Tara’s Story

Early Life and Chaos at Home

Hi! My name is Tara Schlemmer, and this is my recovery story.

I grew up in a very chaotic home. At first, when my parents were together, things seemed “normal,” but after they divorced, my mom was left to raise six kids on her own. She worked two jobs and somehow kept things going. That all changed after a traumatic event happened in our home. Out of fear for our safety, my mom stopped working. Without her income, we moved constantly, sometimes went without electricity or water, and I spent much of my childhood in survival mode, never sure if we would have what we needed tomorrow.

On top of that instability, drugs and alcohol were common in our household and the circles around us. As a child, you don’t think of it as unusual - it’s just life. Looking back, I truly believe that when substance use feels “acceptable” or normal in your home, it increases the chances of following the same path yourself. That environment planted seeds I didn’t even know were there.

Addiction Begins

By my teens, I was a young mother myself. I dropped out of school to work and support my daughter, and eventually moved out of my mother’s home to escape the chaos. I felt grown-up but also robbed of my teenage years. I still tried to do everything - work, school, parenting - but the stress built up. Like many teens, I experimented with alcohol and marijuana, but only occasionally. The real turning point came when a coworker introduced me to pain pills. By nineteen, a doctor was prescribing me heavy opiates. Because they came from a doctor, I told myself I didn’t have a problem.

For a while I could still function: take care of my child, pay the bills, keep my home. But over time, priorities slipped. Bills went unpaid. My license was suspended for driving without insurance. I got arrested for driving while suspended, but was still in denial because everything was “prescribed.”

Losing Everything

Eventually, my addiction progressed to illegal drugs. I lost my job, my car, my home, and my daughter went to live with her father. Feeling desperate, I enrolled in a methadone program to try to stabilize. At first, it worked. I stopped chasing pills. I was going to the clinic every day, staying away from old friends, and for a short while, life looked “normal” again. During that time, I had another child. I got my own place again and felt like maybe, finally, I was turning a corner.

But because I didn’t have counseling, meetings, or real tools, the program became only a band-aid. The same wounds and habits stayed underneath, and slowly I began using again - this time on top of methadone. All I had rebuilt fell apart almost overnight. Bills piled up, my home became unstable, and I felt more trapped than ever. In that dark, chaotic period, I remember sitting alone one night, quietly pleading with my Higher Power: “I’m tired. Please help me stop.” Not long after that prayer, I was arrested on a felony charge. At the time, it felt like the end, but it was just the beginning of my recovery journey - even though I didn’t know it yet.

Incarceration and Real Change

There were no medications in jail, just withdrawal and reality. It was one of the hardest experiences of my life, but also one of the most necessary. My family, instead of bailing me out, hired an attorney and let me sit. That tough love gave me the chance to finally start over.

Over time, I began to feel like myself again, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in years. My emotions started returning, my connection with my Higher Power was renewed, and I began to rebuild that relationship. Although I was in what most people would call a horrific place, I found peace and happiness I hadn’t felt in a long time.

When I was eventually sentenced, the judge placed me on purposeful incarceration, a form of sentencing that allows your time to be reduced if you complete certain programs. He told me, “Make the most of your time. Complete the programs, and I will bring you back home sooner than your original sentence.” At the time, it felt like a challenge, but it also gave me hope and direction.

Growth, Tools, and Rebuilding

In prison, I entered a therapeutic community program. For the first time in my life, I was able to truly understand addiction, trauma, and my own patterns. For eighteen months, I immersed myself in the program every single day. I earned my high school diploma, took college courses, went to cosmetology school. Anything I could do to better myself, I did. Through it all, I continued to strengthen and rebuild my relationship with my Higher Power.

But even while doing everything “right” inside, life on the outside was still moving. One of the most painful parts of my journey was the battle over custody for my son. At that time, he was in the DCS system. My deepest motivation and goal was to complete treatment, earn modification, and bring him home. I did everything I could, and my lawyer filed for modification, but the judge denied it. This was a true test in my recovery journey.

Facing the Hardest Decision

That moment crushed me. I knew that every month he stayed in the system increased the risk of losing him completely. I was faced with a choice: keep fighting from inside while he remained in limbo, or sign over my rights so he could be adopted by a family who wanted him and was able to give him the stability he so desperately needed. Signing those papers was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

The temptation to use was overwhelming. I wanted to numb the grief so badly. I remember thinking, “Just one time, just to get through the night.” But then I pictured my son and also my daughter, the future I wanted, and all the work I’d done. I prayed, played the entire scenario through, and made the decision NOT to use. Two days later, I was called for a random drug test, a test that determined whether I’d qualify for work release. If I had relapsed, that door would have closed. But because I stayed clean, a new door opened. That was a turning point: I learned that choosing recovery in my hardest moments actually built the future I was praying for.

Returning to Life and Recovery

Work release taught me how to live responsibly again: saving money, showing up for work, building a routine, and learning to be part of society. After that came house arrest. During that time, I swallowed my pride and accepted help from my younger sister and her new husband. Living with them was awkward at first. I worried I was a burden. But they welcomed me. They gave me space, guidance, and accountability. That support helped me heal our relationship and showed me that even grown adults sometimes need a hand to get back on their feet. Accepting help doesn’t make you weak - it’s part of recovery.

My first jobs back were humbling experiences: waitressing, factory, and upholstery. They weren’t glamorous and they didn’t pay much, but they gave me humility, structure, and a reason to get up each day. Those early jobs reminded me what honest work feels like, helped rebuild my self-respect, and showed me I could support myself without hustling or cutting corners.

A New Purpose

Around the time I returned home, I heard about a meeting called “A Better Life, Brianna's Hope”. I went once and loved it. I kept going every week, and it inspired me to attend other recovery meetings. This became part of my daily life, eventually leading me to volunteer. I first volunteered by just setting up tables and pamphlets, and then took a training course to become a Team Hope member. This eventually opened up the opportunity to lead the group.

Attending meetings regularly gave me a foundation; it reminded me every week where I’d come from and where I wanted to go. It also helped me build a support network of people who understood and encouraged me. Giving my time without expecting anything back gave me a sense of purpose that a paycheck alone never could.

As accountability - house arrest and probation – lifted, I kept the same habits: meetings, education, volunteering. I got back my license, a car, my own home, healthy relationships, and even full custody of my daughter. Eventually, I was introduced to Avenues and became part of the team.

At first, I was surprised they wanted me, but Avenues helped me realize I had something valuable to offer. Working at Avenues has been phenomenal. They have always pushed me to be a better version of myself and seen things in me that I sometimes couldn’t see in myself.

Life Today

Today, I work as one of the Avenues Alumni Coordinators. I have the privilege of working with both current clients and alumni who are in the position I once was in. Showing them that there is hope and that they are more than their addiction has been incredibly rewarding. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity, as the clients I work with end up helping me every single day in my own recovery.

Today I am nine years sober. My life is full. My daughter and grandchild are in my everyday life. I have another son who keeps me on my toes. I’m engaged. I still go to meetings every week, still volunteer, and still continue to set new goals to better myself each and every day. I know I can't help everyone, but if I can inspire just one person at the end of my day, it’s worth the effort.

My journey hasn’t been easy. Signing over my rights was the darkest valley I’ve walked through, but it didn’t end my story. It became the reason I fought harder. It became proof that even from heartbreak, you can build a future. No matter how far down you’ve gone, you can rebuild, heal, and create a purposeful life. The choices you make, even in your hardest moments, can shape your future in ways you never imagined.

If you are struggling, there is hope. You are worth it and deserve it. Never give up. We do recover.