More About Eva

My story continued . . .

10 months into sobriety the pressure in my "cooker" became unmanageable. And…the lid flew off.

My lid flew off that day in 1990 when we had to turn off the life support for our daughter Kristina.

When I held Kristina on my shoulder, my whole body calmed down; no shaking, no pressure in my chest, no stomach cramp, no bee swarm of thoughts in my head, no feeling of choking in my throat, no feeling of panic, or “he’s gonna get me”.

I felt at peace, relaxed, calm, and so in love.

Just like after a double shot of vodka.

She was like a drug. I loved the feeling I had when I held her. And, I hated the feeling I had when we had to turn off the life support.

I had sobered up, gotten pregnant, and had Kristina. And now, she was dead.

I was one of those survivors of advances from a
“very friendly male member of the extended family”…
you know what I mean.

I knew that there was not enough booze in the world that could take that pain away.

When the lid flies off, everything that has ever happened seems to come with it. The heat is on, and it feels as though there are too many bubbles, too many “issues”, too much to handle.

I studied my bubbles for 15 years with psychotherapy, breath work, non-violent communication classes, and workshops of all sorts that could help me calm down.

My husband and I had two more children, and they paid a big price for having me as their mother. I remember starting to feel my shakes, putting the girls in front of the TV, making sure they had something to eat, all the while thinking, “Hurry! Hurry! It’s coming on.”

When the girls were situated, I would get a towel, crawl up into the corner of their room, and scream into the towel, pure, raw panic. Raw fear. The girls would turn around and ask, “You okay, Mommy?” And I would whimper “Sure, Honey, Mommy just has a little tummy ache."

I had no idea how to be a mom and how to keep my girls alive! I knew how it felt to lose a child, and I was not going through that again, at any cost. That desperation turned me into an overprotective, fearful, reactive mother.

I desperately looked for a way to become a better person, a better mom, a better wife, a better friend, a better whatever.

The saying you hear in the recovery community – “At least I am not drinking” – was not enough for me. Being clean and sober must mean more than “being clean and sober”.

One day, I picked up my child in anger and “threw her in bed”. At that moment I had a vision that her neck broke; just a picture flashing by.

Scared out of my mind, I dropped to the floor in yet another panic attack.

That day I stormed into my therapist’s office and demanded to know why she had not offered me medication.

What my therapist said put me on the journey I am on now.

"If I offer you medication, I offer you an umbrella. You will not feel the rain, but you will not feel the sunshine either."

I felt stuck.

I asked her, "So, when I close the umbrella, I have still not figured out how to deal with the weather, right?"

Her answer, “Nope!”

That’s when I understood that MY healing had to come from my core. I had to find a way to deal with the weather.

LET ME HELP YOU GET UNSTUCK ➡

Disclaimer: I am not a psychologist or therapy professional. You should always seek the advice of a professional before deciding the right treatment option for you or your child. Any advice I give is for educational and informational purposes only, and should not be considered medical, legal, or financial advice. Consult with a medical doctor before making any changes to your Self or your child’s lifestyle. This website is for information only and not a replacement for professional diagnosis, medication, or therapy.