“Oh, my God, I did this” — For New Mexico mom, recovery opens door to life even more promising than before addiction
A Q&A with Liliana Spurgeon
This Q&A, facilitated by Jeremiah Gardner of the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation, was originally published for Hazelden Betty Ford’s monthly Recovery Advocacy Update. If you’d like to receive our advocacy emails, subscribe today.
Life has been full of challenges for Lily Spurgeon. In 1979, her family migrated from Cuidad Juarez, Mexico, to Albuquerque, where she eventually had to learn a new language and adapt to a new place and culture. Later, she learned she had the autoimmune disease Lupus. Then, as a result of the aggressive treatments, she needed knee replacement surgery, which introduced her to opioid pain medications at the height of the prescription-pill phase of America’s opioid crisis. While battling opioid use disorder and trying to raise two kids, Lily lost her 34-year-old husband to sepsis. Only five months later, her father passed away.
She was about as defeated as one can imagine. Yet, several years later — with the help of the Betty Ford Center and an extended circle of support — she is in sustained recovery from addiction, coping with her grief in healthy ways, and a proud alum of the University of New Mexico, which profiled her as a 2023 Inspiring Graduate. “Every time I see that cap and gown … I’m like: ‘Oh, my God, I did this,” she said. With a dual degree in psychology and Spanish, she is now working as a Certified Peer Support Worker and running her own consulting company, Bilingual Hearts, with plans to help many others access help and recovery just as she did. Life in recovery, she says, is even better than life before addiction — a powerful statement we were happy to unpack with her.
Q: What does recovery look like for you day-to-day, and how is your existence today enriched beyond what it was even prior to developing addiction?
Almost seven years into recovery, my life looks so different from when I was in active addiction. Today, I’m an advocate for those who have historically been forgotten in recovery spaces. I recently graduated from the University of New Mexico so I’m transitioning from being a student to now working full-time as an advocate in different ways. Being of service to others and uplifting others is what makes my recovery so enriched.
While in active addiction, I couldn’t see other’s needs — only my own and my kids’. My life revolved around making sure I had my pills. Today, I can see the injustices in the world and feel like I can make a difference.
Q: What does it mean for you to share your recovery with others?
Sharing my recovery allows others to connect with someone who looks like them and may have had a similar experience as a first-generation Latina. As a Mexican American who had to find my own recovery identify in a space that many Latinx community members are not represented, I know how important representation is. I’ve had to deconstruct my assimilation and acculturation to understand what I want and need my recovery to be. There have been times where I didn’t feel like I belonged because I didn’t see others that looked like me.
When I was at the Betty Ford Center, I met a wonderful woman, Rosa, who was one of the cleaning ladies. I remember meeting her and asking several questions in Spanish. From that day forward, we’d chat about our lives, including where our families were from. She even asked me why I was there. I told her about losing my husband and my pill addiction. That was the first time I shared that with someone outside my family who I felt would understand me culturally. Moments like those are why I share my story so openly.
Q: What would you like more people to understand about recovery?
Recovery is a blank slate. It isn’t just about getting sober or finishing treatment. That’s the beginning. Once the substances are removed, our mind isn’t as cluttered and we’re able to develop a self-awareness that wasn’t there before.
I’ve heard people say they’re afraid of recovery, of stopping the substances, because life is scary and overwhelming. My father-in-law, who lovingly encouraged me to go into treatment, used to tell me, “How do you eat an elephant? … One bite at a time!” That’s life in recovery.
I’ve also heard: “Life gets really boring in recovery. What am I supposed to do when I go out?” HA! My life in recovery is so much fun. I have genuine joy every single day of life because I choose to be present. To have a different life, we have to make different decisions. I have a wonderful relationship with my boyfriend because I chose a partner that was also willing to grow as a person and as a partner.
Q: What are your hopes and dreams as it relates to your professional work?
So much of my work revolves around sharing my story and creating spaces for those who are not part of the majority. At Bilingual Hearts, we advocate for language equality and language justice. I think about monolingual Spanish speakers and their need to for recovery spaces in their language and their culture. Many in the Latinx community have suffered through major life experiences that tend to be minimized because we’re afraid of others judgment. When others are willing be authentic and open with their stories, it validates and allows for others to feel safe in sharing their experiences.
Currently, the work of Bilingual Hearts is to create disruption of the status quo and bring awareness of how communities are underserved. Folks are experiencing so much trauma yet our approach to substance use is often not culturally appropriate in acknowledging the values of our communities.
How do providers know what is culturally appropriate? By hiring cultural brokers like Bilingual Hearts. My business partner and I have a dual relationship with our Mexican roots and the American culture. We want to help our community become more open to substance use treatment while not adding to the stigma.
Q: What should we do as a society to help more people establish and sustain recovery?
As a society, we need to recognize that some people are using alcohol and substances as a way to disassociate because we’re tired. We’re tired from capitalism, from a culture where burnout is celebrated. When we can’t change the systems and the environment around us, we change ourselves by taking substances. Some people don’t develop addictions, but with the growing number of people who have substance use disorders, it’s evident that we’re falling short as a society.
Once I learned about systematic inequalities, I was able to see the root of why we, as individuals, will find ways to disconnect from the world and ourselves. From that point of view, I now see my recovery as a form of rebellion, as a way to stay present in my life and be aware of the world around me.
Recovery structures right now focus on the individual and not on how we have failed as a collective in taking care of each other. To me, it should be the other way around. As a collective, as a community, what can we all do to help individuals find their way into recovery? So much of my work is focused on shifting to that perspective. This view can be applied to other aspects like the family unit. If we want to have dinner every night as a family, what can we do individually to make that happen? We take turns making dinner. We don’t leave the burden of dinner to one member of the family; instead, we take turns. That is also how we can sustain recovery — together.
