Progress is Progress... Mile or a Millimeter

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: 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. Reoccurrence of Use Is a Signal, Not a Moral Failure Picture this: your brain’s running on anxiety fum...

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, terrifi...

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 ...

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...

  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...

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 ho...