Ex Heroine Addict: Wendy Watson’s Journey from Darkness to Light

When Your Dad Gives You Weed to Sell at School

When I talked with Wendy Watson about her path to prison, she told me something that stopped me cold. Her dad was giving her weed to sell at school when she was 14. “My dad would give me weed to sell at school,” she said. “I have kids that are now in high school. Maybe that’s not the best.”

Wendy grew up in St. Charles as an only child. Her mom was what she calls “a peach,” but there weren’t many expectations. “There wasn’t go to college, go do this,” she explained. “It was just like you’ll be lucky if you graduate high school.” That environment of low expectations mixed with her dad’s drug dealing created a perfect storm. At 14, she was the cool kid with the weed connection.

The Nightmare That Started Everything

By 23, Wendy was deep into heroin addiction when something horrible happened. She was raped and got pregnant. She didn’t even know she was pregnant for the first five months. “I was a heroin addict, so the theory is somebody you knew through the drug trade,” she told me. It was someone she was familiar with but didn’t really know.

Wendy had made arrangements for an open adoption with a family in Florida. She’d found a beautiful family who wanted the baby. But when she went into labor, everything fell apart. “My mom at the front door at the hospital had told them that I had decided to keep the baby,” Wendy said. “Then my mom came upstairs and told me that she had decided not to take the baby.”

Suddenly she was a 23-year-old heroin addict, homeless, with a newborn baby. “There was no baby shower. There was none of that, so we had two days to get everything together for a baby,” she explained. “I almost immediately started using drugs again because I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to be a mom.”

The Day That Changed Everything

Wendy was working at the same daycare where her son went every day. She was high on heroin when her parents’ giant Irish setters came running through the house. Her son was sitting on the floor. In her impaired state, she spilled boiling water on him. “I was high as fuck,” she said. “The dogs came running through and I spilled boiling water on them.”

The accident happened in March. Nothing immediate came of it. Her son spent several days in the hospital, which was devastating. But two months later, everything changed. “I was at work one day and two detectives came in and said we’re arresting you. The state of Missouri picked this up as a state case of child endangerment in the first degree,” Wendy told me.

She begged them not to arrest her at the daycare in handcuffs. “I’m a teacher at this daycare,” she said. “I work with four and five year olds.” But despite being a functioning heroin addict with a job, her world was about to collapse.

Going to Court High Every Single Time

Wendy’s case dragged on for months. Her white privilege kicked in when her grandparents paid for an expensive lawyer. But she wasn’t making it easy on anyone. “I would go to court high every day, every time I had court. I was high as fuck,” she said. “My lawyer’d be like, you got to be kidding me. I’m gonna need you to do better. We need you to be able to stand up in front of the judge.”

The lawyer wasn’t asking for much. Just basic functionality. “We just need you standing,” Wendy recalled him saying. Her response was brutally honest: “I can’t. Help me help you. You’re not making this any easier on me.” She knew she wasn’t making it easier on herself either.

Finally, she got word that she had to turn herself in on March 18th. Her son went to live with her mom, who brought him to visit every week once Wendy was locked up.

Finding Relief Behind Bars

Wendy went from county jail to Vandalia women’s prison after just four days. Surprisingly, there was something almost comforting about being locked up. “It was almost comforting to know that I didn’t have to look for dope,” she said. “I knew I was just gonna be really sick for a couple weeks and then I was gonna be fine, which I didn’t have that opportunity on the streets to do.”

She’d been in and out of court-ordered drug treatment programs but could never stick with them on the outside. Prison removed all the external pressures and the constant hunt for drugs. “There was almost kind of a big sigh to know that I was away from my mom,” she said.

But Wendy also knew this was her last chance. “If I didn’t get it together this time, there weren’t gonna be another lawyer next time. There wasn’t gonna be any of that. If I didn’t get it together this time, there was no more times.”

The Reality of Women’s Prison

Women’s prison has its own particular kind of sadness. “At night, you just hear women crying,” Wendy told me. “That’s all you hear is women crying. They’re worried about their kids. A lot of them had other cases they were still waiting on hearing about. Just a lot of sadness in a way that you wouldn’t get out here.”

She witnessed pregnant women giving birth while incarcerated. “You’d see women getting taken across the yard to have their babies, or people going into labor while you’re at your work job. Then they come back two days later and there’s no baby obviously.”

Wendy shared a disturbing fact about Missouri’s system. If you don’t have a parent or legal guardian to step up for your baby while you’re in prison, “they go to an Amish community.” And if you’re incarcerated for more than a year, “you automatically lose your parental rights and the Amish can keep your children.” It’s not a joke, she emphasized.

Wendy’s story shows how quickly life can spiral when addiction, trauma, and bad choices collide. But it also shows how sometimes hitting the wall completely can force you to finally face what you need to face. She knew prison was her last shot at getting clean and getting her life back on track.