straight into the arms of meth, opioids, or whatever else is available.

Meth was my drug of choice. At first, it felt like a miracle for my ADHD brain—I could focus, get stuff done, even sleep and eat (until I couldn’t). But that “magic” quickly turned into psychosis, paranoia, and a sense of being hunted even when I was alone. When you’re homeless, meth promises energy, escape, and numbness. But it also makes everything—housing, relationships, getting help—a thousand times harder.

I see clients every day who are battling the same loop. They want to get clean, but where do you even start when you’re living in a camper, with no consistent address, no way to store meds, and nowhere safe to sleep? The barriers stack up fast:

• No insurance or insurance that nobody accepts
• No transportation—especially in rural areas
• No ID, which means no job, no housing application, no services
• Criminal records that slam doors before you even knock
• Mental health struggles that get overlooked or dismissed as “just the drugs”
• A system that loves its waiting lists and paperwork more than people

Shelters, “Resources,” and the Reality Check

Let’s talk about “shelters” for a minute. If you’ve never stayed in one, count your blessings. They’re loud, crowded, and often full of people just as traumatized as you are—some trying to get clean, some not. Most have rigid curfews, few offer any real privacy, and the food is…well, let’s just say you learn to appreciate the taste of expired granola bars.

Clients tell me all the time how hard it is to follow up on treatment or job leads when you’re out the door at 7 a.m., your belongings in a trash bag, praying nobody steals your shoes. Finding a quiet place to call social services or schedule an intake appointment is nearly impossible when you’re worried about finding a safe place to charge your phone. And don’t get me started on the stigma—both from the outside world and sometimes from staff who are burnt out and underpaid.

The Camper Survival Guide (a.k.a. Making It Work When You Shouldn’t Have To)

In northern Wisconsin, “living off the grid” isn’t Instagram-worthy minimalism—it’s making a 1992 Jayco your year-round address. Here’s what real creativity looks like:

• Layering up in every piece of clothing you own to survive January nights
• Using laundromats as makeshift warming shelters
• Bartering labor for propane or a hot shower
• Stashing your meds in a cooler so they don’t freeze
• Learning which parking lots don’t call the cops on overnight stays
• Scavenging for firewood, or using food pantries to stretch meals

Some folks double up with friends or family—until they’re politely or not-so-politely asked to leave. Others rotate between motels, shelters, and cars. Every day is a hustle, and every small comfort is a victory.

Barriers to Stability—And Why the System Keeps Failing

The simple truth is, you can’t get well if you don’t have somewhere safe to land. I see people lose their spot in treatment or relapse because they missed a single appointment—usually because the bus didn’t show, their car broke down, or they just couldn’t make it from the campground to the clinic in time.

Landlords don’t want to rent to people with criminal records, evictions, or visible signs of substance use. Transitional housing is rare as unicorns. Recovery residences and sober living houses often have long waitlists or strict rules that don’t work for everyone. Even when someone’s ready to change, the “housing first” approach is still the exception, not the rule.

And then there’s the mental toll: the trauma, the hopelessness, the sense that you’re invisible or disposable. I’ve had clients break down in my office, not because they can’t get sober, but because they can’t find a way out of survival mode long enough to even try.

What’s Out There? Getting Creative with Solutions

If you’re in the thick of it, here’s what I’d tell you as both a counselor and someone who’s been there:

• Start anywhere you can. Even if it’s a shelter or a church basement, get connected. Outreach centers and drop-in services can point you toward case management, housing lists, and sometimes emergency help.
• Ask about Recovery Residences and Sober Living. These aren’t perfect, but they can bridge the gap between the street and stability.
• Don’t overlook small, local charities or harm-reduction groups. Sometimes the best help is off the radar—churches, community organizations, even social media groups.
• Paperwork is power. Keep every document, every application, every scrap of evidence that you exist and are trying.
• Peer support matters. Find people who’ve been through it and made it out, and lean on them for advice and encouragement.

And for those of us trying to help:

• Advocate, advocate, advocate. Push for “housing first” models, integrated care, and trauma-informed services.
• Partner with anyone who will listen. Landlords, businesses, churches, community groups—sometimes change happens one ally at a time.
• Remember: progress is progress. Celebrate the small victories, and don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.

We Need a Movement, Not a Band-Aid

Homelessness isn’t going to disappear with another pamphlet or another round of “thoughts and prayers.” We need more affordable, accessible housing. We need treatment that meets people where they are—including in campers, cars, and motels. We need a system that recognizes that people with criminal backgrounds or substance use histories are still people—worthy of dignity, safety, and a shot at a new life.

I don’t need to be a millionaire. I want to be filthy rich in impact. If you’re reading this, you’re part of the movement. Share resources, tell your story, speak up for those who can’t. Let’s stop treating homelessness and addiction like personal failings, and start treating them like the solvable crises they are.

If you’ve got a resource, a tip, or just a story to share, drop it in the comments. If you know someone who needs this, please pass it on. Let’s see how big of a wave we can make—because nobody should have to choose between survival and recovery, and everyone deserves a place to land.-Belle-