Calling Tara at O magazine is one of the most intimidating things I’ve ever done. Even with Nadine and Andi urging me on, it takes me a little over a week to muster up the courage to pick up the phone. I wait until I get home from my Friday shift at the cafe, take a shower, a deep breath, and then punch in the number she listed in her e-mail.
“Tara Isaacs speaking,” she says when she answers.
“Hi, Tara,” I say. My mouth is dry, so I swallow once to avoid sounding like I have cotton wrapped around my tongue. “It’s Cadence Sutter.”
“Oh, Cadence. I’m so happy to hear from you. When you didn’t respond to my e-mail, I was afraid I might have scared you away.”
I laugh nervously. “Well, I’m definitely a little scared to be talking with you. Embarrassed, really, to tell you the truth.”
“Why? Because you accidentally sent me the e-mail? Don’t be. It happens to the best of us.” She chuckles. “My husband’s name is Owen, so I can’t tell you the number of times Oprah has been sent a note asking her to pick up milk on the way home from work.”
I laugh again, this time a little more comfortably. “Thank you for that. It’s scary to be talking about this at all. I haven’t really advertised what happened with me.”
“I’d imagine not,” she says. “But that’s all part of the story, right? How hard it is for women to tell the truth about what they’re struggling with and get help?”
“I think it’s more that it’s hard to ask for help. Especially mothers who might have a problem. If we tell someone, ‘Gee, I think I might be drinking too much,’ what if our kids get taken away?” My throat catches on that last sentence, so I cough to clear it.
“See? It’s a great angle. I want all those kinds of details. How you started drinking, how it progressed. Do you think you could get me five thousand words to start?”
My pulse quickens. “Um, I don’t know. I haven’t written anything in a while. And the custody decision hasn’t been made yet. I’d feel a little strange writing it without knowing the outcome.” I can’t imagine writing about what I’ve done, detailing the days I chose alcohol over my son, committing my sins to the page.
“There’s no rush,” she says. “Why don’t you just take your time, and send me whatever you come up with when you’re ready? Or not, if you decide you aren’t comfortable doing it. We’ll be going ahead with a women and addiction issue, but haven’t picked the month yet. It’s at least a year out.”
“I’ll definitely think about it. I just wanted to say thank you for the opportunity. And your kindness.”
“You’re very welcome,” Tara says. “I’m rooting for you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I can use all the cheerleaders I can get.”
Later that night my in-box blinks with the e-mail that has finally arrived from Trina. Tiny, panicky bubbles begin to bounce along in my veins as I click on it, and with a deep, unsteady breath, I whisper a quick thank-you to the empty room. It reads:
Dear Cadence,
Thank you so much for your honesty. For letting me know I’m not the only mother in the world who has done this in front of her children. I can’t tell you how much it means to know that I don’t have to do this alone.
After I read your e-mail, I took a deep breath and went to the HR department in my company to ask about my treatment benefits. It turns out they are extensive. I wept as I told my husband I need help with the girls while I do whatever it takes to stop drinking like this. He cried and told me he would support me through this. You are right—I am not alone. My girls would not be better off without me, they would be better off without me drinking. I will keep in touch and let you know how I’m doing. And hopefully, see you at a meeting soon.
All best,
Trina
Relief flows through me. It worked. What I offered was actually of help to her. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.
