Lately i’ve been struggling with PAWS (post-acute withdrawal syndrome) pretty badly, and as such have struggled with consistency in reading and writing.

I didn’t even know this was a ‘thing’ until very recently, when I happened to be discussing how rubbish I was feeling with a fellow, with many years of clean time.

I couldn’t understand why I was feeling so ‘urgh’ at this stage in my recovery, as I was blissfully unaware that withdrawal from decades long addiction means more than just those initial sweats and shakes etc etc...

The good news is, it’s normal, and if anything means my brain is finally beginning to heal (hooray!)

In my last post I spoke about finding faith in recovery and this poem is a follow on to this; based upon an incredibly helpful bible study I found by .

I have only managed to complete the first part of the study so far due to symptoms, but fully intend to finish it off very soon :)

Proclivitas

As a note before the poem, in recovery I have been encouraged to name my ‘addiction’ as something separate to myself, thus enforcing that I am not my thoughts; I am separate to my addiction.

I decided a little while ago to name my addiction and addictive thoughts ‘Tas’.

This is a little playful (think Tasmanian Devil!), but I also love Latin and this is a translation for the word addiction.

I write to recover

I recover to write

it’s neither perfect nor pretty

and my rhymes are not tight

my writing fills holes

attends to mess that remains

my words are my strength

my voice

and my gains

my words give me wisdom

repairing my brain

every word that is written

addresses the pain

of which there is plenty

neither lacking or sparse

it offers some joy

a smile

or small laugh

slowly through time

past the hours and days

those days become weeks

and on ‘Tas’;

i’ve not spent a dime

‘Tas’ longs for the days

where it was just it and I

where our secrets were safe

hidden out of plain sight

‘Tas’ wants me kept

just for itself

it despises support

kindness

and help

‘Tas’ started to slip

losing control

spiralling further

away from my soul

it curses the day that confession

slipped from my lips

to insanity it turned

resorting

to dirty old tricks

today i’m filled with the spirit

it helps me to heal

it strips away burdens

and in debauchery

it never does deal

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For as far back as I can remember, I simply denied the existence, or possibility, of anything other than the things I could see, or understand, in the physical space surrounding me.

Growing up and into early adulthood, I was also assumed to be a “high achiever”.

I enjoyed learning.

I was the kid who loved to read, research, and learn about the “whys” of the world.

My whole life up until 9 months ago I was also seen to be a functioning adult.

But I was silently and secretly rotting on the inside.

For decades of my life, addiction and addictive behaviours were silently eating me from the inside out, enslaving me in a never-ending cycle of denial, blame, and self-obsession.

Finally the “break” came in December 2025.

The only way out I had, after decades of struggle, pain and confusion was confession;

Or simply put; acceptance. Acceptance that I was an addict.

However, the ways in which I was forced into acceptance was highly abusive, and frankly disgusting behaviour from other human beings.

My anonymity was taken from me, through abuse and cyber-bullying. My addiction was shared for the whole world to judge, to manipulate and to condemn me.

I’m talking hidden surveillance, stalking, harassment, etc.

I had no choice but to expose myself “willingly”.

The actions of the people responsible destroyed my life, and shattered my spirit and sense of self-worth.

Another issue is how authorities and people with power and a degree of control about what happens to you and your life handle your truth. Often they do not come from a place of love, or support.

You are attacked.

Attacked for having the courage to admit the truth.

After a lifetime of corrupted neural pathways, and destructive thought patterns (often stemming from trauma) you finally admit that you are an addict and that you are powerless over your addiction.

And you get attacked.

You get punished.

Before you know it the enemy (addiction) has the chance to attack again.

Because you are scared; and rightly so.

For so long, our drug of choice numbed the pain and made life and emotions bearable by providing that instant relief.

Now your brain is wired to expect that gratification all the time, and the process of rewiring is not instant. It takes work, hard work, every single day….

forever.

Recovery is a journey, not a final destination, and this is what is hard for us addicts.

In Narcotics Anonymous, it is made explicity clear that it is a non - religious, spiritual programme.

There is much talk about a “Higher Power” and what this looks like to everyone.

There is talk about a loving ‘God’ and the him/her/what that means to us.

I have found my faith through my journey of recovery, and I feel eternally grateful for this.

I am not here to turn this into a religious or spiritual debate.

I am not here to tell you recovery is only possible to those who explicitly believe and live in Christ.

I am simply here to learn and to express and understand my faith further, to aid my recovery so that I can better help others suffering from the horrors of addiction.

To help the ones who are sick and tired, of being sick and tired.

Because I am too.

My anonymity was taken from me, but through the strength that I have found through my on-going recovery, no longer hiding means I can share the message of recovery freely, as it has been shared with me.

I am no longer dominated by my abusers or by addiction.

I will not give in & I will no longer serve the enemy.

This year, finally, I decided no more.

I spoke my truth, to God, and then to the few trusted people I had left. I joined a fellowship, and slowly but surely I am being led back to the light.

God, for me, has provided the way of escape, and the ways of escape have come to me dressed as fellowships, tools and coping mechanisms.

I have been given the tools to endure.

To endure the suffering, and slowly, but surely, I receive freedom from pain.

All this being said I wont lie to you. Despite finding the light, consequences of the past remain. Some bridges are too damaged to rebuild.

And I have to accept this.

To some, the age old myth “once an addict always an addict” will always be true.

But we cannot control what others think about us.

We are NOT responsible for our disease of addiction. But we ARE responsible for our recovery.

But I can tell you this. You are never alone. Never again.

It’s over, and you never have to use again.

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her stomach felt off

unsettled and edgy

it would be nice, she thought

someone did want me

want her for her; despite her flaws

despite the ruin and wreckage

of a life lived behind doors

behind doors that were sealed

padlocked and chained

doors needing to be opened

a love waiting to be gained

wrapped up in the speed

of a whirlwind romance

warnings ignored

a surrender to chance

but the chance was not chance

it was planned; it was dark

that girl in the car

losing her spark

but she went along

and believed she was wrong

but the gut doesn’t lie

privacy and rights,

about to die

her words and her stories

regrets and the glories

that she laid out to bare

to heal the trauma still there

her words were her power

the part of her left

left untouched from the pain

forever thankful she was;

for her creative brain

the words that she wrote

to make sense of the loss

the words that provided

the safe place that she had

that charged her no cost

the shadows were real

the lights that did flicker

the feeling of terror

and the whispers and bickers

what was real, what was not?

she heard them talking

scheming a wicked plot

but they said she was crazy

psychotic and mad

just a girl whose an addict

whose habit was bad

she heard them ask

how is she so aware?

they knew, that she knew

but they didn’t care

gaslighting and lies

that was their prize

for they took away her words

and her trust in herself

manipulated her faith and her hope

eliminating creative wealth

the worst was to come

a life and spirit was taken

just a girl left alone

frightened and shaken

but again she will rise

without fear nor pride

because the darkness will fade

and become a memory remade

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insidious I am, I lead you astray

lead you to the deep depths of hell

and I hope you never awake

i’ll drag your soul to new lows

and i’ll smother your glow

i’m oh so cunning

you just keep coming back

keep running back to me, child

with your thoughts so wild

you can trust in me;

I hold the key

the key to the sorrows of your haunted soul

you think i’m the key to achieving your goals

and i’ll play along, wicked as I am

but it’s not your success that I seek

and if you hold on for longer, I might let you peek

the years go by and I hear you cry

“enough is enough”

oh please, sweet child, you think you’re so tough!

“sick and tired, of being sick and tired”

that’s what you claim to feel inside

but you know our ties always do bind

you know that i help you

those days you feel worthless

and the days that your helpless

afraid of lifes so called “game of chess”

i’m so cunning you see, because I made you afraid

it was really I who made you abandon, the plans you once laid

you see i’ve been here so long

corrupting your “rights” and your “wrongs”

slowly through time, your grasp of reality slipped

and it was me all along, sailing the ship

a ship that was doomed right from the start

a ship that I set to sail, to pierce through hearts

wired, awake, alert and forsaken

i’ve burned down your world, including your children

my power started to grow, unchecked and unnoticed

but my voice was so soft, disguising poisonous promise

and now the world has turned on you, my pride and my joy

i’ve achieved my goal, which was you, who I set out to destroy

i’ll always be here my child, hiding out in the back

even when you recover, i’ll be awaiting your slack

your slack and complacence will be my time to shine

i’ll never let you go completely, your soul will always be mine.

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my heart has a hole

in the shape of you both

some days are so dark

and lacking in hope

my faith is strained

and my energy drained

and yet; somehow and someway

your light shines my pathway

my pathway home to you

where we all belong

together again

this time with no pain

no pain and no tears

seldom nightmares, nor fears

i plead with my Lord up above

that he can make you feel my love

I hope you can feel it

from far over here

someday very, very soon

mummy will hold you so near

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Bad things happened all the time as a result of the addiction, but my ability to actually ‘feel’ the pain of emotions or consequences was simply not there.

They said the best AND the worst part of recovery is that you get your feelings back.

It is absolutely true. For 24 years I didn’t feel true pain, loss, or grief. It’s not even just the negative feelings either, I can’t really say that in that time I felt true happiness, joy, or excitement.

The hardest thing about recovery (for me), even more challenging that not using substances again, is facing ‘life on lifes terms’.

Life is still ‘lifing’, and best believe you can no longer shy away from it, or numb any of the feelings you now feel like a brick wall in the face, if you truly want to recover.

Shame and guilt are the hardest to digest, and I wrote this poem to describe how it feels amidst the tsunami of trauma and loss you can be left with after active addiction.

Who, what, how, and why?

A mum, a sister, an auntie and a daughter, but also now;

just an addict

Cancer survivor, former social worker, but also now;

just an addict

a free spirited soul, a daydreamer, deep thinker,

but also now;

just an addict

autistic traits, anorexic weights, dog mum to ‘Esco’

but also now;

just an addict

ginger hair, a colourful flair

a party girl who loves a twirl

but also now;

just an addict

a fierce friend, loyal to the end

but also now;

just an addict

observer of the colours, the patterns, the numbers and pictures

that others seldom notice

but also now;

just an addict

A mother without her children; the grief

a consequence of addiction

human adult on the outside, frightened child on the inside; the confusion

a consequence of addiction

left with a longing for deep love and connection, but offering no more than no strings attached; the affliction

a consequence of addiction

a desire to give to the world, to make and to keep a thousand promises,

a desire to get and to stay clean, a fuck you to the voices

that have been so mean - but the current fragility;

a consequence of addiction

How? A loaded question, where context is key

how did i get here?

how did this happen to me?

how could I have allowed this?

how did I fail to see?

that living with addiction, brought me to my knees

how could you be so selfish?

so heartless, so cruel?

so many questions, add fire to fuel

Finally the why, trickiest of all, for if it were simple;

i’d just write it all

if I were truly religious, I might ask Him why?

why’d I have to be addict, why did my soul have to die?

week 50 of the year, filled with regret

and with tears

I still have the stand, through anger and fear

my children know this, i’ll withstand hell for you

i will crawl through this dirt, determined, with grit

my only true loves, my hope and my faith

you are simply something that I, am unwilling to let addiction take.

Another day clean - another small miracle.

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I originally shared this story in September 2025 on a different platform, but have made some recent tweaks and added in a picture update from September 2025 to show ‘me’ in present day.

Writing to me is like medicine for the soul. It’s a gift that makes you feel brave, empowered, and frankly, just a little less crazy.

I am grateful to have had opportunities in my life, both personally and professionally, to use words to make a positive difference to myself and others I worked with.

Nevertheless, it took three years to finally find the words to write this story. My story.

Disclaimer — this journal is not the whole story (sorry).

My diagnosis and treatment are still ongoing, thus my thoughts, emotions, and experiences come thick and fast, resembling something like riding a roller coaster on steroids.

I hope to write a series of journals about my journey so far, and I hope that you will stick with me to the end.

Producing these journals is my way of processing and working through the many traumas and challenges that me and my family have faced during these years.

As I have discovered, surgery and recovery are never simple. I seem to wake from each surgery with another issue, another part of me damaged or needing further treatment; one thing seems to lead to another.

I guess this is my way of dealing with the bag of emotions that comes with all that.

This was me. Lauren. The Lauren who had survived domestic abuse, finished university with a 1st class hons whilst breastfeeding my 6 week old daughter, qualified as a social worker, got her dream job working with children and families. I was outgoing, sociable, energetic and adventurous. This is the Lauren that I lost.

The diagnosis

The official diagnosis I was given was “Recurrent Pleomorphic Adenoma.”

It hit me that this nightmare had actually began 9 years prior to this. Way back then, I had noticed a small and painless lump beside my left ear. I saw a consultant, had a biopsy, a quick and simple surgery to remove it and was sent on my way.

This photograph depicts the ‘adenomas’ inside the parotid gland. The white branches you see come out of the main trunk of the facial nerve. This is what makes surgery more complex, as the facial nerve is extremely delicate, and any damage from surgery can result in facial weakness, or in the worst case scenario full facial paralysis

‘Pleomorphic adenomas’ are rare, slow growing, benign (noncancerous) tumours that can develop on your salivary glands. While these tumours are benign, they can turn into cancerous tumours. For that reason, healthcare providers typically recommend surgery to remove them. Once removed, pleomorphic tumors rarely come back — Cleveland Clinic, 2025

It was never followed up, I never received contact from the hospital again, and the only reminder was the small scar on my neck, barely visible due to my long hair.

In all honesty, I assumed this time would be the same.

I will cover more details about this in future journals as it is still frustratingly ongoing.

The surgery in November 2023

To set the scene, I humbly ask you lovely readers to imagine yourselves in this scenario; you go into hospital for a planned surgery and wake up paralysed on one side of your face.

I had been through the “red tape” bits about risks and potential complications before the surgery. It’s the usual conversation between you and your surgeon; you get told the risks, but also that the surgery is for your own good.

You get the reassurance that it will be a simple surgery and that your surgeon is an expert and has performed the surgery countless times. The likelihood of complications is low, but they have to tell you all of the worst case scenarios.

As I was waking up from the anaesthesia and the fog began to lift, my surgeon stood in front of me, looking concerned.

Uh-Oh. I’m in trouble here.

The first thing he said to me when I was conscious again was “Try and puff your cheeks out.”

I couldn’t. It just didn’t work.

Panic mode was activated; nothing was working; and I just felt a darkness spread over me.

This was not my first surgery; I knew what it felt like being put to sleep and waking up again; and it honestly all felt off. I felt funny and I can’t explain it.

When I was coming around from the anaesthesia, it felt like I was holding my breath. I had no control over it, I just felt like I was holding my breath, and couldn’t let it go.

Then I saw my son.

It was like he was there, standing in front of me, just surrounded by light, nothing else. He was smiling at me, and then I woke up and let out a loud gasp.

I think I knew deep down that my life was about to change.

On the left is the last photograph taken of me with my daughter two days before surgery. The last time I looked like the Lauren I had always known. The middle photograph was immediately after surgery when I was extremely distressed and ashamed to show the ‘droop’ now present on my face. Then on the right, a few hours after surgery when the swelling began to appear.

Post surgery

When I was sent to the recovery ward my surgeon came to see me.

The look on his face said it all.

He explained it had been a horrible surgery.

The tumours were too many to count, they had completely covered what was left of my parotid gland (from the first surgery), attached themselves to my facial nerve and had spread outside the gland to my neck, jaw, and lymph nodes.

Due to their aggressive characteristics and inability to surgically remove them all, radiotherapy was required.

Essentially, every single worst case scenario that they have to tell you about before surgery had happened.

Holy ****. These things had been growing, spreading, and evolving, invisible and unchecked, for 9 years.

In the words of Beverley Knight, have you ever had a “shoulda, woulda, coulda” moment?

It felt like the earth stood still whilst my head seemed to implode with all the things I could have done in those 9 years to stop this nightmare from happening.

I was assured my facial nerve was intact and not damaged.

I was told an electricity test on the nerves at the end of surgery confirmed all nerve branches were firing.

I was told the paralysis should be temporary.

Okay, temporary means hope. If I have hope, I can do this.

I was so overwhelmed. So alone. Everything hurt, the drain hanging out my neck was a logistical nightmare and when I couldn’t hold my bladder any longer I had to stubbornly concede to using the bed pan.

Taken the day after surgery and sent to my family and close friends via WhatsApp. I circled what wasn’t working on my face to pre-warn them before they saw me. You can already see the facial ‘droop’ that occurs when the muscles aren’t being told to ‘lift’ your face.

I was told I could go home the next day, the drain wasn’t draining much and the wound looked okay. I was able to drink through a straw and swallow soft food, although I did dribble like a 10 month old baby.

I felt nothing but shame and disgust for what I had become.

I asked my surgeon what would happen next and he simply told me to go home, rest, and move my face as little as possible to allow the nerve to heal.

I had so many questions.

Surely, surely you can’t just leave someone like this? I needed answers, I needed a plan, I was not going to sit around and just hope it got better.

It’s probably accurate to say that at this point I was mad.

Like, MAD mad.

The type of mad where you have snot bubbles from the angry tears, your neck is blotchy and your face is so red that your veins are popping out.

It must have been quite the sight, but I didn’t care. I was angry, and I wanted answers.

I was alone, scared, and sore and I just needed a hug.

A photo I took whilst in the discharge lounge. Hooded dressing gown, scarf, and hair at the ready to try and hide whatever I could of myself.

Seven hours I sat, in a hard backed chair, having just had major head and neck surgery. I wasn’t allowed to leave until the pharmacy had done my medication. I had no pain relief, and I was sobbing.

Alone and sobbing.

In my head, the same unanswered questions kept repeating;

“When is my face going to work?”

“When is this swelling going to go?”

“When is this new black eye feature going to go?”

“Why the fuck can’t I say words and pronounce letters properly anymore?”

Finally, my dad had enough; he drove to get me, carried me out of the hospital, and put me into the car, and went back into the hospital to demand my medication.

As I was waiting for my dad, I distinctly remember a sudden and invasive conflict appear inside me.

I really did want to go home, see my children, cuddle my cat and sleep beside my partner.

On the other hand, how can I even look at them, and let them look at me, when I now look like a wonky, swollen stranger.

“What about the neighbours who are notoriously nosy and judgemental?”

“How can I do the school run?” All those people, staring at me. Even worse, the parents I know and speak to on the playground.

I had already concluded at this early stage that it was going to be worse seeing people who knew I didn’t look like this before.

With work, I was able to be more pragmatic. The work I did with children and families was short and sharp interventions. This meant that when I returned to work I would have a new group of children and families to work with, who had never known me before.

For all they knew I had been like this forever and were less likely to ask any questions.

Thank goodness it was November; cold enough to wrap an excessively large scarf around my neck and up to my ears, covering my lips and cheek.

Just about cold enough to tell people I feel the cold and have already had the heating on.

Great, I was now also a big fat liar.

What is facial paralysis?

I have found that facial paralysis is something most people have not come across or have not seen frequently enough to give time or consideration to it as a health condition, and what is means for those living with it.

I also counted myself within this category before it entered my life like a wrecking ball.

In order to highlight the impact it has on the lives of individuals, I think it is important to explore the science behind how our bodies work, and just how much we take for granted; things such as speech, smiling, frowning, and blinking, to name just a few.

In all honesty, I think this is where I found my faith.

Our bodies are truly, miracles.

Every part, small and large, plays its part. When one part breaks, the other parts fall apart.

At least this is the case with the facial nerve.

I am not a doctor, but I have come to understand certain things about facial palsy. Everyone is different, but the basic anatomy of the facial nerve is the same.

Think of your facial nerve as a tree whose trunk is marked X on the picture shown above. If your nerve trunk is not sending signals, your muscles will not move. You are paralysed, and over time the muscles will waste away.

From the X, your trunk goes downwards, and the branches then extend outwards from your parotid gland (where my tumours were). Your “X” is what sends signals to the branches in order for the muscles in your face to move.

Numbers 1 and 2 are told to move your eyebrows and to blink/close your eye. The muscles keep your eyes lifted and prevent your eyelids drooping over your eyes. Blinking is of course essential to prevent damage to your sight,

Number 3 controls your nose, the muscles prevent your nasal valve from collapsing. It allows you to breathe through your nose, scrunch it up etc.

Numbers 4 and 5 are your major cheek and jaw muscles. This is your smile, jaw movement, your speech, eating, drinking — Teach me anatomy, 2025

I will dive deeper into the science in later journals and discuss other illnesses and diseases that affect the facial nerve. For now, to close this journal entry, I want to briefly share what happened when I eventually got home.

Facing myself

My dad is very practical, very hands on, likes to fix things. I know that he wanted to fix me. The drive home was quiet, other than repeated reassurances from my dad that it will “get better”, “give it it time”, “you can’t even tell”, “you are still beautiful.”

I walked through the door at home and tried to hide from my partner.

Eventually, and after much resistance and tears, I allowed him to remove the scarf I had wrapped around my whole head.

I cried and repeatedly told him how ugly I am, shouted constantly at him that he was going to “leave me eventually now anyway”, so he may as well “pack up and go now.”

I was of course wrong to say these things, but I was hurting.

I went to bed and slept for two days. My partner would wake me to give me morphine and try to feed me soup through a straw. I couldn’t talk properly because of the swelling and now the paralysis. I couldn’t suck through a straw, I couldn’t hold liquid in my mouth, it just fell out the side that was paralysed.

Then, mid pity-party something happened. I remembered seeing my son in the hospital when I was waking up. Remembered seeing his smile, and the feeling of him calling me home.

I like to think he was reminding me that I was still their mum, and regardless of what I looked like, and how I felt about myself, they still loved me and needed me. I may have lost Lauren, but there was no chance I was going to let them lose their mum because I couldn’t get out my own head.

I fully intended after writing this article 9 months ago to continue the story fairly quickly with all the updates that were to come.

Sadly, life fell apart and I have only just begun writing again.

I do have hope now, however, to write chapter two soon, and talk about my first public outings, reactions from people, my radiotherapy journey, and finding my faith.

This was Lauren writing the original article in September 2025, having just had the 4th surgery 10 days prior. I still have hope that writing will bring new adventures my way, regardless of what I look like.

Thank you for reading Chapter 1, it means the world :)

I’ll leave you with a picture of me taken yesterday, enjoying life and getting about even when it feels like the darkness could swallow me.

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Thank you to for your fireflies prompt. This really awakened my inner child on a day that has been filled with struggle and pain.

if tears and fears could turn into light

and the screams that I choke;

fireflies did ignite

if one day the nightmares were gone

if the haunting would go, and the scars;

there were none

imagine if the fireflies came; embracing all with their light

with neither evil nor blight

should the horrors and pain

that once I have known

pass me by as fleetingly

as a firefly fully grown

and if the lifespan of humans, and fireflies did match

what if this was just fact;

no reason, no catch

would this make us more humble,

kinder and pure

or would we still find a way to excuse evil

galore

amber and orange, lemon and yellow

with a light so pure that chaos turns

into mellow

fields and forests, warm wet and wild

a perfect invitation for my inner child

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Today, recovery is not doom and gloom.

Just for today, recovery has given me something back for the hard work I have painstakingly put in over the past few months.

A little touch of hope for all the pain, suffering, grief and torment of the past 9 months.

It seemed only fitting to share the ‘Just For Today’ reading from NA because, my gosh, it is SO relevant for me today.

I have broken it down to remind myself to be grateful for all the riches I have received today.

“We have often heard it said that when the pain of remaining the same becomes greater than the pain of changing, we will change.”

It took me a very long time to get to this point, and ‘changing’ for me still looks like shakiness, inconsistency, being flaky, angry, and at times lashing out.

However, it has been clear to me for at least the past few months that things needed to change.

There is no greater pain than losing everything, and I lost it all.

I had to decide whether to

a) sit and wallow in self pity
b) get up, show up, switch up

“Our fear can keep us from growing, afraid to end relationships, change careers, attend new meetings, begin new friendships, or attempt anything out of the ordinary. We stay in situations that are no longer working far longer than we have to simply because what is familiar feels safer than the unknown.”

I’ve been trapped in an absolute cycle of fear for the past 9 months. The mind control tactics of an ex boyfriend and so called ‘friends’ had me questioning my own sanity.

Hacking, cyber-bullying, stalking, and harassment had me terrified of making new connections and getting outside my comfort zone.

I questioned everything, and everyone. I lost my family, I lost my friends.

Job applications and interviews were sabotaged, to the point where I gave up.

I thought economic, social, and spiritual ruin were my destiny.

BUT

“Any change involves overcoming fear.”
“What if i’m alone forever?” we might think if we consider leaving our lover.
“What if I find out i’m incompetent?” we may wonder when we contemplate changing careers.

The thing is, those ones who came before, they were not friends.

They were not real connections.

To the family that abandoned me - blood may be thicker than water; but one thing I have truly embraced, is that meeting a fellow addict or kindred spirit can fill my cup more in one hour, than what’s been filled my entire life.

“We find that most of our pain comes not from change but from resistance to change. In NA, we learn that change is how we move forward in our lives. New friends, new relationships, new interests and challenges will replace the old. With these new things in our lives, we find new joys and loves.”

Today I went for a job interview.

Today I got offered the job.

Today I got a long and joyful voice-note from my best friend in recovery showering me with love, support, and GENUINE admiration for what I have achieved.

Today, my heart is full and my spirit is furthermore restored with the gifts of recovery.

Today, I dared to believe in a different outcome for me, in a world that has been cold, cruel and hostile.

“Just for today: I will release the old, embrace the new, and grow.”

I would love to have you here on Project Truth & Recovery, your support means the world to me and I quite literally squeal with joy for every like, re-stack, comment, or subscription.

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Life’s really tough at the moment.

I wrote this poem this morning whilst at the park with my daughter and partner. I’ve not written in 2 days because my heads been so full of darkness.

There’s a lot of things happening that are outside my control, but for now at least, my writers block has been cleared.

They ‘want’ you clean

but only the parts that are ‘clean and serene’

they don’t want your broken dreams

your pain

or your trauma

from when life was ripped

at the seams

They ‘want’ you clean

but not your tears

or your pain

they expect clean to mean sunshine

not thunder and rain

They ‘want’ you clean

but can’t stand your grief

they call you reactive

aggressive

and difficult

and when you leave

they feel relief

They ‘want’ you clean

but when you actually do it

it’s not good enough

inside them

their anger is lit

They ‘want’ you clean

but it’s never enough

and now that you’re clean you realise

their love will always

be tough

They ‘want’ you clean

but now that your mask has been taken

what lies underneath leaves them

disgusted

and shaken

They ‘want’ you clean

but want not

to support you

just part of their game

because now you are vulnerable

they can point their fingers

and re-fill you

with shame

They mock and they tease

knowing you’re eager to please

they exploit and they fight

desperate to get you to bite

for once you break and bite back

it’s just you, the addict to blame

with your addiction trying

to drag you once more into

it’s wicked game

You jump through their hoops

but they just get higher and higher

and all you want is that drug

that makes things lighter

but the second you cave

you’re digging your grave

they’ll happily stand there

with pretences of care

but care they do not

they saw you suffer

and rot

They ‘want’ you clean

but really nothing will change

because you are still just an addict

well outside their ‘perfect’ range

I would love to have you here on Project Truth & Recovery, your support means the world to me and I quite literally squeal with joy for every like, re-stack, comment, or subscription.

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Today’s been a shitter.

A cancelled contact with my children. An eviction notice. An argument with my social worker. An uphill battle with life “on life’s terms” as they say in NA.

If I had one wish, one super-power, it would be to pause life.

To make time standstill whilst I recovered, whilst I carefully “de-threaded” 32 years worth of brain-wiring and negative patterns and associated behaviours.

Or maybe I would wish to have never been born an addict, because yes, I truly do believe I was born an addict.

If I meticulously re-trace the echoes of my past I spot the signs so easily now, thanks to the tools recovery has begun to give me.

I remember being in primary school and being the weird kid who felt everything so intensely. I would cry at books, at images I found sad, and always remember feeling so guilty about every little thing.

It was like I carried the weight of everyone else on my little shoulders.

Then when I was in my second to last year of primary school, I told a lie.

A lie that is so funny now to think back on, because it was so random and so unnecessary.

I lied about having my bellybutton pierced, because I thought it would make me look cool and people would like the weird kid better.

I got into trouble when I started secondary school, got in with the wrong crowd and did anything to be accepted and to not be that weird kid.

I ended up having to move schools because of all the trouble, and was sent to a private all girls school.

The kind where if dad didn’t have a Porsche, you basically didn’t exist.

My dad didn’t have a Porsche, and I definitely struggled to exist.

It was at this point I distinctly remember feeling completely and totally overwhelmed with life.

Out of control.

This is when Anorexia Nervosa entered my life, slowly, sneakily, and almost catastrophically.

I was very, very sick at this time, and if only I could have known then that my eating issues would later become my alcohol and substance use issues.

There is so much more I need to write and discuss on this topic, but truly, I am drained today.

So I will leave my ramblings here for today, and just for today, I have another day clean.

I would love to have you here on Project Truth & Recovery, your support means the world to me and I quite literally squeal with joy for every like, re-stack, comment, or subscription.

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Today’s been tough.

I’m groggy, tired, sensitive, and emotional. Sprinkle this with good old ‘impostor syndrome’ showing its face and i’m feeling pretty drained.

Last time I felt like this in recovery I withdrew from the fellowship of NA, stopped writing, ignored family and friends, and generally avoided any form of interaction with fellow humans (I even ignored Pablo my beautiful Rottie).

It’s been so hard not to fall back into this classic pattern I have, a whole lifetime of general avoidance it seems is pretty hard to change.

But i’m here. I’ve showed up. I’m working tirelessly to break these old chains.

I’ve just finished the second of my ‘back 2 back’ meetings today and after some share time and ACTUAL active listening, (usually in active addiction I will happily nod along and not actually ingest anything that’s being said), i’m going to reflect on some things I am doing well, and the things I need to keep working on.

Balance, apparently, is what makes reality a little more bearable.

It is also something I have never managed to accomplish.

Things I am doing well

• Another day clean (a miracle in itself)

• Another day writing and engaging on Substack (consistency is hard as an addict), I discussed this in Volume 1 if you wanted to read)

• I am letting go of old friendships and connections that only served my addiction, not Lauren

Things I need to work on

• Settling for silence. In the past silence meant isolation, which fed my addiction and let to spiralling. I need to recreate what silence means positively.

• Obsessing over absolutely EVERYTHING. Whether an article will land how I want it to, how many likes, comments, re-stacks, or subscriptions I get. As an addict I place my value and worth on everything that is external, rather than finding value from within myself.

• Giving myself a break. Focusing on the things that I am doing right, instead of asking “how have I fucked up again today?” Because life is hard enough. Recovery is tiring enough.

I am determined to become a ‘real person’ through the course of my recovery.

Addiction keeps me bound to it’s vindictive and cunning shackles by constantly ‘pitting’ me against others.

I no longer wish to live my life through the lens of a victim. Just for today, I release this shackle.

Yes, terrible and shocking things have happened to me, BUT I still played a part in things getting as far as they did.

So the questions I am asking myself are;

“what can I do now to ensure it never happens again?”

“how can I make sure i’m never in such a vulnerable place again to allow bad people and bad things to enter my space?”

One of the answers is simple and clear.

To not pick up those mind-altering chemicals again.

I would love to have you here on Project Truth & Recovery, your support means the world to me and I quite literally squeal with joy for every like, re-stack, comment, or subscription.

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There is a reason why the words “just for today” are at the very heart of the Narcotics Anonymous programme; because any day clean is a small miracle for any addict.

So just for today i’m celebrating a miracle; another day clean.

My addiction and associated “behaviours” are something I have only very recently come to accept. In fact, just as recently as a couple of weeks ago, writing about it would have filled me with absolute horror.

“No way could you ever be truthful about such a shameful thing” is what I would have told myself.

Yet here I am, laying it all bare and surprisingly not filled with shame, but with quiet contentedness. I guess miracles must be real afterall.

The truth is, today I am exhausted. My brain hurts from actually being consistent on this platform for the past 3 days. As an addict, consistency is not something I am “hardwired” to be good at. Add in neurodiversity to the mix and I imagine my brain currently resembles something like mushy peas.

But that’s OK, because today I am clean. Today I didn’t pick up to fill the hole in my heart.

This is a short and sweet musing today, and I intend it to be an introduction to a new, daily “real-time” reflection series about life as a recovering addict. Someday’s I may not find more than 10 words, others perhaps i’ll fill 10 pages, but my intention is to write the truth of all the emotions, successes, and failings.

I’m making a commitment to myself, to turn up on here everyday, even when it hurts, because I owe myself that for the pain and misery of the past 10 years.

I would love to have you here on Project Truth & Recovery, your support means the world to me and I quite literally squeal with joy for every like, re-stack, comment, or subscription.

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Thanks for reading Project Truth & Recovery! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Disclaimer: This article has been written from a place of playfulness and exploration, I am by no means an expert, but find comfort in processing my trauma through topics which interest me and speak to my neurodiversity.

I’ve always been a bit of a daydreamer. The girl who will sit and stare into the perceived nothingness of a room, appearing lost and confused, like her world and thoughts were a burden to be dragged along, heavy and tiring.

This is where they were wrong though. My mind with it’s wild thoughts and heightened imagination have never been a burden. They have been my lifeline, my personal sanctuary when life becomes a cruel, dark, and horrifying place and the only place I can ever truly seek to understand the horror show that has been my life, and the other human beings that sought to destroy mine.

Richard MacDonald hit the nail on the head when he said we take the mask off at home, in our safe and sacred space. There is no need for the rest of the world to see our bad habits, struggles and oppression.

I haven’t had this luxury; no safe space or privacy, no haven to return to when it all got too much. I was being watched, monitored, mocked and shamed. The worst part was I didn’t know until it was too late.

My world burned down in front of my eyes, for nothing more than the sickening pleasure and joy of fellow humans.

Yet there is nothing human about interfering, manipulating and shamelessly cancelling another human beings life, regardless of how scorned or vengeful you may feel.

“Through and through”

I’ve always said that i’m a “Cancerian through and through”, to which i’ve always glorified and highlighted the light and fluffy side of being a Cancer; empathy, sensitivity, intuitive, curious, kind, generous etc etc.

I can’t however honour the statement “through and through” without getting totally honest about the darker sides of me. I figure the more honest I get, the better I will work through the wreckage my life currently lies in, because yes, I have been a victim of awful things, but I am still responsible for the decisions I have made.

What better way to explore and to grow than through a subject that truly fascinates me - astrology!

The darker side of me (as a Cancerian)

Personality

• Emotionally wet and ready to sink at any time

• Wears heart on sleeve to the extreme

• Clingy and afraid which leads to smothering others

• Serious control issues (basically a control freak)

• Prone to gossiping

• Theatrical

Matters of Love & Intimacy

• Falls in love at first sight

• Hate to be ignored

• Struggle to take banter

• Fantasise love making in romantic and unusual places, to then turn back to reading and writing about it instead of being present

Work & Business

• Like lots of direction, orders and rules

• Have lists for other lists, focused more on the colour codes than getting the lists done

• Terrible with money whether earning a lot or a little

Although I find astrology fascinating (and at times shockingly accurate), i’ve always managed to ‘sit on the fence’ about how real it all is, always denying it as absolute truth.

However, I do know that in the heaviness that is my life at the moment, astrology has helped me make sense of things I need to work on to move forward.

In the Autumn of 2025 my life began to fall apart, slowly and painfully over time. Forever the optimist I refused to acknowledge it at first, making every excuse possible to not address the significant underlying issues and traumas I had faced in my life.

It would be too much to go into it all in one article, so for now I have written a poem that summarises everything I have written so far on my publication and within this article and intend to continue to reveal a little more each time in this astrology series.

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The fourth day of June where flowers do bloom

their colours arriving; set to fill every room

this year has been cruel, filled with chaos and change

I think of all the wasted bouquets

I never got to arrange

A map of old wounds still haunting my thoughts

occupying space in my mind

a mind that refuses to be bought

eight, or maybe nine months ago is where it all began

at least it began to me then anyway, likely I was already

entwined in a plan

an inconceivable plan, a plot full of darkness and spite

overflowing with malice, maliscion and fright

You took my wounds, my successes and truths

and made a map of destruction

under a fake loving ruse

imagine one day you wake up to find

not a single piece of your life has been left to unbind

imagine every secret, every whisper and shame

had been sent to the world

to discuss and place blame

Imagine your home, your safe and sacred space

was simply a public map of old wounds

open to all who receive, to trade and to trace

to trade and to trace, without mercy nor grace

revelations so shocking, that community erased my place

Yes i’m a sinner, and have made mistakes that I can’t take back

but privacy is a right, something no one should lack

what goes around comes around, many have said

you made your choices, now lie in your bed

and lie there I might, fighting the urge not to bite

because deep down inside me, i know what is right

Every once in while perhaps we should all look in the mirror

and look at the things we have said and done

that also, make us all sinners

imagine you realise you’ve had no safe space

on the days where you’ve cried and ranted about burdens

or a particular face

we are all guilty of things that we have said and done

so imagine a day where everyone knows

and the truths have been spun

Left with wreckage, solitude and pain

a map of old wounds coursing through my veins

I will end with this, I have hope and faith

my words and my truth are a virtue they can never take.

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This is not my first publication, I started one fairly recently that I fully intended to be ‘the one’. The one that was supposed to save me from the devastation that is and was my life. It is true that I poured my heart into that publication, and it was hard for me to let that dream go, but as I sit now with a deep sense of clarity and certainty that I have not ever felt before, I am content to enjoy the peace of knowing that things do not always work out the way we want them to.

I no longer have access to that publication, like many things in my life I have had to accept that it is gone; and in order to move forward I have to let it go, fully and completely.

And so here I am, thinking of the perfect way to launch this publication and the perfect thing to write about, knowing full well it wont be perfect and after I have clicked ‘publish’ I will think of another thousand things I should have thought about or written.

But that’s OK, that’s why I am here, and that is exactly the point of this publication. To be a real, true reflection of life and all its beautiful messiness.

Or, more in line with that I would usually say; reflect the ‘shit show’ that is my life.

At 32 I have finally learned to embrace neurodiversity as it gives you the opportunity to see things in ways that most people do not. Don’t get me wrong it makes life challenging in many ways too, but for the purposes of this article I am going to focus on the positive aspects.

As discussed in my ‘About Page’ I have truly lost everything and this publication is my real-time journal of coming to terms with that, making sense of the truly horrifying things that have happened to me and moving toward a life filled with love, peace and freedom.

Life as a marketing strategy (low bandwidth vs high bandwidth)

Seth Goldstein the prominent digital media entrepreneur & podcaster explored the modern shift in 21st century marketing from high bandwidth content to low bandwidth. He talks about the differences between the two, and the impact this has on consumption of advertising and other online, digital material.

This is the first time in my life I have ever even considered ‘marketing’ and its relevance to life, and my own situation. You see, essentially whenever we share any information about ourselves or others, whether that be via social media, digitally, or through word of mouth, we are in essence marketing information about our own ‘brand’, or someone else’s ‘brand’.

If, like me, you have fallen foul of something like a slandering campaign, online stalking, bullying and/or harassment, then you know as well as me the devastating impact a false, or highly manipulated ‘marketing campaign’ against you can have.

Specifically, this is the low bandwidth type of marketing that is now commonplace within society.

Low bandwidth marketing generally refers to ‘one clear point of view’; a single narrative that is easily available, easily trusted, and easily digested.

Simple. Focused. Repeated.

Same narrative. Same keywords. Same image/video.

The key here is that in the initial ‘push’ there is no competing narrative.

The devastating thing for victims is, often you don’t even realise there has been the initial push until it is too late. You miss that key opportunity to remedy the situation because you were blissfully unaware that an attack on you and your character was already well underway. What follows is an unrelenting series of events where things go from bad to worse.

So then, what can be done to begin to clear the wreckage that has been left? When your life and everything within it has burned to the ground, what can you do?

I heard a great saying in one Narcotics Anonymous meeting I went to;

Get up. Show up. Fix up

Which is where I am today. Which is why I am sat writing this article which has taken nearly a whole day because my confidence and self belief was also burned to the ground. If low bandwidth, shallow slander is what got me here, then I fully intend to do the complete opposite.

I intend to write my truth without the noise.

Momentum. Depth. Scale.

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