I grew up in Roanoke, Virginia, and if you had told me years ago that Birmingham, Alabama, would become my forever home, I wouldn’t have believed you. I moved here in 2011 for a job at CBS 42, later joined AL.com, and eventually ESPN. My husband and I love this city, and now, as small business owners and parents raising our two-year-old son Mason, I’m grateful we landed here.
My book, Shatterproof, tells a story I never wanted to tell. At 18, I lost both of my parents within five hours of each other to opioid overdoses. My mom was 45, my dad 52. Both lived with chronic pain. Both died from fentanyl.
For years, I carried the shame of their addiction. I was afraid people would judge them, or me. Their legacy was in my hands, and I wanted to protect it. Writing the book forced me to face that shame head-on. The title comes from this idea: life can feel like it’s shattered into a million pieces, but through resilience, we have the ability to gather the fragments and rebuild with joy and purpose.
My brother was a huge part of that journey. After our parents died, we leaned on each other. He was in the military, I was at Rutgers, but we grew close through tragedy. When I finally put pen to paper, he could have asked me to shut it all down. He could have said, No, you can’t tell this story. But instead, he gave his blessing. He filled in gaps, provided details, and helped me preserve what really happened. In so many ways, we wrote this book together.
Which is why November 8, 2024, just a month after the book released, shattered me all over again. I was in Arizona for a football game when I got the call: my brother had passed away from health complications. Sudden. Unexpected. My biggest cheerleader, gone.
I’ll never forget sitting on the floor days later with a bracelet I’d co-created with Presently Bracelets—engraved with “I’m in love with my story”—and a copy of Shatterproof. I remember feeling this unbelievable weight and grief and heaviness. And I thought, I want to light it all on fire and walk away. The book, the bracelet, the mantra—every bit of it. Because now this was my story. My parents gone. My brother gone. My family of origin, gone. And I thought, How am I supposed to love this story?
I hit the high of publishing a book, then crashed into the lowest low. I wanted to walk away. But I didn’t.
What held me up was love and support. My faith deepened in ways I couldn’t have imagined. My church family, Church of the Highlands, stepped in. Pastor Chris Hodges called me personally after my brother died and said, “We’re not going to let you be silenced. Your voice will be heard.” That shifted something in me.
My husband, John, carried so much—handling logistics, holding my grief, reminding me I wasn’t alone. My Auntie Linda and Uncle Mike stood close. And Mason, in his innocence, reminded me daily why my heart still beats. A toddler doesn’t understand grief, but his laugh, his hugs, his kisses—they anchored me.
Even going back to work became a test of strength. I took a week off, then returned to the sideline with a microphone in my hand. The heaviness was still there. A colleague reminded me, “Most people watching tonight won’t know what you’re carrying. But you showed up. That’s a personal victory.” And they were right. Sometimes, showing up is enough.
What I’ve learned is that adversity isn’t something we can outrun. It’s not going anywhere. We either exhaust ourselves trying to escape it, or we let it sharpen us. Adversity doesn’t define you—it refines you. That mental shift is the gift, and that peace that leads to gratitude.
The truth is, adversity still hurts. It sucks real bad. But being with it instead of running from it has taught me to see what it gives back: perspective, resilience, and a deeper connection to faith, family, and community.
If you’re walking through something hard right now, slow down. Plant your feet. Don’t try to outrun the pain. Use it. Let it shape you. One day, maybe sooner than you think, you’ll see that your story—even the parts you never would have chosen—is giving you strength you didn’t know you had.
I don’t love every part of my story. I wish I could rewrite the losses. But I am learning, day by day, to fall in love with the person my story is shaping me into. And I know that my parents, and my brother, would be proud of that.
Learn more about Lauren’s journey at LaurenSisler.com, explore her book Shatterproof, and see her collaboration with Presently Bracelets©. Follow her on Instagram @LaurenSisler.
“Life can feel like it’s shattered into a million pieces, but through resilience, we have the ability to gather the fragments and rebuild with joy and purpose.”