The Trailer Park Redemption

My journey from rock bottom to recovery

Photo by Daniel Salcius on Unsplash

It took me about two weeks to realize I had moved in with a mama’s boy.

Dennis and I met in AA. Our relationship was something people privately called the thirteenth step, dating people you meet in recovery. It was normally frowned upon in the rooms, but everybody seemed to be doing it. Dennis and I dated for a few months while I lived in a halfway house, which was also not a good idea. As the bad-decision trifecta, we decided to move in together.

Dennis wanted me to fold his underwear the way his mother did. I was deemed not capable of doing the laundry when I failed, so his took it all to his mother’s house. Lucky for him, she lived right next door. He also thought sex was dirty and was jaw-droppingly bad at it, something I had hoped would change over time but never did.

Dennis had been a pretty good boyfriend, but living with him left a lot to be desired. After a while, we were barely talking to each other. On my days off, he would have his parents watch me to make sure I didn’t go anywhere and expected that I’d spend the whole time cleaning the house.

One night, Dennis went to an AA meeting by himself and broke up with me via text. I was in shock, but I pretended it was fine and texted back that I would move out within the week. As it turned out, Dennis was under the impression that I was going to continue to live with him and split the rent after dumping me.

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I had nowhere to go and no transportation. My previous car had been impounded after I couldn’t afford to pay for my registration and got caught driving. Despite our breakup, Dennis kept driving me to work so I wouldn’t get fired. I suspected it was probably because he thought he could talk me into giving him money. Those rides were long, awkward trips in complete silence, our anger at each other bubbling below the surface.

I didn’t dare show up at AA meetings where everyone seemed to know about our breakup. My coworker, Anne, offered to let me stay with her, but I didn’t want to be a burden. Along with that, I had entered a self-destructive phase where I didn’t want to accept help from anybody. The thought of crawling back to the halfway house was too embarrassing.

I decided to stay in a motel that was on the bus line so I could get to work every day. It was the nastiest place I’d ever seen, and I felt like I was in danger every second I was there. I piled my clothes, shoes and makeup on the bed, afraid to use it to let my guard down and sleep.

In tears over my situation, I vented on Facebook and wrote that I was ready to give up. Friends reached out in comments, but I refused to take their help. I was alone and angry at the world.

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After spending the night in the motel, I woke up to somebody knocking on my door. It was a young, scruffy guy asking me if I wanted him to get pills for me. I was a recovering addict, but I almost hated myself enough to say yes. However, I quickly came to my senses and told him no thank you.

I was in real trouble, and I realized that things were going to stay that way unless I accepted some kind of help. I called Anne from work and said that if her offer was still good, I’d like to come and stay with her. Thankfully, she said yes.

I stayed in my room with the door locked until she got there. The two of us quickly loaded my stuff in her car, and I didn’t look back once as she drove away. As I was telling Anne how grateful I was, she had a serious look on her face.

“Nobody at work knows how or where I live,” she warned me. “The way I conduct myself is nobody’s business.”

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I was so desperate that I didn’t care if she lived in a cardboard box as long as we were safe. I promised not to tell anybody anything, and that seemed to make her happy. We agreed that I would pay her rent every month as long as I lived with her.

Before long, Anne drove into her neighborhood, which was a trailer park. I didn’t think anything of it. I remembered being a young girl and living in a trailer with my parents for a few years, and it didn’t seem any different than a house to me. Then again, when I met my ex-husband, Micah, he’d been living in a trailer park, and marrying him was the worst decision I had ever made.

I followed Anne up the front steps and inside her home. It only took a second to realize she was a hoarder. She had dozens of boxes piled up to the ceiling. There was a couch, but it didn’t seem like it had much room left to sit on. She had a tiny kitchen in the corner and a small bathroom with a sliding wooden door that didn’t lock.

Anne told me I could have the master bedroom since she usually slept on the couch in front of the TV. Her adult daughter occupied a second bedroom that she barely seemed to fit in. Just like the living room, boxes were everywhere. However, the bed was a decent size, and I made a path to get to it from the bedroom door. I barely unpacked any of my stuff. There was simply no room for it except for my makeup case and a few outfits for work.

“Oh,” Anne called out. “I forgot to mention that we have had a flying termite problem that I can’t seem to fix.”

I smiled at her. Even with everything I had seen in the trailer, I was unbelievably grateful to have a safe place to lay my head. Anne mentioned that I could come out and watch TV with her that night, but I was so exhausted that I went right to sleep. I woke up the next morning with dead termites all over my bed.

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Something had to change in my life. I couldn’t keep bouncing from place to place. I was always broke a few days after I got my paycheck. Before I lived with Dennis, I finally was able to break away from my abusive ex-husband, but he found out my new number. I knew he was out there waiting for me to get lonely and desperate and come back to him.

I’d been sober for nine months, but it felt so precarious. There was no foundation holding me up, and my inner strength was nonexistent. After all the time I spent going to AA, I never truly learned how to live a sober life. People thought I was crazy because I never stayed in one place for long and never stopped having drama in my life. I couldn’t argue with that.

I knew if I didn’t do something different, I’d end up right back in hell again when I finally left Anne’s trailer.

When I made the decision to change, I stripped down everything in my life to the basics. I ate and slept and went to work every weekday. I spent weekends in my bedroom working on a financial budget for the first time in my life. I stopped sharing my life on Facebook to get attention and instead only talked with a few close friends. I read books, something I’d been unable to do for years because my life was always so chaotic.

When my ex-husband called, I told him that I was never going back to him. Micah tried to manipulate me, using my current situation as proof that I needed him, but I swore we would never be under the same roof again. After that, I stopped taking his calls altogether. I told myself I was done with romantic relationships for the foreseeable future. My recovery was too important.

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I don’t know if Anne noticed any difference in me because I barely ever left the bedroom. I felt bad for not spending time with her, but I had serious work to do. I never wanted to be dependent on anyone else again. There was a big difference between asking for help all the time and being a true friend who gives back. It was one of many things I had to learn.

I felt like a newborn baby, fragile and weak, but over time I got stronger. I learned to forgive the people I said I hated and tried to let go of the past instead of wallowing in it. My goal was to be a different person by the time I got my own place because the old Glenna never seemed to work for me. I’d been selfish and uncaring to practically everyone, using them for what I needed rather than cherishing their place in my life.

My time in Anne’s trailer came to an end when I saw an ad looking for a roommate. When I called, the owner told me she lived in a safe neighborhood, which I was already familiar with because I lived in the area before I met Micah. The lady sounded very kind on the phone and said I could move in as soon as I wanted. I had some money saved by then, so I was able to give her first month’s rent and a security deposit. She also said there was a bus stop right across the street so I could get to work.

When I told Anne about the new place, I thanked her for letting me stay with her and get things worked out. No matter what the living conditions were, she was a big part of what saved my life, and I’d be grateful to her forever. She told me she was proud of me as I hugged her goodbye.

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It was the beginning of what I jokingly called “Glenna 2.0.” I continued to do all the things I promised myself when I lived in the trailer. I became a better friend. I made a point of helping others even though I didn’t have much for myself. My budget remained intact, and I didn’t feel like drinking or using drugs for the first time in ages. I also filed for divorce from Micah.

When I look back on my time in Anne’s trailer, I see it as a pivotal point of personal growth. Living there helped me to count on myself in a way I never had before. It was a time where I was completely alone and not in the usual bad relationship. The more I accomplished, the prouder I was. I promised myself that if I ever met somebody special, I’d come to them as an equal and hold on to the independence I had gained.

Best of all, I started to make good decisions instead of just letting life happen to me. I tried to do the “next right thing” in every situation. I credit it all to the time I spent in the trailer making plans for a workable life. No matter what Anne’s place looked like, it was the right place for me at the exact right time, termites and all. My time there allowed me to build a foundation for myself that I depend on to this day.

Best of all, I began to like myself again, something I never thought would happen. I still feel that way today.