The Tides Are Turning

A guest post from Makita Schichtel, a parent in our community, shared with her permission. Her words are her own.

Remember the drug initiative of 1982, with Nancy Reagan's short-sighted slogan, "Just Say No"? The message behind those words was clear: Drugs are a choice. Choose better. That message placed the shame of addiction squarely on the individual.

Now we know better — or at least, we are beginning to understand addiction as a disease.

I have hope today that our country is finally grounding its efforts in a stronger principle. Our government is addressing addiction on a larger scale. Recently, I listened to testimony before the Senate supporting the Fend Off Fentanyl Act, delivered by Jelly Roll, a country music artist and former addict. It brought me to tears. He compared the number of people who die from overdoses each day — many from fentanyl — to the number of passengers on a Boeing 747. His point was powerful: if a plane carrying that many people crashed every day, the nation would be outraged. But because these deaths involve drugs, we often respond by shaming the victims instead of helping them.

He shared the story of a friend who was prescribed a pain pill after an accident — something meant to help — but quickly spiraled into addiction.

This is my son's story.

After breaking his arm in high school, he was prescribed hydrocodone. That single prescription altered the course of his life. He struggled with addiction for the next thirty years. Some people develop addiction gradually; for Brady, it was immediate and intense. His ability to make a choice was quickly overridden.

In addition to the Fend Off Fentanyl Act, a new Executive Order — the Great American Recovery Initiative — seeks to bring together federal agencies, law enforcement, housing, labor, and community resources to restore lives. I heard a powerful speech by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., lead for the initiative, Secretary of Health and Human Services and a former heroin addict. He said: "Addiction is not a moral failure; it is a disease. It's chronic, it's treatable, and for too long our country has responded with fragmentation, stigma, and silence instead of science, compassion, and coordination."

The word silence stopped me.

I began to see what I had done wrong.

For too long, I believed the same message that Mrs. Reagan spoke — that addiction was a moral failure, the result of bad choices my son continued to make. By the time I understood it as a disease, our lives had already spiraled out of control. And it was our life — addiction pulls everyone into its orbit.

We lived in a revolving door of detox centers, rehabilitation facilities, jail, homelessness, emergency room visits, and long-term hospitalizations.

And still, I focused only on the immediate crisis.

I was afraid that if I named addiction for what it was — if I spoke openly about it with my son or even with our family — I would somehow make it worse. I feared it would bring him shame, make it more real, more permanent.

I could not have been more wrong.

The truth is, by downplaying the obvious, I was inadvertently shaming. I was minimizing the war he was fighting for his life and his soul. He was dealing with an existential crisis while I was mopping up the messes.

What might have changed if I had been his advocate from the beginning? If I had openly acknowledged the addiction, encouraged honest conversation about his fears and struggles, and worked to educate our family, church, and community?

We, as parents, are on the front lines — and too often, we are not even fighting. Sometimes, we unintentionally become part of the problem. How can we expect neighbors, friends, or fellow church members to respond with compassion if we are too ashamed to speak openly ourselves?

Our silence fuels the stigma.

What message are our children receiving when we hide from the truth? Judgment? Embarrassment? Unworthiness? Isolation?

Silence and denial are costing lives.

This is a call to action for every parent who recognizes the warning signs in their child. I did not understand these truths until it was too late — but you are here now, learning, and there is still time. Some of you are recognizing this disease in its early stages. That matters. You can make a difference.

Each week, we gather as a support group — with people we trust — where we share openly and honestly. But then we table the topic until the following week, to talk to the same people. This is not passive information. What we learn needs space to breathe.

Talk to your child — even if they are not currently using. Addiction is often a lifelong struggle. Ask questions. Listen. Invite them to share their story, their fears, and what support looks like to them.

And beyond your family, speak to others. If privacy is important, you can speak generally — about a "family member" or "friend" — but speak nonetheless. Start conversations with those around you: neighbors, coworkers, fellow church members — even the familiar faces you see in everyday places.

We all carry influence.

Use it.

Addiction is a disease — one that is treatable. And lives can be saved when we replace silence with understanding.

The spotlight on this issue is brighter than ever. Voices like Jelly Roll, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., our local advocate Mike Land, and advocates across the country are creating momentum. They are the pebbles thrown into the water.

We are the ripples.

And together, we can change the tide.