Shiprock Chapter, NM
Growing up, my life was filled with instability, overcrowding, and emotional pain. I lived with my grandmother because both of my parents struggled with alcoholism and were not consistently present in my life. My grandmother’s small three-bedroom house was packed with family members trying to survive under one roof. Some slept in bedrooms, others in the living room. My sisters and I shared a room with my grandmother because there was nowhere else for us to go.
Even though my grandmother gave us a place to stay, life was hard. I constantly felt poor and overlooked. Most of my clothes were hand-me-downs from cousins or cheap clothes from flea markets. Even when schools offered free clothes or supplies, I felt embarrassed accepting them because I already felt different from everyone else.
Alcohol was everywhere around me growing up. There were arguments, police visits, chaos, and emotional pain inside the home. As a child, I never really felt safe or emotionally supported. Looking back now, I realize love felt missing from much of my childhood. I carried loneliness and trauma for years but kept it hidden because I was afraid of being judged.
School became more of an escape than a place of support. Spending time with friends, going to parties, and being away from home gave me moments where I could forget what I was feeling inside.
Because addiction was normalized around me, I eventually turned to alcohol and drugs myself. At the time, substances felt like a way to numb everything I had been carrying since childhood. For a while, it gave me temporary comfort and escape, but deep down I was struggling with abandonment, hurt, and emptiness.
As an adult, my addiction became more severe and eventually reached a breaking point. While living in Phoenix, I stayed in terrible living conditions while trying to detox. I remember cockroaches falling from the ceiling, children crying constantly, and feeling physically sick, emotionally exhausted, and completely hopeless.
I started calling treatment centers begging for help. Through tears, I told people I was suicidal and afraid I would die if nobody helped me. But everywhere I called, I was turned away. Some places told me the waiting list was over a year long. Others said they were full.
That was one of the lowest moments of my life.
Eventually, after being kicked out and feeling completely lost, I reached out to my father. Through him, I was connected with Dennis Banks, who was organizing a spiritual walk from Alcatraz to Washington, D.C. Meeting him changed my life.
For the first time in a long time, someone saw me as more than my addiction.
He spoke to me with compassion and understanding. He taught me about Native identity, healing, history, and reconnecting with culture. Instead of making me feel broken, he reminded me I still had value and purpose.
I joined the spiritual journey beginning in Bernalillo and walked all the way to Washington, D.C. During that time, I disconnected myself from the people and environments tied to my addiction. I even turned off my phone so I could focus completely on healing.
Through prayer, ceremony, walking, and community, I slowly began rebuilding myself emotionally and spiritually.
Since 2016, I have remained sober.
Coming home was not easy because people from my past tried pulling me back into old habits. Friends reached out wanting me to drink and use again, but I knew I could not go back. I had worked too hard to heal.
Today, I believe culture can play a major role in healing Native communities. Sweat lodges, prayer, elders, singing, dancing, beadwork, and drum-making all help reconnect people to who they are. Addiction makes people lose their identity, their purpose, and their sense of belonging. Culture helps restore that.
It also makes me sad seeing how disconnected many younger Native people are from traditions and ceremonies. Many were never taught these teachings growing up, and because of that, they struggle to feel connected to who they are as Native people.
Even within my own family, teaching my children about ceremonies and traditions has not always been easy, but I continue trying because I believe culture is powerful medicine.
My story is one of pain, survival, resilience, and healing. It reflects the lasting effects of trauma, poverty, addiction, and lack of support, but also the strength that can come through compassion, community, and reconnecting with culture.
Through sobriety and spiritual healing, I transformed my life. And now, I carry that hope forward for the next generation.
Shayla D., Shiprock Chapter , June 2026