I’m pretty sure my DARE instructors in 5th grade couldn’t stand me.

DARE (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) is a school program where police officers come into classrooms to teach students about not doing drugs.

We had workbooks with different exercises to think about the scenarios we might find ourselves in to plan in advance how we’d navigate peer pressure and different circumstances when we might be offered or pressured to use drugs. 

How I planned to deal with peer pressure to use drugs

Our workbook had tons of space for us to write explanations of how we’d respond to the other person who was offering or pressuring us to use drugs. Most of the students wrote out detailed justifications about why drugs were bad, how they’re saying no because of all that it would cost us, and all the other reasons and ways they’d say no. 

All my answers to the different scenarios were the same: “No thank you.”

The instructor would call on a few of us to read our responses to the class for each scenario. When I followed my peers’ fully painted explanations with my seemingly curt three-word-answer, they must’ve assumed that I was lazy or not listening to the exercise. 

Only, I was listening, and I was fully engaged. When they poked me for an explanation why my response was so short, I suddenly wondered how it was me as the 10-year-old who needed to educate the grown police officer. 

“Well, ‘No’ is a full sentence,” I said. “I don’t need to justify my reasons to them. The answer is just no.”

I don’t think they were expecting this from a 5th grader. But then, I realized that it wasn’t the “no” part that they were uncomfortable about. They didn’t like the “Thank you.” 

I assume they wanted me to be harsh and abrupt in my response as a way to protect myself and my boundary. But I didn’t see that as necessary. They’d probably done dozens of these classes over the years, but it seemed they didn’t have a planned response for how to correct a “thank you” and were probably afraid to condone it as a response in front of all the other students. 

The logic of a me as a 5th grader

Even as a 5th grader who had never used drugs, I understood enough to realize that for some people, drugs meant a whole lot to them. Enough for them to ruin their lives over it. (If I had only known what my future dealing with drug and alcohol addiction would look like just a few years later–we’ll come back to this, later.) 

So I figured, if drugs mean that much to someone and they’re willing to share some of that with me, that’s a big sacrifice for them to make. They’re giving away something that’s personally meaningful and that takes a certain degree of generosity. 

I was thankful that they’d be willing to sacrifice something that means something to them. Even if it doesn’t hold the same value for me. 

The police officer never liked this, but I think he got the sense that I was firm about it. I wasn’t asking if that’s a good response, I was just saying what my response would be. I don’t think he called on me again after that, lest I share my views and poison the rest of the class with a way of thinking that wasn’t exactly in line with his likely well-intentioned agenda for us 10-year-olds.

These days, I think back on that memory and laugh at what a little whippersnapper I was, and I’d have to say, “She has a point.” 

(Side note: These days I have a similarly short answer when people ask if I smoke or have a lighter: “No, I quit.” To me, it’s a way to not just say that I can’t help, but also to say, “I’ve been there, and I’m not anymore. There’s hope if you want to stop.”)

10th grade drug education class

Fast forward a few years, and things were about to change pretty dramatically for me in my relationship with drugs and alcohol.

My then private high school had another drug workshop in 10th grade. This time, it wasn’t police officers doing it, it was people who had used drugs before and have since been clean and sober. 

They’d come in and tell stories about the drugs they used, how crazy they were, and the damage it caused to their lives. It was in the hopes to once again, convince us that we don’t need to bother trying all the crazy ones.

Because they already did, and it led them to think they could fly and almost jump off a roof, and all sort of other stories which at the time were more entertaining than actually frightening or dissuasive. 

Realizing I wasn’t like the other kids

At this point in my life, I was already falling into a pretty dark, depressing place. I’d recently left the church and grew distanced from my dad, with whom I’d been close with up until then. I had no idea that within the year, I’d be at a point where I couldn’t go much time at all before obsessing about how I was going to get drunk or high again.

The moment that I knew I was headed down a different road than the rest of the students in my grade was during the break after one of the workshops for the day. I was sitting in our student lounge talking to one of the other girls in my grade who was not really digging the workshop and was glad it was over.

Thinking we maybe shared the same sentiment about it, I blurted out what I was really feeling the whole day, “I know, that whole workshop only made me want to use drugs more.”

All of a sudden she went quiet and just looked at me, unsure of what to do with what I just said.

Immediately, I realized the sentiment was not only NOT mutual, but that I just painted myself into a vulnerable position of admitting that I’d been thinking of wanting to use drugs.

As a student in a small, elite private school, that’s not really something you want getting out there.

As quick as I could, I backtracked and said something to try to make it seem like I was joking. I’m not sure if she believed me or not, but that was the end of that conversation, and that was the last time I thought of opening up to someone about wanting to get high. 

My first time getting high

The next time I let anyone know I was up for drugs was when I was in a circle of people who were already passing around drugs for everyone to use, so I knew there wouldn’t be any judgment or weird looks when I joined in. Before then, I’d already been drinking by myself in my room, hiding it from my mom.

Even as I became a full-blown addict, using every single day, not being able to get through my entire shift at work without running to the bathroom to drink some more, I never really thought about those drug prevention classes. I realized they never addressed why someone would want to get high, or what the drugs offered in return. They painted it as all bad, a consequence of peer pressure. 

But they weren’t a solution to peer pressure for me. They were my solution to existing.

Drugs and alcohol as my solution

Drugs and alcohol became the answer to the existential pain I felt inside of myself. I justified my using by convincing myself that no one could understand the pain that I was in. And that if someone had gone through all that I’d gone through, that they’d be using, too. 

Those police officers, those recovering addicts who came into our classes, they never talked about the seemingly good parts about the drugs. The emotional numbness they provided me. The ability to not feel like I wanted to die. They never talked about the escape that it provides. 

Of course, they only talked about the additional pain and suffering it caused later. 

But when you’re drowning, you’re flailing, and you don’t care what you grab onto, even if it’ll only end up making you sink faster. You just want to grab onto something, anything, for some relief, at whatever cost.

So that was the beginning of my road into drug addiction. There’s lots more I can say about those couple of years, but for today, I’m just going to skip to the finding recovery part. 

Finding recovery

Fortunately for me, it was only 3-4 years later when I found recovery, I didn’t have to accumulate a lifetime and decades of destruction from my addiction to finally hit my rock bottom to finally want to get clean and sober. There’s a wise saying in recovery: “Rock bottom is whenever you stop digging.”

I was grateful to be introduced into a 12-step recovery program when I was 18, and I’ve been clean and sober ever since. It’s taught me how much pain I was unwilling or incapable of facing at the time, and even nearly 13 years later, I’m still unpacking and digging out from some of the pain and trauma that led me to seek out drugs and alcohol in the first place. 

Not about what I’ve given up, but what I’ve gained

Recovery today isn’t about what I say no to: drugs and alcohol. 

Recovery is about the gifts I’ve gotten: peace, contentment, self-acceptance, self-love, the capacity to be intimate and vulnerable with others, meaningful relationships, the agency and empowerment to create the type of life I really want, the ability to help other people who have suffered like I have. 

For me, the gifts far outweigh the thought of using. 

Not being afraid to look at why I started in the first place

Recovery and being clean isn’t about stopping using drugs, it’s about taking an honest look at why I started in the first place, and letting the love and care of other people in to help me continue to heal from my pain and be the best version of myself I can be. It’s opened me up to a spirituality and spiritual practice so I can be connected to something bigger than me in the world. 

That all said, I’m a recovering addict. I’ll never be cured, there is no cure for addiction, just a daily reprieve that it takes constant, daily work and vigilance to make sure I stay on the right path.

I’m so grateful today. The fact that I can even recall and share these moments in of itself is such a gift. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone, and there is so much help and hope out there. So much hope. I’m here for you.