Sobriety
A former drug and alcohol addict, this one word has turned around Sheree Fournet's life and given her reason to be thankful this year — and every day.

Story by AMANDA BEDGOOD
Photos by DAWN EARLES

* * *

 Sheree Fournet is living, breathing proof it's never too late to start again. Proof that, despite the darkest of hours, there is light on the other side.
 Sheree Fournet has a disease. And like most diseases that wreak havoc on the body and rob life of joy, Sheree's is completely unseen.
 There's no evidence of that disease in her piercing blue eyes and warm laugh. But, it's something she knew could kill her just three years ago. And she struggles every day to stay in remission from the addiction that could have taken her life.
 "It's important to know you never overcome addiction," she says frankly. "Addiction is a disease."
Each day Sheree struggles to make sure the symptoms don't surface.
 At age 34, Sheree has seen a lifetime of pain beyond her years. Some inflicted by others, some she did to herself after years of abusing drugs. And she's still paying for some.
 There has been a lifetime of ups and downs for Sheree from a rocky home life and a failed marriage to a bright new career and education. In the midst of it all, no matter how dark things were, Sheree always knew she'd come through it all.
 Three years ago she finally made good on that instinct. Three years ago Sheree's life changed.
"My life was hanging over my head," she says. "I knew if I kept doing it (using), I was going to die."
 What she's referring to is excessive drinking and drugs. After losing everything — her house, her job, custody of two children — Sheree learned she was pregnant with her fiancé Jesse's child.
She knew this time had to be different.
 "I always knew that wasn't the life for me, that I would get out," Sheree says.
 But, it took years and a lot of heartache to get there.

* * *

 Sheree started experimenting with drinking and drugs as early as her teen years. In retrospect, she sees it was a way to fit in.
 "I always felt like an outcast," she says. "But, I don't think I ever dug deep enough into that to know why. "
The cruelty of children who mocked her because of a mole on her cheek, which turned out to be a tumor, left her on the outside as a little girl.
 "I never recovered from feeling like I was out of place and I hung out with other kids who felt out of a place, and they were into drugs and alcohol."
 By 16 years old, Sheree's life had spiraled out of controlled. By the time she was in her early 20s, Sheree had one ex-husband, two children and little else. When her husband left, she had nothing. No job. No education. No diapers for the baby. Things looked bleak.
 She worked and family members took care of her children. But, she soon found old habits hard to fight as she worked nights tending bar.
 "Nothing good comes from a bar room," Sheree says with a laugh. But, then she gets serious.
 "I was trying to get back on my feet, and I ended up partying."
 Sheree's personality is totally up front. There's no hiding her past or pretending with Sheree. She's quick to laugh and quick to get serious about the demons of addiction.
 "I look back on that portion of my life, and it's a big blur," she says.
 It wasn't long before Sheree lost it all. The kids, her home. Everything.
 She had surrounded herself with fellow users, and her life became a rollercoaster of addiction. Her behavior landed her in jail and she was forced to complete a substance abuse program for the first time.

* * *

 "I became a productive member of society," she says. "But I was still drinking."
 And it wasn't long before tragedy would strike again, and Sheree fell hard. Her best friend, Steven Patrick Doll, died at the age of 37 from a massive heart attack.
 Looking back Sheree sees that, even though she left the drugs behind, she never pulled herself completely away from the people who used. And she never quit drinking.
 When tragedy struck she was still around those same influences, and she says simply that she "crumbled."
 "I can't describe the pain," she says. "All I can say is that it was devastating."
 It was a pain that led to incessant worry. She worried about anything and everything that might happen to the other people in her life she cared about.
 "If it fell into the realm of possibility, I would worry about it," she says. "I spent years like that, worrying that something would happen to someone."
In 2005, everything changed.

* * *

 Sabian is my chance to do things right," Sheree says of her little boy.
 When Sheree learned she would be having a baby, she knew things had to be different. She got into counseling to learn how to be a better mom, and she went back to school to get her associate's degree in business.
 Years of feeling she couldn't do anything more, wasn't worth anything more, began to melt away when she realized she could do more. She could change. She was capable. She began to realize the idea that she was simply "no good" just wasn't accurate.
 And while the years of beating herself up and believing no one believed in her began to subside, something surprising happened. Just as the world began to see Sheree in a different way, Sheree changed the way she looked at the world.

 "Addicts and alcoholics tend to blame the world and other people for all their problems," she admits. "It's hard to get into the practice of stopping and taking accountability for your actions."
It was hard to separate herself from chaotic people. Hard to go back to school after she swore never to return. Hard to believe she could be a good mother. And hard to take the initiative to join Narcotics Anonymous.
 "I bashed myself. I thought I couldn't do it," she says. "I said I'd never go back to school. I hate it and I can't do it."
 Counseling and learning some hard life lessons taught Sheree she could do the things she had convinced herself were impossible.
 "As long as I told myself I can't do it, of course I couldn't," she says. "It took three or four years for me to convince myself to go back to school. I learned to talk to myself differently."
 Soon she found herself saying, "It's only two years of business school; I can do it."
And she did.
 "The two years went by so quickly, in fact, I've thought about going back again," she says. "It's never too late. It's never too late for a woman to go back. It opened so many doors for me."
 She has a good job with good people, she says. She's working for Mo Hannie and Paul Beaullieu at Keller Williams as an administrative assistant where she feels supported and has enough freedom to be honest about who she is.
 "They let me be me. They know what I've been through and don't judge me for it," she says. "I can be myself, and I don't have to hide anything."
 Hiding things just isn't Sheree. She's as wide open as the blue eyes she inherited from her Norwegian mother, Marta. They are a striking blue her son Sabian inherited as well.
 He's a spirited child and perhaps the cornerstone of why Sheree finally changed. And while he's the catalyst, Sheree is quick not to put the burden of her sobriety on his head.
 "I did it for Sabian and my family, but I did it for me," she says. "I can't say I did it for just one person. I wanted to be here for Sabian. I didn't want him to see me go through the things my other kids saw."
 Tears well up in her eyes just talking about how Sabian makes her feel.
 The absolute joy of hearing him call her name and the expression on his face when she picks him up after work each day.
 And it's pretty likely the tears are also evidence of the loss she feels from the separation from her daughter. She and oldest child, Dylan, have a relationship, although he doesn't live with her. But she hasn't seen her only daughter, Ila, in five years.
" I take full responsibility," she says bluntly. "If I hadn't made mistakes, things would be different."
 Sheree's greatest wish is to have a relationship with Ila and a better one with Dylan.
 Making things different is a daily choice, Sheree says. It starts with a new perspective on the world.
 "Drinking and drugging was a part of my life, and I knew it to be a good time and didn't know any better," she says. "I just thought that was a good time and, for years, thought it was the only way to have a good time."
This year she's looking forward to sober holidays. She has her own house, and she and Jesse plan to eventually get married. Then she'll be under one roof with Jesse, his son, Ariya, and Sabian.
 "I want to give Sabian what it's too late to give to my first two. Something I never had, the love of both parents, under the same roof, as a complete unit."
 Despite everything that's happened, Sheree's fiancé Jesse has been there. And there have been some dark days.
 Sheree always knew those dark days would pass. She says even at the lowest points, she knew she would get out. She knew she would get clean. She knew it wasn't the life for her.
T he life she now has is on the upward slope. She's in that in-between phase that so many people find themselves in.  She's independent, makes a good living, but still can't afford things like healthcare.
 On the day we talked to Sheree, she was waiting at UMC to have her blood drawn and, by the time you read this, she will have undergone surgery for fibroid tumors. She doesn't say one negative thing about the surgery. She's thankful the Lafayette Community Healthcare Clinic exists to provide care for people like herself, the working uninsured.
 In Sheree's career, she's also kind of in the in-between. She recently passed the state exam to become a licensed real estate agent and is waiting to use her real estate license when the market comes back to life.
 Sheree doesn't dwell on any of that. She's thankful and proud to be where she is, and she's ready to have another sober Thanksgiving with her family.
 "The love I have for my family, it's so much more important than anything else."

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