The most chaotic period of my life was partly captured on film, for a documentary about heroin addiction. This once felt like a unique burden, but is becoming more and more common for people without adequate housing and mental health care. In the 26 years since I stopped using drugs, I’ve frequently been asked the question: What will you tell your kids?
I realized long ago that being in recovery did not exempt me from stigma. I was determined to be as transparent as possible with my children, and anyone who asked, about how society treats people associated with drug use.
I was in recovery by the time my first child was born. At the hospital I expected pain, tears and a bit of embarrassment from having to repeatedly explain why my veins were hard to access. What I experienced instead was disdain, as if my past made me an inept mother. My nurse had seen in my chart that years earlier I’d been treated for hepatitis C. I was told that I shouldn’t breastfeed—despite the fact that, even if I hadn’t been cured, breastfeeding would have been safe.
Because I’d had to give birth by emergency C-section, I was released with a prescription for opioids. Yet no one gave me any guidance around discontinuation of use, even though they knew about my history with heroin. So I was home alone with a screaming newborn, having withdrawal symptoms, and afraid to tell anyone.
As I sat holding my baby and crying, I wondered if Child Protective Services would be called if I tried to get any medical care related to the withdrawal. I called a friend instead. A community response was safer than an institutional response.
I am terrified of my children experimenting with drugs themselves, because of the overdose risk. But abstinence-only education won’t protect them or their peers.
Navigating full-time employment and raising three toddlers was what motivated me to begin sending people harm reduction supplies by mail, a practice which inspired the national program NEXT Distro.
People who inject drugs in particular face so many barriers to staying safe. There’s so much stigma involved in trying to get sterile syringes from a pharmacy, on top of the travel time and expense. We needed to normalize access to harm reduction supplies so they could be delivered like anything else bought at a pharmacy.
Assembling packages of these supplies became a family affair. One child might be doing the labels, another reminding me which items needed to go in which envelope. When they were younger, we just referred to the items as medical supplies. As they grew, I gradually explained more about how the supplies were used and why people weren’t always able to access them.
I shared my own experiences. It became a way for my children to educate themselves while developing empathy for people frequently considered disposable. I told them about my experiences living on the street. I took them to the places I used to sleep.
Children as young as 12 have contacted me to share that they revived a parent with naloxone I’d sent their household by mail.
Piece by piece I explained my history, in keeping with their age level, so that they never felt lied to nor dismissed. Instead of averting their eyes from people living on the street when we took our route to daycare, my children learned to share their snacks. Now that they’re teenagers, they’re able to talk to their peers when an overdose affects someone they know.
I am terrified by the possibility of my children experimenting with drugs themselves, because of the overdose risk. But educating them only on abstinence does not give them the information they need to protect themselves or the people around them.
From “Just Say No” to “Red Ribbon Week” to “One Pill Can Kill,” the abstinence-only mentality taught in schools is neither accurate nor effective. These campaigns explain nothing about how different drugs work or strategies for responding to overdose. I had to take a deep breath to steady myself when at a recent school assembly a speaker began talking about “fentanyl-laced cannabis.”
Children as young as 12 have contacted me to share that they revived a parent with naloxone I’d sent their household by mail. Kids need facts, not fear. They need to know about naloxone, rescue breathing, the difference between opioids and stimulants, the list goes on. They need to know that some substances may be harmful to the developing brain, but they also need to know why. That is a much more effective strategy than a blanket statement that all drugs are bad and all come with the same risks.
What do I tell my children about my history with drugs? Anything they want to know.
Image via Central District Health, Idaho