My name is Lisa Heavener, and I am a recovering addict. My story is a testament to the human spirit's extraordinary capacity for overcoming even the most profound challenges. If the little girl I once was could speak, she would barely find the words to describe the horrific abuse she endured, starting at the tender age of five.
My troubles began in 1985, a time when children were expected to be seen and not heard, when doors were locked behind us as we played outside until the streetlights flickered on. That year, my father took me to meet his mistress. Later that night, I, a curious child, would be the one to ask my mother about the woman my father had slept with, oblivious to the fact that their infidelity had unfolded with me in the very same room. My mother would soon discover him with yet another woman, leading to their divorce. As if that wasn't enough, in the same tumultuous year, my mother walked in on her own brother molesting me. Nothing was done.
The Weight of an Unspoken Norm
From the age of five to sixteen, I endured sexual abuse from twenty different individuals, both male and female, across a wide age range. By the time I "willingly" lost my virginity at sixteen, I had already adopted a terrifying worldview: to fit in, I had to be willing to give myself to whomever demanded it.
When I was ten, my mother remarried. My stepfather, who had never made a pass at me, did so after I confided in my mother that I had willingly lost my virginity. You see, I hadn't told my mother about the countless other instances of abuse, fearing it would devastate her even more after her divorce from my father. Everyone said she just "checked out" after that. The sheer number of incidents, coupled with the lack of action when I was five, made it feel, sadly, like an unspoken norm.
I only told my parents about that one sexual experience because I was terrified of getting pregnant. It was that confession that led to my stepfather bribing me for sexual acts in exchange for a vehicle. I told my mother, but she didn't believe me.
Later that year, I was gang-raped at least twice. That was also the year I first experimented with marijuana and alcohol. I remember drinking so much I'd black out, often riding around town reckless and oblivious to any consequences. I just wanted to be accepted by anyone, at any cost.
The Spiral of Addiction
Home life was horrendous. My stepfather's unpredictable rage made me walk on eggshells. Between his chaos, our crushing poverty, and relentless bullying at school, I was miserable. The partying and promiscuity offered a fleeting, distorted sense of escape. Summer breaks with my father offered some respite, but his string of relationships kept me constantly guessing about the environment until school resumed. On top of everything, my mother could never seem to get rid of the lice infestation that plagued us for years. I remember being 17, in high school, and the person behind me could see them crawling. Oozing sores in my head caused my hair to mat. The teachers were kind, for which I'm grateful, never making me feel worse. But the bullying, especially being the only white girl in my ninth-grade class that year, ultimately forced me to drop out.
This destructive behavior followed me into my young adult years. I continued to party, sleeping my way through social circles for a desperate sense of approval. I began to realize it was a serious problem; I had never developed a true sense of self, constantly people-pleasing, a definite pushover.
My life took another turn when I met the father of my three children, months after a failed three-month marriage. He moved in with me three days after we met, and that's when a new form of self-abuse began. He introduced me to huffing gasoline. It was later revealed he was also a full-blown alcoholic. Four months into that 23-year relationship, I knew he would be the heaviest weight dragging me down. Yet, I stayed and had three children with him.
The relationship was incredibly difficult. Though he worked and paid for everything, he was emotionally distant. I certainly didn't feel adequate myself, but he was my ticket out of my childhood home for good. The alcohol and drug use continued, fueling most of our arguments. I didn't truly care for it anymore, so I tried to focus on my children.
After my second child was born, I discovered he, along with some friends and my sister, were manufacturing methamphetamines. This marked the first of many battles with hard drugs I would face. Too tired to fight, and out of a deep fear of abandonment, I caved in. I risked everything to feel "a part"āa part of what, I asked myself for years? I just didn't want one more person to leave. I desperately wanted one relationship, just one, to work, no matter the cost.
I sacrificed so much to keep us together. I even experimented with cocaine once or twice, injecting it intravenously on one terrifying occasion. We somehow managed to stay together and raise our children until they were grown. It took about four months of him doing everything we "cooked" daily before he finally chose to come away with me and the children. We were okay for a while, then a short relapse on meth. But the drinking and marijuana never stopped completely. After 23 years, five short separations, and four times where I chose to have affairs, we finally called it quits.
The Dark Night of the Soul and the Dawn of Self-Integration
It wasn't until that relationship ended, and my children were grown, that I became a full-blown alcoholic. Four months after the separation, living on my own, I decided to date. That's when I met the narcissist who nearly killed me. He bankrupted me, caused me to wreck my vehicle, and lose the best job I ever had. I drank nearly every day and smoked methamphetamine almost as much.
I was hanging on by a thread.
People I loved were losing hope, and I was driving them away. I was trapped under his control, terrified. But, as always, I was alone to figure a way out. I finally escaped his clutches after he talked me into attempting to rob a bank.
I called my brother in another state for help. Our relationship had always been strained by his own struggles with drugs and alcohol. My only sister had already succumbed to the needle, lost to us somewhere doing God only knows what. I stayed at his home for a few weeks before needing to leave for business in another state.
On my way back, I reached the Greyhound bus station in Cincinnati, where he was supposed to pick me up. We argued, and he left me no choice but homelessness. This became the dark night of the soul that truly began my self-integration and alignment, a process that would come to fruition in the years that followed.
Navigating homelessness forced me deeper into drinking and whatever drugs were available. I never sought them out or paid for them; they were simply present in my environment. I eventually pulled myself together and managed to stay in sober living for four months, but loneliness became my downfall again.
Somehow, while homeless and living in a shelter, I even enrolled in college, traveling five hours there and back by foot and bus twice a week. I made a fatal mistake, moving in with a friend who also turned out to be an alcoholic. I fell back into daily drinking, dropped out of massage therapy school after vomiting drunk in the classroom, and nearly broke my neck falling down a flight of stairs.
I tried sober living twice more before returning to Nashville. My grandson, born that same year, I had only met once. Luckily, after being back for a month, my daughter asked me to live with her. I paid rent and worked tirelessly, but they were heavy drinkers and smoked a lot of marijuana. I just couldn't seem to get away from it.
By this time, I was truly beginning to understand what I was capable of on my own. Seven months passed, then one night, as my two girls and I were relaxing with a drink, my oldest physically abused me. I left for good.
The Power of Now:
A New Beginning
I was homeless again. I remember April 4th, 2025, lying in a hotel bed, debating whether to end my suffering by my own hand or lay it all on the line to live. I had no shelter, no idea what the future held.
Thankfully, my boss let me stay with her for two weeks. If it weren't for that job and her kindness, who knows where I'd be. When the two weeks were up, I reached out to a friend I had only met once. He let me rent a room. It turned out he was a pimp and a drug dealer. I ended up in a polyamorous relationship with him and his girlfriend because he wanted to sleep with me behind her back, but something had changed in me, and I wouldn't let him. So, I jumped into the relationship to protect her. She never truly wanted it but agreed to keep him. It was there that I encountered heroin for the first time. It scared me because I didn't know it was in the drugs until after the fact. I started smoking methamphetamines and snorting cocaine again. I even considered selling drugs and myself. But my desire to do better outweighed the desire to succumb to a life like that.
That day in the hotel, April 4th, something profoundly shifted within me. I waited until I got my next paycheck, gathered my things, left that house, and never looked back. I called a sober living house in Cincinnati. I gave my two weeks' notice at work and bought a one-way Greyhound ticket.
I am now 28 days sober. I have no doubt that I have fundamentally changed. The noise and heartache that plagued me my entire life are gone. I know who I am, and I speak up for myself. I love myself now. I no longer feel the need to settle. I have dreams and aspirations. I understand the power of each moment to get to the next, without fear.
This is not all of my story, but it gives a pretty good over view. My life has ultimately been very very difficult in that there was no time I can remember where it was easy. I spent most of it feeling alone and misunderstood. I never received counseling and rarely took care of myself in any substantial way. But, I'm grateful to be alive a much better. I have big dreams and a lot of hope.