The clunk of my high-heeled shoes hitting the wooden floors echoed through the hallway as I headed toward the front desk. I smiled at a woman wearing a name badge and rocking an infant as I passed her in the corridor. Sorry, I mouthed quietly, walking on my tiptoes to keep from waking the baby.
“It’s okay, you’re fine,” she whispered, giving me a friendly smile.
A young woman with glasses and bouncy curls smiled sweetly as I approached the front desk.
“Hello, I’m Tiffany, I’m here to see the girls,” I said, glancing around the office.
“Sure, just sign in here,” she said, handing me a clipboard. I quickly scribbled my name and set it on the counter before heading to a seat in the waiting room.
Before I could sit, a woman emerged from the double doors to my right and held her hand out to shake mine. “Hi, you must be Tiffany,” she said.
“Yes, hi,” I said.
“Come on back, we are ready for you,” she said, waving me toward the door. The clunk of my heels was drowned out only by the sound of my heart banging around in my chest. I had done this so many times, but it never got easier on my nerves.
As I entered the room, the squeals and cries continued, but all conversation among the women ceased, and they all turned to face me. I smiled nervously as I passed them and headed to the empty chair at the front of the room. Once I was seated, the women lazily sauntered over to fill the empty seats that were facing me. The women were at all different stages of their pregnancy; some had small bumps while others looked like they were ready to explode at any second. Each of them looked exhausted, and they seemed annoyed by my presence.
Once everyone was seated and the room fell silent, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small pink worry stone my father had given me before he passed away last year. He had fought long and hard, and unlike when my mother passed, I was able to be there for him and the family as we said goodbye. My father and I had gotten sober fifteen days apart, and two months after leaving rehab, we got to walk up onstage together to collect our one-year medallions. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
“Hello everyone, my name is Tiffany, and I’m an addict,” I said.
“Hi, Tiffany,” the women chorused.
“I know you guys are exhausted, and the last thing you probably want to do is sit in these shitty plastic chairs and listen to some weird lady lecture you.” A few women chuckled, giving me a renewed sense of confidence.
“But if you will give me thirty minutes of your time, I’ll never bother you again,” I said. I looked around at their tired faces and realized they would rather be changing a dirty diaper than be here with me, but that was okay, I wasn’t only here for them, I was here for me.
“I spent over ten years of my life doing drugs. I lied, cheated, stole, manipulated, and deceived everyone I’d ever known. I destroyed my life and the lives of those around me. I wanted to die—I tried to die, but for some reason, I couldn’t even do that right.”
I rubbed the stone as I cleared my throat, before continuing. “Now before I go any further, I just want to take a second and tell each and every one of you—how fucking proud I am of you.” I paused for a moment to swallow back the sobs as the tears began filling my eyes.
“You all could be anywhere in the world, an alley, a trap house, the streets. But you’re here, you’re here in a treatment facility getting help for yourselves, and giving the babies in those rooms and inside your bellies a shot at life, man, and that’s a fucking miracle. So give yourselves a quick round of applause because you deserve it.”
Applause rang out through the building and the women turned to each other and smiled proudly while others wiped tears from their eyes.
“In case nobody has told you today, you guys fucking rock!” I yelled over their claps. It was like all the guilt they had felt about being in a residential treatment center for pregnant women and children had momentarily lifted.
Once the applause had settled and the women adjusted themselves in their seats, I continued.
“As far as being an addict goes, my story is no different. The only thing separating you guys and myself is that I happened to be dating a cop during my active addiction,” I said.
The women let out a gasp and their eyes grew wide. A girl turned to her friend and whispered something, and I noticed a shift in the room. The women were on the edge of their seats; they were interested now.
“We can get into that later, but for now, I’d like to tell you what brings me here to Family Ties Treatment Center. After I left rehab, I moved into a halfway house. I knew I was ready to be out in the real world, but I was also aware that I wasn’t prepared to dive in headfirst. I needed accountability. The halfway house rules were simple: get a job, attend one meeting a day, no drinking or using, and curfew is midnight. It was an amazing way for me to meet people in recovery, and being surrounded by strong, independent women every day really motivated me and gave me a sense of true friendship I had never experienced before.
“Shortly after moving into the halfway house, I met someone. Now I don’t recommend this, because it’s important to focus on yourself for a while. But me being the rebel that I am, I figured because I had ten months clean, it was close enough to a year and would be okay. He and I began dating and I was completely honest with him about my past; he accepted me and supported where I was in my journey. Plus, he was super hot, so…” A few of the girls chuckled and nodded.
“I found out I was pregnant in the bathroom of a halfway house.” Once again, their eyes grew wide as saucers.