LIFE LESSONS

Singing To Grace

A journey toward wholeness and healing of my womb

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I was twenty-two going on forty, in the thick of grad school, and I was pregnant.

My boyfriend was a bohemian drug addict, adorned with tattoos on his face- remnants of his cocaine and pot binges. He was gorgeous and enigmatic. He spent his mornings getting high, his afternoons with friends, loading up on more pot and molly, and his evenings with me getting high again. I mostly remained sober and only occasionally smoked a joint.

I had a habit of hanging out with heavy drinkers. A few died from drug overdoses. It was an ocean of booze and substances, and I watched people lose control while holding my breath in terror, witnessing them spiral down into darkness. The unspoken rule was never to question them; it was considered uncool, and I was desperate to be one of the cool kids.

My college friends and I shared a turn-of-the-century apartment with spacious rooms. We partied hard at night, slept it off, and attended classes the next day. We also maintained an open house policy for late-night stragglers who were too high or too drunk to make it home and often woke up to a packed house of passed-out guests in the mornings.