Ever been so burned out from helping someone else that you lost yourself completely? I have. Caregiver burnout is real, ugly, and it doesn’t just go away when the crisis is over. I wrote about what it’s really like, how codependency keeps us trapped, and what actually helps (from someone who’s lived it, not just studied it). If you’re exhausted from always being the strong one—or if you love someone who is—read this. And if it hits home, please share it. Word of mouth is everything, and you never know who might need to hear they’re not alone. https://open.substack.com/pub/progressisprogress/p/when-helping-hurts-surviving-caretaker?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

I Quit My Job Today—And It Broke Me I quit my job today. After everything, I finally hit my limit. I wish I could say it was liberating. I wish I could say I felt proud. The truth? It felt like defeat. It felt like losing a fight I’ve been in for years—the kind of fight you take on because you believe you can make things better, and then realize the rules were never fair to begin with. But let’s back up. This didn’t happen out of nowhere. The Build-Up: When “Support” Is Just a Slogan Some days, the exhaustion isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, bone-deep, and it follows you home.For months, I tried to speak up. I raised concerns about moral, direction and communication. I talked about the front desk mistakes, the burnout, the ways we were being stretched thinner and that we seemed to have no real leadership. Every time, the message was the same: I will let someone know… well, that someone finally answered, and it was “It’s your job to fix it. You’re the expert. If there’s a conflict, compromise.” They then drew a fish skeleton on the board and talked about taco pizza. There was no offer of support. No help. Just the sense that we were supposed to handle it all ourselves, while the people with the power to change things stood back and watched or told us that things don’t work that way. I tried to be vulnerable with my new Director of Substance Abuse (poor thing) and the COO—who, by the way, comes from dental, not behavioral health. Why are we working with directors and upper management with no experience in behavioral health and SUDs? I explained what was really happening, how it felt to see substance use services treated as an afterthought in an organization with dental and primary care that talks a big game about “community.” But I didn’t feel heard. I walked away with the sinking feeling that, to them, we’re all just replaceable. Fall in line, or move the fuck on. The Breaking Point: Boundaries and Ultimatums I volunteered for over a year to drive two hours out of town so clients could see someone in person. Monthly, I showed up for a community that had nobody else. But yesterday, after a meeting that left me sick to my stomach, I drew a line: I told my work I would no longer make that drive.

https://open.substack.com/pub/progressisprogress/p/dear-next-generation-20-why-lived?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web ** To read the entire post please see the above link! ** Dear Next Generation 2.0: Why Lived Experience Isn’t a Bonus—It’s the Backbone of Real Social Service Belinda (Belle) Morey Jan 08, 2026 ∙ Paid Ok, are you ready for this one? I’ve been lucky enough to wear a lot of different hats so far in this field. I’m starting my own business—Progress is Progress Recovery Coaching—working on multiple online platforms, doing the daily grind as a clinical substance abuse counselor, sitting on boards of directors for projects that actually matter in addiction recovery and mental health, and getting called in as a subject matter expert when people finally realize the textbooks aren’t enough. I’ve seen this work from just about every angle: the frontline, the boardroom, and the trenches in between. And I can say this, with no hesitation: Lived experience is not a bonus. It is not an “extra.” It is a core competency. Here’s the ugly truth that too many organizations still don’t want to hear: When decisions are made without voices who have lived the system—who have survived it, been failed by it, fought their way through it—outcomes suffer. Full stop. You can have all the “best practices” in the world, but if you don’t have people with scars and stories in the room, you’re missing the point. And you’re missing the chance to actually change anything. This isn’t a blame game. I know most people in leadership mean well. I know they want to help. But good intentions aren’t enough. You can’t fix what you don’t understand, and you damn sure can’t serve a community you don’t actually talk to—or listen to. Here’s what I see, again and again: Organizations perform better—real, measurable, sustainable results—when governance reflects the realities of the communities they claim to serve. Research backs it up. Practice proves it. The people on the ground have always known it. But we still see lived experience treated like a box to check, not a skill set to honor.

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Jul 29, 2025 Let’s be honest: nobody grows up dreaming of becoming a peer support specialist, recovery coach, or harm reduction advocate. Most of us didn’t even dream of surviving. But here we are, standing upright(ish), coffee in hand, and suddenly there’s a new conversation in the field—one that’s about us. Wisconsin’s catching up to what most of us have known for years: people with lived experience are the secret sauce in real recovery work. As of 2025, Medicaid here is rolling out new coverage for peer recovery coach services, which means agencies can finally hire people like you—and bill for your work, not just your war stories. Certified Peer Specialists in Wisconsin (yes, it’s a real title—and you get a certificate and everything) are now recognized professionals using their own histories to walk alongside people still in the trenches. There are even training programs, recertification requirements, and a growing demand for people who “get it” because they’ve actually lived it. And here’s the thing: the old-timers in the field—counselors, clinicians, folks with ten-dollar words and fancy degrees—are finally starting to get it, too. They’re seeing that a peer specialist isn’t just a “nice to have,” but a game-changer. Research shows that peer support lowers relapse rates, breaks isolation, and injects real hope into places where clinical optimism sometimes falls flat. Let’s not forget harm reduction—because not everyone is ready for “abstinence or bust” and, honestly, neither was I. Wisconsin’s got harm reduction programs distributing naloxone (Narcan), fentanyl test strips, and running syringe service programs. These are saving lives every day, and they need people who can hand out supplies without a side of shame or a lecture on “willpower”. So here’s my pitch—no, scratch that, here’s my plea. If you’re reading this and you’ve made it far enough that you can imagine giving back, even just a little, consider stepping in. The field needs recovery coaches, peer specialists, harm reduction advocates—people who can look a newcomer in the eye and say, “Yeah, I’ve been there. No, you’re not too far gone. Yes, you’re worth it.”