SUPPORT GROUPS: 'THIS IS MY LAST CHANCE'

Meth-Ravaged Mothers In Iowa Are Finding A New Way To Heal

It looked like a meeting of the PTA. But these young Iowa mothers were
talking about being seduced, and then deeply scarred, by the dark magic of
meth. Cory Mathahs, 37, a single mother of three, turned to the drug for
weight loss and "the energy to be supermom-doing 10 things at once." Now
rail-thin and missing a tooth, she trembled and broke down in tears. "I
need help," she said. "I just put myself into treatment." The other women
in the room, about two dozen of them, burst into applause.

Some wrapped their arms around Mathahs and dried her tears. "There is
hope," a voice called out.

This is the Ottumwa chapter of Moms Off Meth, a self-help group devoted to
helping mothers recover from meth addiction and, often, help them fight to
regain custody of their kids. Some of the women come to the Moms group
voluntarily. Others have been ordered by the courts to attend. "This is my
last chance," said Amanda Critten, 26, whose daughter was temporarily taken
away at birth because she tested positive for meth. On the second floor of
a regional health center, these women shared stories of horror and
encouragement. Marie Gwinn, 20, talked about running from window to window
in her house, screaming at the people she hallucinated were trying to break in.

Moms Off Meth now has 16 chapters across Iowa, a state that is one of the
hardest hit by the drug. A Dads Off Meth group has also recently started in
Iowa. The groups help the recovering addicts deal with a sense of shame
that can be pronounced in small towns, as well as cope with the nightmares
of severe neglect and abuse endured by their children. "I was a very, very
bad mother," one woman said simply, staring at the floor.

Moms Off Meth also serves as a reminder that people can change. "I believe
in the power of women," said Sue Armstrong, one of the group's original
members, a former meth user who won back custody of her three children.
"Things can get better." But some of the torment can be long-lasting.
Armstrong has been clean for more than three years, but still suffers bouts
of paranoia. "Even today, if I hear someone laughing at the end of the
hall, I'm sure they're laughing at me." But there was no mockery in this
room, only hope among the moms that some day all their old ghosts will stop
haunting.