03 Mar Lauren Sisler, ESPN Sportscaster | Addiction Prevention Advocate | Inspirational Speaker

By Lauren Sisler, ESPN Sportscaster | Addiction Prevention Advocate | Inspirational Speaker

 As a sports reporter, I get the opportunity to share a lot of stories about teams, coaches, individual athletes, fans, and even entire communities. It is what I “do” as a professional, but most people are surprised when I tell them that I was once afraid to share my own story. But not anymore. The walls I built up to protect myself and to protect my family from judgment have been knocked down. Those sturdy walls of protection lay in rubble next to my feet as I finally emerged from the shadows of shame and have made it my personal mission to share my story with anyone who will listen because it could unlock someone else’s truth and even perhaps save a life. Even just one.

I’ll take you back to the beginning of my story—to the quiet suburban neighborhood that I grew up in Roanoke, Virginia. It was me, my older brother Allen, and my mom and dad, Lesley and George “Butch” Sisler. We were a happy family—and like most, always on the go. For my brother Allen it was baseball, basketball, or football practice, and for me, gymnastics. You could usually find my dad on the sidelines coaching my brother – meanwhile, my mom would be taking me to and from my practices, keeping tabs on my progress and always there to cheer me on.

Sports always ran through my blood, not only as an athlete, but as a spectator, someone always anxiously watching from the sidelines, or in most cases cozied up next to my mother and father in the living room in front of the tv. Looking back, I recall that time in my life when everything seemed just perfect, exactly as it should be.

As I continued to grow up, my gymnastics career was on the rise. By the age of ten, I had reached Level 10, nearly competing at the highest level. I was in the gym training 20-25 hours per week, commuting over an hour each way. I dedicated my life to the sport and knew the big payoff was within reach. As I transitioned from middle school into high school, I started submitting applications to colleges and seeking out interest for recruitment. A few offers started rolling in, one of which came from Rutgers—the State University of New Jersey. Rutgers was really never on my radar until I took an official visit and that was it. I knew Rutgers was the right fit for me and I soon became a proud Scarlet Knight.

I can still see the look on my parents’ faces when they helped me unpack that last box as I moved into my dorm room on campus right there in New Brunswick, NJ — it was a look of sheer joy. As we said our goodbyes and my parents walked out that door, I knew they were proud of their little girl.

It was now my second semester at Rutgers, on March 23rd. Just before bed, I called and spoke with my parents on the phone, much like every night, our conversation ending with “I love you.” I hung up the phone, set my alarm clock, said my prayers, and went to sleep until I was awakened by my phone ringing. It was just after 3 a.m. When I saw the Caller ID read HOME, I knew this wasn’t good. Both confused and afraid, I answered the phone with hesitation and was soon delivered with the devastating news that my mother had passed away. With no explanation at all, my father told me to get on the first plane I could and that he would be at the airport to pick me up. Unfortunately, he never did show up at the airport that day on March 24, 2003. Instead, my uncle Mike and my cousin Justin had to deliver more devastating news that my father, too, had passed away.

Wait, what? Not only has my mother died, but my father too?

And that would be the beginning of my new reality – living life without my parents, my two best friends, the two people that would always tuck me in at night and assure me through faith and prayer I could overcome all of life’s difficult circumstances. Both of them are gone now, forever.

As I sat there in complete shock, my mind was racing, I tried to understand what happened and how this could happen to two people who loved with all their hearts and were loved by so many.

Unfortunately, it would be months before we as a family learned what took both of my parents’ lives within hours of each other – a lethal dose of the prescription medication Fentanyl that was ingested from a pain patch. My mom was just 45, my dad 52. Both of them had experienced an exponential amount of chronic pain and were seeking treatment from a pain management doctor in Roanoke, Virginia. In addition to the pain, my father experienced depression and Post-traumatic Stress Disorder following his service in the Navy.

Sadly as their battle with addiction progressed, they found more and more ways to conceal it. My parents had never wanted to let my brother and me into their world of addiction. Not even their closest friends knew the dark secret they were keeping, and I believe they were shielding everyone from something they felt ashamed to disclose. I, too, fell into that same trap of shame for fear that I would be looked down upon and judged for my parents’ “shortcomings” or “weaknesses.”

Within two weeks of laying both of my parents to rest – I went back to Rutgers where I had to fulfill a commitment to myself, my team, and my University.  And I think that’s what they would have wanted. But the truth is, I was running as fast as I could away from reality while being engulfed by anger, guilt, fear, pain, and denial. Believe it or not, I ran for seven years as I refused to acknowledge and accept the truth of what happened to my parents on that day in late March.

Why so many years?

Growing up, I had never precisely understood what addiction was. I couldn’t use the word “addiction” or “overdose” in the same sentence with my parents’ names. My parents were both employed, educated, and supportive. I grew up in a happy home. Most people, including myself, thought of an addict as someone who was a dysfunctional member of society, living on the streets and always looking for their next fix. But that is where I was wrong, and that is where society’s perception is wrong. Addiction doesn’t have a single profile – it wears many faces and many masks that can trick you into thinking it’s something that it’s not. But there is one common thread that is at the root of addiction for both individuals and loved ones, and that’s a shame.

I also felt that my parents’ legacy was bound in my hands – I had to preserve their legacy at all costs – and denial was the easiest path but came with a hefty price tag. I carried that shame with me for so many years until my mom’s sister, who I’ve always called my Auntie Linda, finally got through to me. She slowly helped me to tear down those walls, brick by brick, helping me understand that I couldn’t change how my parents died, I couldn’t erase time, and I certainly couldn’t influence the opinions of others. However, my parents aren’t defined by how they died but by how they lived their lives.

For years, I worried about not getting selected for things I had worked hard for, like gymnastics awards and media jobs, because maybe people would question my character or assume that I might be at high risk of falling into the same addictive pattern. And yet here I am, a sports reporter for ESPN, sharing my journey and experiences with you.

I have this tremendous honor to cover some of the most prolific coaches and athletes ever to play the game. I’ve danced around in that same confetti that floats through the air after a championship is won. Championships are special, no doubt, but to me, the people and the stories are what make sports extraordinary. My vision of that, though was once blurred until I personally had the courage to share my own story. It was only when I started working as a sports reporter about a decade after the death of both of my parents that I started to truly undo these shackles of shame that had been bound to me and to my identity.

Once I started the process of opening up with tenacious courage, I discovered my voice and the positive impact it can have on others who feel they’ve been trapped in the shadows of silence. I am now raising my voice to bring awareness to substance use and mental health disorders and am calling on anyone who will join me on my mission to change the narrative and help individuals and families emerge from those shadows and take the first step towards hope and healing.