Over 20 years ago I walked into a bookstore wearing a ratty old sweatshirt. I sat on the floor in the self-help section and began pouring over dozens of books. I was looking for a story of a woman who loved someone suffering from addiction. I wanted a book of hope, an instruction manual on what to do to save my family from this disease.

I found lots of books with brave tales of men and women who got sober. But nothing for the ones who love them. I was desperately alone without anyone I could talk to because I was keeping my husband's addiction a secret. I needed help - someone to tell me that everything was going to be ok.

It was that moment in the bookstore when I made a promise - if I found the answers I was looking for - I would spend the rest of my life helping other people who felt just as alone and scared as I did.

But I need to break that promise.

It’s been over a decade since I started Love Over Addiction.

And it’s time to say goodbye. For so many reasons. The truth is, I am a very private person and over the last three years, I feel increasing pressure to have a more online presence in order to continue trying to help other women.

I don’t want to become an influencer and in fact, I don’t even really use social media. I have always been uncomfortable being seen as an expert or being in the spotlight. And although many people have said my words have helped them, I am not a licensed professional.

The world of “authorities” and “experts” has expanded greatly in recent times and that feels unsafe.

So I am quietly and politely removing myself from the online landscape.

A member of our community emailed me today saying she was burned out. And that resonated with me. I too am feeling burned out. Not just about work but also, if I am being honest, with a little bit of everything. My old self-care tools just don’t seem to be working right now. I have been feeling numb since we came out of the pandemic. And you can’t be very good at your job (if your job requires ample amounts of compassion and empathy) if you’re numb.

I have tried, I promise I have. To find passion and joy. And there have been moments where I think - it’s back! I AM BACK - but then the moment fades and numbness returns. It reminds me of being in a relationship with someone suffering from addiction - we cling to the memory when things were wonderful with our partner and in the meantime, we patiently wait for the next one.

I don’t know what the future looks like - I have no immediate plans. But I do know that I gave you everything I could, I tried my best and fell short so many times. I have adored our time together. You gave me a purpose, a mission. You were a very large part of the reason I got up in the morning with excitement. And thinking about what you needed to hear kept me up for more nights than I can count.

I still remember my first speaking engagement in a church full of mental health professionals. I made the mistake of wearing a purple dress and not enough deodorant. Embarrassing. I brought along my oldest son who had never heard me talk publicly about addiction before. I was nervous because it was, after all, a topic about his father. He was sitting in the front row and when I was done - he stood up and started clapping so hard. He led the entire room to a standing ovation. My family has always supported my work for the last 10 years.

Addiction has been the greatest gift. It’s helped me grow into the woman I might not have been without it. It taught me lessons about boundaries and about using my voice, loving from a distance, and saying “no.” Addiction has convicted my children to live a drug-free and alcohol-free life. It led me to work with outstanding women. And it led me to you.

I will miss you and think of you more than you can imagine.

Thank you for trusting me with your feelings. I am incredibly honored and I wish you nothing but happiness.

Get the future of podcasts.