Jenn's Amor Fati StoRays: : A journey to find my "Why"

It was another freezing night in 2011, in Watford, North Dakota. The oil fracking boom was at its peak, but I was living my own nightmare inside a cramped, one-room cabin with my abuser — the “monster.” That night, his anger boiled over when he found fault with my cooking. Seething, he grabbed me and pinned me to the only chair in the cabin, a recliner, picked up the frying pan of scalding grease, and hovered it over me, threatening to pour its boiling contents onto my face.

The monster thrived on fear, and my desperate cries fed his power. But I had learned something from surviving previous attacks: keep my purse and the leash for my 150-pound Leonberger, Atlas, by the door. As soon as he released me, I grabbed Atlas and ran into the freezing night.

My 1990-something, worn SUV, parked outside from a grocery run earlier, was mercifully free of snow, though the blizzard was thickening fast. I drove out onto the highway, without a destination, only knowing I had to escape. Fear clouded my mind, but I kept driving until I found an empty RV park where I pulled over. Trespassing felt safer than staying on the road, and I kept the SUV running to keep us warm.

The gas gauge hovered near empty. I knew I couldn’t stay here long. So, after a few hours of holding Atlas close, I made a decision to return to the cabin — hoping the monster had passed out.

The highway was a ribbon of ice under the storm’s fury. Just a mile in, the SUV lost traction, sliding uncontrollably into the other lane. The lights of an oncoming semi blinded me, and I threw the wheel hard to the right. We skidded off the road and slammed into a snow-packed embankment. The front end crumpled, and one of the tires shredded. We were stranded.

The cold was unforgiving, and my mind raced through survival options. I called my insurance’s emergency line, only to be told it would take days for a tow truck to reach us. My other option — the police — carried its own dangers. Earlier that evening, I had numbed myself with alcohol, knowing what awaited me in the cabin. Though I wasn’t drunk, I was sure a DUI would be inevitable. If they arrested me, Atlas would end up back with the monster — and I knew in my soul he’d slaughter him just to break me further.

In that moment, alcohol seemed like both my savior and my prison. The monster knew I used it to cope with his abuse, and he ensured there was always enough to keep me sedated. But it also chained me to him. The more I drank to survive, the more I became trapped in his control. He had isolated me from family, ruined every job I tried to keep, and drained me of any financial stability. I felt like a prisoner in an invisible maximum-security cell, with no escape and no hope.

But I couldn’t let Atlas freeze to death. We had to move. In the distance, through the storm’s veil, I spotted the lights of a factory. A few vehicles were leaving, their headlights cutting through the night like lifelines. Our only hope was to flag one down.

With the snow knee-deep, I stumbled out of the SUV with Atlas. My tears froze on my cheeks as we trudged toward the road, waving my arms wildly. By some miracle, a driver saw us and pulled over. Taking a chance, I climbed into his truck with Atlas, hoping this stranger wouldn’t turn out to be another monster.

The man didn’t ask many questions — maybe he saw the desperation in my eyes or sensed that I carried a burden too heavy for words. When I told him where we needed to go, back to the cabin, he didn’t hesitate. As much as I feared returning, there was nowhere else for us to go. And so we went back to the prison I had just escaped, where the monster was passed out in a drug-induced haze. For that night, we were safe.

But what I didn’t understand at the time was that every drink I took, every attempt to drown the fear and pain, was slowly destroying my liver. I had no idea that I was edging toward alcohol-induced hepatitis, cirrhosis, and the brink of death. At the time, survival felt like living one moment to the next. But each moment I spent medicated came at the cost of my life.

Amor Fati — Love Your Fate:

Looking back now, I see the night of the blizzard as a turning point. Not because I found a way out that night, but because it showed me just how lost I had become. The monster wasn’t just the man in the cabin — it was the addiction, the shame, the isolation, and the belief that I was beyond saving.

It took years to escape fully — to find sobriety, to build a life without alcohol, and to finally reclaim the pieces of myself the monster had stolen. I now live free of both him and the bottle. But I carry those memories with me, not as scars, but as reminders of how far I’ve come.

For anyone reading this who feels trapped, I see you. I know the crushing weight of shame and hopelessness. But I also know that even in the darkest moments, there is a flicker of light. Sometimes, it’s a 150-pound dog named Atlas. Sometimes, it’s a stranger who stops in the snow. And sometimes, it’s the simple decision to survive one more day.

You are not alone. There is life beyond addiction. And it’s worth fighting for — even when it feels impossible.

Amor fati — Love your fate. Embrace it. Because even in the hardest moments, there is a stoRAY waiting to be told, a light waiting to shine through. And when it does, you’ll find yourself stronger than you ever thought possible.

 Sharing my journey is transformative, like shedding the heavy weight that once held me down. Every time I open up, I free myself a little more—and others too. If you believe sharing your StoRAYS could bring you healing and inspire someone else, I encourage you to take that step. Click the link below and let your light shine through your story. 

I will write more Amor Fati StoRAYS when moved to do so. If you or anyone you know is experiencing interpersonal violence, please reach out to the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1.800.799.SAFE (7233). If you have liver disease or transplant due to alcohol, or love someone that does, please join Sober Livers' HOPE (Healing Ourselves with Peers & Education) Program!