Harmony Recovery has been providing addiction healthcare services in Estes Park since 1969. We would like to offer these stories from our alumni to show the humanity, strength, and perseverance of those working to recover from addiction. Often stigmatized and misunderstood by society, people on their path to recovery are managing a chronic illness which is a unique journey for each individual. Here is one such story. — Shane Hudson, CEO, Harmony Recovery
By Kiersten H.
I come from a long line of alcoholics — people I loved, people I lost. One by one, addiction claimed their lives. My father is the one who bypassed death, although he has suffered deeply. Denial ran deep. It was woven into our family dynamic like thread through fabric — so normal, so constant that we couldn’t see it for what it was.
During the seventh grade, my family moved to Europe, and drinking there was much different. Social drinking was not only accepted, it was expected. Age was irrelevant. Wine at dinner, beer with friends after school — it all seemed harmless, part of the culture, part of growing up. When we returned to the U.S., my parents divorced, and I told myself that I was in control of my life now. I thought I was different from the people in my family who hadn’t made it.
So, I used alcohol and drugs as my rewards; in my mind, I had to earn it. A good day at work? Have a drink. A bad day at work? Drink. A success worth celebrating? A bigger drink. It became my answer to everything — my ritual, my release. And for decades, that pattern stayed in place.
I was a bartender through college and the first to graduate in my family’s history. Marriage came, children came, and I became the most high-functioning alcoholic I’d ever known. I convinced everyone that I was “just fine.” I eventually went “legal,” dropping the drugs but keeping the alcohol because it was cleaner, safer and more acceptable.
Then alcohol-induced menopause hit. I wasn’t ready for how much it would change me — the anxiety, the exhaustion, the feeling of coming unglued. Alcohol became my medication. Every day I promised myself I would cut back. Every night, I poured another drink. I hid it well — or at least I thought I did. My children and I were involved in everything — school events, sports, music, and community activities. I wore the mask of the capable mom who had it all together.
But behind closed doors, everything was unraveling. Physical dependence crept in slowly until it wasn’t slow anymore. Seizures were exposing what I was trying so hard to hide. Suddenly, the problem I thought I had under control was out in the open.
Eventually, I found myself in rehab. Then another. And another. Each time I hoped it would be the last. Each time I left with good intentions. But I just couldn’t stay sober. Until Harmony.
Walking through the doors of Harmony felt different. I can’t explain it fully except to say it felt like hope. For the first time, I didn’t feel judged. I didn’t feel like a failure. I felt like maybe — just maybe — I could be understood. At Harmony, they gave me more than sobriety. They gave me tools — real tools — for living. They taught me that sobriety wasn’t just about quitting drinking; it’s about learning to feel, to cope, to forgive myself, and to rebuild my life from the ground up.
I’ve been sober for over three years now. Every day I use what Harmony taught me — how to stay grounded, how to stay honest, and how to stay free. Life is good because I got it back. My children have their mom, and my husband has his wife. I have my health. I have my peace. I will never forget where I came from, but I’ll never go back.
