I didn’t realize I was putting myself at risk, I just knew I’d have her attention. Driving there I thought “I’ll convince her she needs to stop this madness. I’ll counsel her and she’ll appreciate me. I’ll be her savior.”

Twenty years ago, I experienced several years of clinical depression that nearly buried me. My life's circumstances gripped me like a boa constrictor, squeezing my life out until I could barely breathe. I didn't know why or how I got there. I just knew my world was dark.

Talking with Kathryn Mae Inman, author of Counting Spoons, about her now sober son.

Last month I talked about patching holes of unworthiness and unmet expectations. Now I invite us to look at holes caused by grief, the third and final piece in the Patching Holes series.

Last month I talked about patching holes by numbing. Now I invite us to look at how the holes originated, knowing that each moment of self-discovery serves as a scoop of sand filling the empty space inside us.

My relationship addiction to people masked something deep inside me, it turns out, temporarily patching empty holes of unworthiness, loss and grief that lingered, unresolved.

Twenty years ago, I was a poster child for codependency. After decades of peeling back my layers, I discovered what they now call relationship attachment issues.

It’s uncomfortable to reflect on that girl, the one who desperately controlled her family and friends.

I smell a skunk.

I'm sprawled out on my fluffy peach bedspread fumbling over my algebra homework after school when I inhale something funny. I scrunch my face and sniff.

“What’s that smell?” I yell to my brother Brad. He’s in his room next to mine, supposedly working on a model airplane. But that’s not what the air smells like.