Jun 26

Jun 26 Losing Her, Finding Us by Janelle Martin

The Night Everything Changed: A Mother's Breaking Point

When I got home, I went straight to Regan’s room. I knew I would find her there. She was sitting on her bed, expressionless, as if waiting for me to hand down a punishment she’d already accepted. I didn’t say much at first. My voice was flat but steady.

“If I drug-tested you right now, would you pass?”

She looked up at me—no anger, no fear—and said simply, “No.”

That single word hit me like a knife to the heart.

There were no excuses. No deflection. Just an admission, quiet and emotionless. She wasn’t hiding anymore. She was just... gone.

I swallowed hard, willing myself not to cry. “I told you before that you can’t do drugs and live here. I can’t have it around me. It’s illegal.”

Still, she stared at me. Blank. Empty. My daughter—the bright, silly, tender girl I had raised—had become a stranger. A shell.

I told her she had to stop. And she told me she wouldn’t.

Not in anger. Not in defiance. Just as a statement of fact, like she was telling me it was going to rain tomorrow. “I don’t want to stop,” she said. “I’m not going to.”

That was the moment. The one I hope no parent ever finds themselves in. The moment you realize that no amount of love, lectures, rules, or second chances can pull your child back from a choice they’ve already made.

What I did next surprised both of us.

I reached for my phone and dialed her dad’s number. We hadn’t spoken in a long time, but I hit the speakerphone and set it between us. When he answered, I told him—briefly and shakily—that Regan had been caught using drugs, that she was out all night, and that she’d just told me she had no intention of stopping.

I told him that on Monday, when she gets on the plane to visit him, she would not be returning home.

There was a pause. Then a stunned “Okay.”

I hung up.

Regan didn’t say anything. She just looked at me, still emotionless, while my insides were unraveling. I tried to hold it together, tried to keep my voice calm as I told her to start packing what she could take on the plane. I reminded her about Sofi, her dog, and how we’d figure out arrangements for her later.

Maybe she nodded. Maybe she didn’t. I honestly don’t remember.

I just remember the ache in my chest. The grief already starting to settle.

I thanked her—sarcastically—for ruining our anniversary trip, the one I had so looked forward to. But we were going anyway. Not because we still wanted to, but because if we didn’t go, we might collapse under the weight of it all.

I walked out of her room numb, talking to my husband, Tim, in a fog. A million thoughts churned in my head like a tape on loop:
Did I do the right thing? Why doesn’t she want to stop? Will I ever see her again? Will getting her away from her friends help? What about school? Am I even capable of enjoying anything anymore? What if she’s gone when we get back? What have I done?

There were no answers. Just fear. And heartbreak. And silence.

That was the night everything changed.

It would be a long time before I understood that “letting go” of your child doesn’t mean giving up. It means surrendering what you can’t control. It means trusting God to hold them when you no longer can. It means loving them from a distance when loving them up close is too tangled in pain and danger.

That night, I lost the illusion that I could save my daughter with sheer will. But what I gained—eventually—was a different kind of strength. The kind that takes root in the middle of heartbreak. The kind that grows in the silence. The kind that whispers, Just hold on a little longer.

If you’re a parent facing a similar crossroads, I want you to know: you are not alone. Your love matters, even when it doesn’t look like it’s enough. Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do for our children is to step back... and never stop hoping they’ll find their way home.

About Janelle

Dr. Janelle Martin is a licensed counselor, certified IASIS MicroCurrent Neurofeedback provider, and a doctor of functional medicine. She is the founder of The Mind Connection, a holistic mental health practice based in Houston, Texas, where she helps clients heal from trauma, addiction, and emotional dysregulation using an integrative mind-body approach. Janelle is also the author of Losing Her, Finding Us, a powerful memoir chronicling her daughter’s battle with addiction and their family’s journey to healing. With deep empathy and hard-earned wisdom, Janelle now advocates for families navigating similar paths, offering practical support and hope. Her work combines clinical expertise with personal experience to meet others in their pain and walk with them toward recovery.