Broken But Believing

Saturday, July 18, 2026

By this point, there had been so many changes at work that it no longer felt like the place I had once loved. We had an entirely different management team, and then I was placed under the supervision of a woman I had trained myself.

At the time, I convinced myself that was the breaking point.

Looking back now, I know it wasn’t.

Alcohol was.

Almost every day, I would leave during my lunch break and drive to the liquor store. I would sneak drinks at my desk throughout the afternoon and then drive home intoxicated without thinking twice about it.

One afternoon, I drank far more than I should have during lunch. By around two o’clock, I could barely keep my eyes open. I went out to my car to take another drink from the larger bottle of Fireball I kept there.

Instead, I fell asleep in the backseat.

I have no idea how long I had been there.

The next thing I remember was someone tapping on my window.

It was one of my coworkers.

I was escorted into Human Resources.

I tried to explain that I had recently started a new medication and that it had made me feel sick.

It was a lie.

And I think they knew it.

They sent me home that afternoon. I was heavily intoxicated, and I honestly don’t remember driving home.

Over the weekend, I made the decision to resign.

I was convinced that if I went back on Monday, I would be fired anyway.

The hardest part for me to admit now is that I didn’t feel ashamed.

I was angry.

I blamed management for putting me under someone I had trained. I blamed the changes at work. I blamed everything except the one thing that was actually destroying my life.

Alcohol.

I kept telling myself everything would be fine. I had worked for the state for nearly nine years. I had always been a good employee. I’d find another job.

At the time, I truly believed I was walking away because of them.

Looking back now, I know I was really walking away because alcohol had taken control of my life.

Friday, July 17, 2026

During COVID, I worked from home from around March until June. Since I had no supervisors around, it was easy to hide my drinking. We had one Zoom call every day, but after that I could spend my day however I wanted—whether that meant actually working or drinking.

When we started going back to the office in June, it was three days one week and two days the next. We still had our daily Zoom calls, but there were very few people in the office because employees with serious health conditions were allowed to continue working from home.

By December, our family had to move because we couldn’t make it on my income and Miles’ Walmart income alone. We moved to the town where my younger sister lived. Around that time, I had my granddaughter almost all the time, and I was going to need help watching her on the days I had to work.

While I was working from home during COVID, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my career.

I had been day drinking before one of our Zoom meetings with my team and my supervisor. I don’t remember exactly what gave me away, but she knew something wasn’t right.

I got in trouble at work.

I didn’t lose my job, but I was required to get help and provide proof that I was participating in treatment.

I started attending an outpatient program two days a week for about three hours each visit. Work continued paying me while I attended, and every time I went, I had to take a urine test to make sure I hadn’t been drinking.

One day, I tested positive for alcohol.

That one failed test was enough for them to recommend I enter a 30-day inpatient treatment program.

I agreed.

Looking back, I really wanted to get better.

But when I got there, it wasn’t what I had been told to expect. Before I arrived, I had been told I could write letters home and that I could still have my Diet Dr Peppers. Once I got there, none of that was true. The only exception seemed to be for smokers—they were still allowed cigarette breaks.

At the time, I focused on what I felt they had done wrong instead of what I needed to do for myself.

I stayed for only two days before I went home.

Looking back now, I can see that I was looking for a reason to leave, and once I found one, I took it.

When I got home, I was right back where I had started.

I told work I wasn’t going back to the outpatient program or the 30-day treatment center. I said I would still attend AA meetings, but I was done with everything else.

Then I went back to drinking every day.

And then I started forging AA attendance sheets.

Thursday, July 16, 2026

As time went on, my drinking slowly changed.

What started as two or three drinks a week became almost every night. Eventually, it got to the point where I wasn’t even remembering my evenings.

Then COVID hit, and life became even more complicated.

Miles lost his job with the state over a picture he had taken with our dachshund. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? It really wasn’t about the picture. Someone at work got offended because he joked about his “wieners.”

Our dachshunds.

Not what they thought he meant.

It would almost be funny if it hadn’t turned our lives upside down.

Then, while Miles and our two youngest boys were on vacation in Florida, my second-oldest son, Eugene, called me.

He told me he was okay, but he had decided to move to New Hampshire with his pregnant girlfriend.

To say I wasn’t thrilled would be an understatement.

Eugene had his dad, me, Miles, his brothers, and his grandparents here in Arkansas. He had an entire support system.

She only had her mother in New Hampshire.

From my perspective at the time, I felt like she had manipulated the situation. She came to Arkansas, became pregnant, and then convinced him to leave everything behind and move across the country.

What hurt the most wasn’t just that he moved.

It was that he never talked to us about it.

He simply left in the middle of the night.

I was heartbroken.

I was angry.

And instead of dealing with those feelings in a healthy way, I poured myself another drink.

Looking back now, I can see that I wasn’t drinking because I enjoyed alcohol anymore.

I was drinking because I didn’t know what else to do with my hurt.

Things were slowly spiraling out of control.

The saddest part is…

I couldn’t even see it.

Wednesday, July 15, 2026

Today marks 20 days of sobriety.

It’s the longest I’ve gone without a drink since alcohol slowly became a part of my life.

People often ask how someone ends up with an addiction.

The truth is, for me, it didn’t happen overnight.

Looking back, I can see how one difficult season slowly led into another.

On July 25, 2014, I lost my mother to a brain aneurysm.

Losing my mom changed everything.

She was the center of our family. She was the one who brought everyone together, settled disagreements, and somehow always knew how to make things better. I was her “go-to” daughter. If she needed something, she called me because she knew I’d figure it out.

Then she was gone.

About a year and a half later, my dad was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer.

He was determined to fight it, and he did. He went through chemotherapy and radiation. At the time, we had no idea that his years in the Navy and asbestos exposure had likely contributed to his illness.

Watching him fight while knowing there wasn’t anything I could do to fix it was incredibly hard.

After losing both of my parents, I felt alone in a way I never had before.

I still had Miles.

I still had my children.

But life had changed.

My boys were growing up and didn’t need me the way they once had.

Miles had started working a second job. It was originally supposed to help pay for a trip to England so he could visit his family, but like so many families, we became dependent on the extra income.

That meant I spent a lot of evenings by myself.

One evening, I mixed Crown Royal Apple with cranberry-apple juice.

I liked the taste.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Looking back now, I think I liked something else even more.

For a little while, it quieted the loneliness.

Monday, July 13, 2026

Spending my first week home after getting out of jail, I’ve had a lot of time to think.

Miles has been incredibly supportive. Even though I destroyed so many material things, he keeps reminding me that none of that matters compared to me being alive. He told me he was just thankful he wasn’t planning a funeral.

I’ve spent most of this week in bed with my leg elevated and an ice pack on it. My arm has stayed wrapped because the airbag burn kept oozing onto my clothes and bedding. My leg is still swollen, and in the center of the worst bruise is a hard knot that stays warm to the touch.

Physically, I know my body will heal. What surprised me most is that the overwhelming shame I felt at first has started to fade. Not because I forgot what I did, but because I’ve accepted that I can’t change what happened. I can only choose what I do from this point forward.

Material things can be replaced.

I can’t.

Looking back, I believe this accident became a turning point in my life. Whether I understand all the reasons or not, I know it forced me to stop and take an honest look at the direction I was heading.

Since then, I’ve started reading my Bible, beginning with the Gospel of John. I pulled out an alcohol recovery devotional I bought a few years ago but never really used, and now I’m working through it each day. I’ve also been attending an AA meeting every evening.

My life has become much simpler.

Without a driver’s license, I can’t just jump in the car and go wherever I want. If I need to go somewhere, I either have to walk, ride the bus, or depend on someone else. Oddly enough, that has slowed my whole life down.

The surprising part is that I haven’t wanted a drink since the accident.

I’ve also decided that I’m not in a hurry to get my driver’s license back. I want to know I can trust myself before I ever get behind the wheel again. Driving is a privilege, and I want to be certain I’m making that decision for the right reasons.

More than anything, I want to be clean and sober—not because of court, not because of a suspended license, and not because of what other people think.

I want to be sober because I want to become the woman I know I’m capable of being.

For myself.

For Miles.

For my children.

And for my grandchildren.

Saturday, July 11, 2026

From the speaker on the Ring doorbell, I heard Miles.

“What are you doing there?” he asked. “I’m sitting at the jail waiting for you to come out.”

I immediately started crying.

“I thought you were punishing me by making me walk home,” I said.

“Stop crying,” he replied. “I would never leave you.”

Then he said, “Let me call Ben. Both of the boys are home.”

A couple of minutes later, the front door opened, and there stood my next-to-youngest son, Benji. He’s an adult now but still lives at home.

As I walked inside, I felt so incredibly grateful.

Miles was still talking to me through the Ring doorbell. He explained that the bail bondsman had told him it would probably be between 2:30 and 3:00 p.m. before I was released, so he had gone home to take care of a few things while he waited.

“I’m headed straight to you,” he said.

As I walked into the kitchen, I realized how thirsty I was. I poured myself a Diet Dr Thunder and took a long drink.

Oh, how I had missed that simple comfort.

Ben was standing in the kitchen watching me.

“Can I hug you?” he asked.

I laughed through my tears and said, “If you can stand this sweaty, nasty old woman, of course.”

He wrapped his arms around me, and I hugged him back, so thankful just to be home with my family.

A few minutes later, Miles walked through the door.

I threw my arms around him and held on as tightly as I could. I didn’t want to let go.

After we sat down on the couch, he told me about everything that had happened during the last 24 hours.

He had managed to get a week off work so he could stay home and help take care of me while I recovered because I was so sore.

Then he told me something I hadn’t known.

He had to go back and get the keys to our other car because they were still inside the Toyota.

He walked from the hospital to the wrecking yard. It took him about 40 minutes.

Then he walked another 40 minutes from the wrecking yard to where our other car was parked.

My heart sank.

All of that…

Because I chose to drink and drive.

All of that trouble.

All of that walking.

All of that destruction.

A life-changing event…

All because I chose to drink and get behind the wheel of our car.

That morning, he had also gone back to the wrecking yard to gather our personal belongings from the Toyota.

The car was beyond repair.

I had essentially snapped the transmission. Even sitting in park, it would roll backward and forward.

But I will say this…

I truly believe one of the reasons I’m still here, able to write these words today, is because I was driving a Toyota. Every single airbag deployed, and they did exactly what they were designed to do.

I was one very lucky woman.

And I don’t ever want to forget that.

Thursday, July 9, 2026

So I started walking.

I passed a couple of baseball fields, and all I could think about was finding somewhere to use the bathroom. I just needed a toilet.

I passed a preschool and came to a stoplight. I turned right, thinking the hospital wasn’t too far away. Surely no one would notice a sweaty, dirty woman slipping inside just to use the restroom, I thought.

About halfway down the road, I had to stop. My leg was throbbing, my back hurt, and I couldn’t believe I was trying to make this walk wearing sandals of all things.

When I reached the next intersection, I turned left toward the college, thinking maybe Twisted Tacos was open and I could sneak in to use their restroom.

By the time I reached the stoplight on the corner, I had to sit down again. My leg hurt so badly. The entire walk I cried, thinking Miles must have been furious with me not to come pick me up from the jail.

But I was determined to get home.

At the stoplight by Twisted Tacos, I turned right and decided I would just stop at the hospital instead. I wasn’t much farther now.

I walked through the roundabout and turned left. The hospital was just ahead on the right.

But by the time I got there, I was too ashamed to go inside.

I was drenched in sweat. It was so hot and humid outside that I could feel it running down my back. I was wearing a skort and a halter top, and all I could think about was how disgusting I must have looked.

I sat on the steps on the other side of the hospital for a few minutes to rest my leg and my back. A man walked past me down the stairs, and I immediately felt like I needed to keep moving. I didn’t want anyone telling me I couldn’t sit there or thinking I didn’t belong.

So I got back up and kept walking.

I went through another roundabout and came to an apartment complex with a pizza place on the first floor. My first thought was, Would they notice if I slipped in and used the restroom? I really had to pee.

I noticed tables and chairs outside the restaurant, but I was too embarrassed to sit there. I was afraid someone would tell me to leave.

As I made my way through the parking lot, I spotted a bench and had to stop again.

My leg…

Oh my goodness, it hurt so bad.

I only rested for a few minutes before getting back up. I knew I was close now. Just one more roundabout and a few more streets.

But about halfway there, I had to stop yet again.

My leg was throbbing.

I was soaked with sweat.

I hurt everywhere.

But I was determined that I was going to make it home.

I finally stood up and started the last part of my walk. Every step hurt, but I could finally see my neighborhood ahead. I walked as fast as my leg would allow.

Finally…

I was standing at my front door.

I looked toward the driveway.

No car.

I reached for the doorknob.

Locked.

At the hospital, Miles had taken my keys, my wallet, and my phone.

I had nothing.

So, I rang the Ring doorbell.

Wednesday, July 8, 2026

Wednesday, July 8, 2026

After what seemed like hours of waiting, a detention officer came to the cell door and called my name.

From my mattress on the floor, I looked up at him to make sure I had heard him correctly.

“Have I been bailed out?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “Grab your mattress and blanket and come on.”

As I stepped out of the cell, I noticed he didn’t put handcuffs on me. I dropped the mattress and blanket just outside the cell door, and we walked to the counter.

After signing what felt like my life away, we walked to the other side of the building where he handed me a bag containing my personal belongings. For the first time since I had been arrested, I finally felt like a person with rights again.

He pointed me toward a bathroom where I could change back into my clothes and told me to put the jumpsuit in the bag when I was finished.

The moment I closed the bathroom door, the tears started to fall.

Miles hadn’t forgotten me. He hadn’t left me there to rot, even though at that moment I truly believed that’s what I deserved.

As I changed clothes, I caught my first real glimpse of my leg. It looked horrible. It was swollen so badly I could barely put weight on it, and it hurt just to touch it.

But I didn’t care.

All I wanted was to get dressed and get out of there.

Even though I knew I should probably use the bathroom while I had the privacy, I was so desperate to leave that all I could think was, I’ll just use my own bathroom when I get home.

I had no idea what was about to happen.

I handed the officer the bag with the jail clothing, and he pointed me toward the exit.

The moment I stepped outside those jail doors, I completely broke down.

I cried so hard I could barely see where I was walking.

I looked around, expecting to see Miles waiting for me.

He wasn’t there.

I walked to the front of the courthouse across from the detention center and sat down on a bench. I waited… and waited… and still there was no sign of him.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

I was thirsty.

I was hungry.

I was filthy.

I was bruised.

I was exhausted.

And more than anything, I just wanted to go home.

I finally convinced myself that maybe this was part of my punishment. Maybe Miles had decided that if I wanted to get home, I could walk.

Home was about three miles away, maybe even closer to four.

It didn’t matter.

I didn’t want to spend another second anywhere near that jail.

So, despite the pain in my leg, I got up and started walking.

Tuesday, July 7, 2026

Today has been 13 days since my accident.

On the day of my accident, I went to jail. My charges were DWI (first offense), driving without a seatbelt, no proof of insurance, reckless driving, and disorderly conduct.

I walked into the detention center in handcuffs. The detention officer told me to follow her. Then I had to get completely naked in front of a woman I didn’t know, had never met, and honestly hope I never see again. She saw me on the worst day of my life, in my birthday suit.

I am a very private woman. I don’t wear revealing clothes, and I certainly don’t walk around naked in front of anyone. Standing there, completely exposed, I felt ashamed that I had allowed myself to get to that point.

After changing into the detention clothing—a one-piece button-up jumpsuit—I quickly realized how little privacy there was. If you needed to use the bathroom, you had to unbutton the top half of the suit just to sit on the toilet. There is no privacy in jail. Regardless of why you’re there, your freedom and many of your basic comforts are stripped away.

After being fingerprinted and signing paperwork related to my charges, I was handed a six-foot-long, six-inch-thick mattress pad and a blanket. Then I was escorted into a cell with five other women.

It was the middle of summer, and the cell was unbearably hot. I was still coming down from all the alcohol, so when they brought supper trays around, I had no interest in eating the food they served.

I laid down on my mattress, my arm throbbing from the airbag burns and my leg aching from slamming into the dashboard beneath the steering wheel. At that point I still hadn’t seen what my leg looked like. I could only feel the constant, throbbing pain.

For hours I just lay there, sweating. The only water available came from the same sink that sat next to the toilet.

Time seemed to stand still.

I barely slept that night. Other inmates yelled, screamed, and carried on throughout the night. I just stared into the darkness, thinking about the mess I had made of my life and wondering how Miles could ever forgive me.

A couple of the detention officers kindly let me try to call him, but for some reason our phone service wouldn’t allow the calls to go through. The last time I had spoken to him was at the hospital while I was still intoxicated, and only a few words had been exchanged.

Deep down, I believed he would bail me out. But I also knew he had every reason to be angry. As the hours passed, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would leave me there for a few days to think about what I had done.

Finally, around 10:30 Friday morning, it was time for my bail hearing. Along with many others, I was escorted into the courtroom. I happened to be one of the first people called before the judge.

After hearing my case, the judge set my bond at $1,000. That meant Miles would have to pay roughly $180 to a bondsman to get me released that day.

Because I was one of the first people to see the judge, I was escorted back to my cell while everyone else’s hearings continued.

So I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Not knowing if I would be going home that day.

Looking back now, those hours felt much longer than they actually were. When you’ve lost your freedom, time moves differently. Every minute gives you another opportunity to think about the choices that brought you there, and every minute makes you wish you could go back and change them.

Monday, July 6, 2026

Today is a new day, although not much has changed physically. I woke up with my leg still banged up, and I don’t plan on leaving the house. Getting around is difficult right now, so today feels like another day of healing.

I’m going to pick up where I left off yesterday.

Eleven days ago, I drank Fireball and got behind the wheel. I totaled our family’s Toyota RAV4—the car my husband’s inheritance from his mother helped us buy. It wasn’t just a vehicle. It was my dream car. We actually had two vehicles, but we rarely drove the second one because the RAV4 was so reliable, comfortable, and big enough for all of us.

When Miles told me at the hospital that the car couldn’t be saved, I was still coming down from the Fireball. To be honest, losing the car wasn’t even the biggest thing I was facing at that moment.

I was about to go to jail.

Alcohol didn’t make me feel invincible—it convinced me I was. Looking back now, I cringe at who I became that night. I was disorderly. I cursed at the police officers who were simply doing their jobs. I was someone I didn’t recognize.

I certainly wasn’t the daughter my mother raised.

After the doctors confirmed I didn’t have any broken bones, the reality of what had happened slowly started sinking in. Looking back, I realize just how incredibly lucky I was.

I wasn’t wearing a seat belt.

The windows were rolled down.

The moonroof was open.

I had music blasting, and if I know myself at all, I was probably enjoying the wind blowing through my hair. I don’t remember any of it, but I know that’s exactly how I loved to drive when I was by myself.

After the crash, they couldn’t even get the vehicle to start again, much less roll the windows back up.

I keep thinking about all the ways that night could have ended differently.

I could have gone over an embankment.

I could have hit another vehicle.

I could have taken someone’s life.

I could have lost my own.

Instead, I’m here.

Bruised. Sore. Ashamed. Grateful.

As hard as it is to admit, I thank God every day that no one else was hurt because of my decision. That thought will stay with me for the rest of my life.

That night didn’t end at the hospital.

That night, I went to jail.

And that’s where tomorrow’s story begins.