Daily Inspiration: Meet Mollie Talbot

Today we’d like to introduce you to Mollie Talbot.

Thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, how did you get started?
I was an aging/hospice social worker for 7 years in Olathe, KS, with a lot of undiscovered/unhealed developmental trauma. I’m a late diagnosed neurodivergent, which created CPTSD in childhood from the experience of rejection, forcing me to learn how to mask to pass socially. This is relevant because it explains not only my high empathy work choices but the utter lack of belief that I deserved or could lay boundaries- making me a great candidate for massive substance abuse issues and consistently abusive relationships.

I’d been working somewhere that was pretty abusive to their employees and wage freezes; I was the center of a sexual harassment case which I didn’t even start. A beautiful and braver woman than me reported the treatment she observed happening to me. Again, I just thought this was part of working life as a woman! But between things like this consistently happening and not having the courage to leave, before long, I was drinking at work and going home to an abusive relationship to drink more. High empathy professions and undiagnosed neurodivergent women are magnetized to one another- and unfortunately, boundaries aren’t often our forte.

I met a cute guy who’d grown up in my town but had moved to Denver one weekend while living with a roommate who was a mutual friend. Thankfully, I’d recently gotten myself out of the harmful relationship I was in and fell for said cute guy, starting an 8-month long distance relationship during which we visited each other every other month and finally pulled the trigger on me moving out to Colorado to be with him. Because it was a long-distance relationship, it offered me the ability to hide my continued substance abuse issues. Until I moved, that is. This guy also had a son already with a high school girlfriend. I didn’t intend to have kids- I always said, “They are too impressionable, and I’m incapable of giving the right impression.” Additionally, I’d sworn never to date a dude with “baby mama drama” lol, somehow life gets us right where we need to be, against our will sometimes. We laugh now that honestly, if it weren’t for my substance abuse issues, I don’t know if I’d ever have left Olathe or agreed to be in a relationship where I’d potentially be someone’s stepmom.

Unfortunately, we recognize now that many of us grow up and seek out the uncompleted painful patterns from our childhoods and re-enact them in our adult relationships. In hindsight, that’s what this man and I had done. I fit the emotional pattern of the uncertainty he felt in childhood with his mom, who raised him by herself, using substances to survive the mountains of trauma she’d never been permitted to claim, let alone heal- while raising a child of her own. And he matched up just right with the emotional chasing I’d experienced with my dad’s inconsistency due to his trauma, too- I don’t blame him, but I won’t shelter it, either. Everything was stacked against us. And then, I moved to Colorado, and shortly after, he became aware of my pills and hidden bottles. He began reliving his childhood- pouring out bottles and making threats to try and get the person he cared about to stop drinking. It still crushes me. On August 14, his mom came to see us, and two months later, we received the most challenging call of anyone’s life. She had died. The circumstances surrounding her death were traumatic and horrendously vague, thanks to small-town Missouri policing/lack of mental health care.

Long story short, he finally reached out to a sister of mine, saying he couldn’t take care of me anymore while grieving the loss of his mom while also trying to be a dad to the son who was with us for all school breaks. He sent me back to KC, where I woke up the following day to a full-blown, midwestern conservative version of an intervention. They were all doing the best they could. Still, my boot-strap military conservative beliefs within my family of origin understand substance abuse to be an issue of moral failure, although, much like a lot of families, they center every social activity around alcohol. It’s impossible to get sober of shame. It won’t last long. So, despite my rehab and 12 steps, I shortly relapsed again and again- drinking and taking pills were survival for me at that point. I didn’t know how to feel my intense feelings without them.

My addiction counselor told my family my only hope of sobriety was going to Hazelden for 6 months, which wasn’t a financial possibility. So they wanted me to move back to Olathe instead- which I knew would’ve killed me. So, on February 14, 2015, Kyle flew in from Denver to attend my 30-day sober chip meeting on Valentine’s Day, after which he made me dinner and surprised me by proposing with a ring his mom gave him before she died, saying to use it for me. I relapsed that night, feeling shame for how much more he deserved than someone like me. But I wound up moving back to Denver to be with him and my cat and kept relapsing.

March 9 after he went to an Al-anon meeting and a bible study we’d both started while separated that was an introduction essentially to evangelical Christianity (my sister is a faithful Christian and laid the framework, and it had helped me immensely with the shame)- well he got back from Al-anon and with the spiritual work he’d been doing, he said: “I know I can’t get you sober, I can only love you and pray for you so that what I’m going to do.” He got on his knees at the foot of the bed where I was drunk and high on benzos and prayed for the first time in his life- and out loud at that. So I joined him there for the prayer. I hugged him and said how sorry I was for the millionth time.

The next day, I texted him while he was at work making 500 a week supporting all of us- and said, ” I need you to take my cards, keys, and ID- anything I can use to buy alcohol.” And we didn’t drink for the next 8 years. I became a wife, mom, Christian writer, speaker, and teacher for the following 4 years, living blissfully in Colorado while he started a successful roofing company. We bought our first home, and I dedicated myself entirely to stepmotherhood and motherhood and working with those on the fringes. It was prosperity gospel at its finest. After the birth of my 2nd son, Huxley- the cat who’d weathered my addiction and abusive relationships with me went out one night and never came back. My son was 2 weeks old, had colic, couldn’t digest my breastmilk, and my mental health collapsed. In addition, I’d noticed a lot of hypocrisy in the people of “faith” I was surrounded by, in particular – the way they treated a worship-leading friend of mine who decided to be honest about sexual orientation and was fired by the church, but of course, made her lie on stage – walking with her through the pain of that crushed my steadfast hold to my evangelical faith.

This, the loss of my cat, the return of the shame I felt for things I’d done before I got sober- things like exercising my reproductive freedom- sent me into a deep cave of depression I had no other title for than “postpartum” we were at red rocks one-night seeing death cab for cutie- everything on paper in our life was perfect. My three sons were happy at home with my nephew, who lived with us. We lived 10 minutes from Red Rocks Amphitheater, my husband’s business was thriving, I had many opportunities opening to speak and preach and grow- and I thought, “My husband and sons would be better off without me.” I didn’t have a plan – for removing myself from the world. Still, I knew I didn’t need one to tell me I needed help because we lived in Colorado. I’d attempted treatment with pharmaceutical antidepressants years before experiencing terrible side effects. As a result, I began my months-long research project into the efficacy of psychedelics for mental health. Being someone with lifelong undiagnosed autism and ADHD, research is my thing. After consuming months of information from scientific articles, books, Johns Hopkins beginning their studies, and finally, anecdotal interviews with European moms on Reddit where microdosing psychedelics isn’t taboo, I decided to take the plunge. Denver had voted to decriminalize psilocybin just the month before, so I had no moral qualms. Despite nearly ruining my life with substances, I was brave enough to tell my husband I wanted to try this to see if it’d help. Still, I told him the advice I was given pretty much across the board was that microdosing wouldn’t be enough to break the depressive loop- that I’d need a hefty dose and some hours which I wanted to spend in the mountains with the guidelines and information I had researched as far as tripping for mental health. Rather than any judgment, he said, “We’ll have to get a babysitter for, like, a whole day.” I nearly cried. I was so thrilled by his lack of worry and his willingness to be with me in it.

The Mayday we spent in the mountains of Golden will forever be one of the best days of my life. And his, I believe. After Ward drove out of the mountains with the windows down next to him, I realized, “I’m no longer depressed.” The loop carved into my neuropathways that I was an unfit, incapable mother and the mental health in both our family’s history would curse our children forever was gone. I knew that if anyone, the two of us, were hand-picked to parent these boys, regardless of what mental health issues could potentially arise. We said it was ten years of therapy for us in 4 hours. We laughed, cried, and talked about our childhoods, his mom, and my history of sexual abuse. It was intense. We spent the next couple of years integrating all that’d been revealed that holy day in the mountains. And then the pandemic hit. And Trump and George Floyd and our faith. We began making less and less sense regarding what we were studying, translating to actual practice in the people we churched with. We made the hard call to move back to KC, hoping for family support and the opportunity for our kids to experience cousins and grandparents. We had high hopes, but they soon dashed after we moved back.

As soon as we moved back, we realized we’d come with much foolish optimism and not much reality. We thought our faith and the work we’d done would be enough to heal what we now realize are generational traumas some of our family members have no desire ever to face or change. The bottom fell out on my mental health, and this time, I couldn’t use psychedelics. So cannabis was recreationally legalized, and I began partaking in that a lot! Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the same therapeutic benefits, and my physical and mental health deteriorated further and further. We left our evangelical faith with a bad taste in our mouths after seeing it used to uphold even more hate than it had in far more liberal Colorado. My family wasn’t capable of accepting who I was- all these alleged supports weren’t there.

Cue 3 impossibly hard years of losing my faith and incredible job opportunities in Colorado to continue writing, the cohort I was in studying how to become a rabbinical scripture teacher, the training I was in to become a preacher at our church, or work for MOPS international and stay close to moms of faith- the loss of my mountains which regulated my nervous system daily- reminding me of my place in things, and then my family and best friend after leaving my faith changed our friendship too much for her to stay cool with. I had nothing, and then my boys, who I wanted to homeschool in the mountains of Colorado, started school. I lost my roles and resources all at once and only had cannabis as an escape.

My husband and I separated last August; I lost 20 pounds and became incredibly sick, depressed, and lost. Found after 2 months the place I moved to where I had to pay 7 months’ rent upfront because a single mom without employment history gets screwed lol- we found mold that was making my sons and me sick. I stopped living there in October, and she kept every dollar I paid through the end of March 31. the property management company fully endorses this. It was a mess, but as a result, I had to move back into my ex’s house, where I still am and where we recently, after recognizing the damage done to our sons and getting some perspective on the understanding of trauma we’ve been swimming in for these years without resources, I approached him about going back to counseling and trying to work things out.

So here we are, my 17-year-old stepson is with us for his spring break, saying, “About time you guys realize you have always had a good thing and you should work it out.” Two sons, 7 and 5 in Kansas City public schools which we believe deeply in but are scared of our lack of options post 6th grade. I’ve healed immensely physically and mentally and can care for my sons in the capacity I wasn’t able to while splitting them 50/50. I’m recently speaking out more about all things- being lifelong undiagnosed neurodivergent, medical gaslighting of women, lack of accessible mental healthcare including psychedelics in the Midwest, lack of maternal advocacy and fair housing for anyone, let alone newly single mothers, marriage and divorce, and as a social worker who found significant trauma healing in Kansas city’s ecstatic dance community and being connected to a somatic experiencing counselor am now in a three-year training program to be an official somatic experiencing practitioner in 2026 to add to my RYT and Reiki training. I am a massive proponent of mind-body healing and that our greatest gifts to the world are the ability to feel our feelings without shame, take up space without fear, and readily find the beauty available to us in every moment by simply slowing down, looking around, noticing the sensations in our bodies and letting ourselves find peace wherever life has us- and allowing others to help us with every step.

We all face challenges, but looking back, would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
Haha! It’s a shitshow for all of us! But what a beautiful commonality. If suffering is inevitable, let us reach out and allow others to reach us, and we can all hold hands while we’re in it.

I appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I’m a space holder. This is an art. Holding space in your fullness allows the fullness of another, which means they get back in touch with their inner child. Inner children are all creatives. By extension, so are the adult versions we’re walking around in. I think healing practices are inherently artistic, creative practices, and while that’s not what I set out thinking I’d be, I want to be a speaker and an author and a poet and an inspire-er whenever I show up as my whole self, I hear from others that I’m a healer. Stepping into my authenticity and being my entire self accidentally amassed a social media following, which made my calling as a creative healer unavoidable. It’s beautiful to have life tell you what is needed from you when you’re not even trying. I’m a mental health advocate, a neurodivergent psychedelic proponent, a writer, a fierce caregiver, and an individual committed to never stopping the process of growth and change. I offer mind/body life coaching and psychedelics coaching and am a travel trip sitter. I am passionate about death/dying and mothers, and I offer my services online and in person at the KC metro.

Is there any advice you’d like to share with our readers who might just be starting?
Cultivate a creative practice- tap into your inner child. Trying to build something without being in touch with both will lead to burnout. Uncover what is naturally within you. The things that make you cringe, feel too-seen, and too vulnerable are the only gates keeping you from your calling and are what will set you the most free. Everyone is creative; anyone denying this hasn’t healed their inner child. You have never had a unique experience, so how in the world could you ever feel the need to hide part of yourself? Those out there who inevitably have experienced or committed the same things you’re trying to bury from your existence might be waiting for your voice to own them and speak them first. Once we confront shame, the world will no longer have a hold of our hearts. God is good in whatever form. Don’t demand another to see God them the same and so many more.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.coveredandrecovered.com/
• Instagram: Mollified
• Facebook: https://m.facebook.com/people/Mollie-Talbot/100013622504187/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MollieMycelium
• Other: [email protected]

Image Credits
Marcy Merrigan Missing Piece Photo KC