My mom died of an overdose. I'm talking about it openly to help other women going through the same.

• Four years ago, at the age of 45, my mom died of a drug overdose.
• She struggled with addiction her whole life and had been in and out of treatment.

It had been a few days since my mother was found unresponsive, face down on the floor. I was sitting on the side of Pacific Coast Highway in my then-lover's parked car when they asked me whether I had considered how she died: "Is there a chance she overdosed?"

No, I hadn't thought of that — not yet. There would have been too much shame for her in that.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the drug-overdose death rate among women ages 30 to 64 skyrocketed 260% from 1999 to 2017, with the biggest increase found among women ages 45 to 64.

My mother was only 45 when she died.

My mom had struggled with addiction

My mom's addiction was not new — she had struggled with methamphetamine addiction since the ripe age of 13 — and for the majority of her life, she was in and out of treatment. It was a back-and-forth, like her coming in and out of my life. When she died, I had seen her only once in 11 years, and surprisingly, it was exactly a week to the day before she died.

Being a woman who grew up without a healthy support system, and with a young mother who never truly believed she was capable of being one, I now see her as a woman who never had a chance.

When someone in your life dies of an overdose, it isn't like in the movies. Before this, I didn't know that coroners weren't obligated to perform an autopsy on every dead person. Instead, they typically perform them only when someone dies unexpectedly, at a young age, under strange circumstances, or when there is speculation of drug use.

The results don't come in a matter of hours or days. They take months. So for months, I waited. I grieved. I died inside, at the recognition of never seeing her again and again when thinking about the relationship we should have had, the life she could have had if she had not been a woman living with an unrelenting disease. I waited.

Living as a woman in our society is challenging on its own. Because my mother was a woman with a methamphetamine addiction who lacked resources and support, society deemed her not as someone with a disease but as a selfish woman and moral failure. In my adolescence, I used to think, "Why doesn't she love me enough to quit?" But I couldn't yet understand what I now know to be true: Addiction is a disease, not a choice.

Addiction and overdoses among women — who, recent research indicated, can develop addiction statistically quicker than their male counterparts and for different reasons — should be talked about more openly.

Ashley Loeb Blassingame, a certified alcohol and drug counselor and the host of "The Courage to Change: A Recovery Podcast," agreed: "The biggest divide is in how society treats a mother with addiction versus a father."

She died of an overdose, and I share her story

Three months after my mom's death, I opened my mailbox and pulled out a white, crinkled envelope. It was from the Riverside County coroner. I took the envelope to my bedroom and quietly opened it. There it was, her cause of death: acute methamphetamine intoxication. It was what I, and everyone else, had expected.

To say that it was gut-wrenching would be an understatement. At this moment, I felt utterly alone — and, mostly, incredibly sad that when I would tell others, they might look down on her. At this moment, I decided I wouldn't be afraid of telling the truth, her truth. My mom died of an overdose. And she would have wanted me to say it out loud.

Laura Petracek, a clinical psychologist and addiction-recovery specialist and the author of the upcoming "DBT Workbook for Alcohol and Drug Addiction," puts the experience into perspective: "No one brings casseroles when a woman dies a stigmatized death."

For women who overdose and survive, there is a societal stigma. And for those who lose their lives to overdose, there is a stigma. For the loved ones, it can be the same.

"Grief stemming from a loss from an overdose can be complex for survivors," Petracek said. "It is common for survivors to feel guilt, shame, blame, fear, and isolation following a loss from an overdose. Still, survivors of this loss can face additional burdens from stigma and reluctance to openly discuss it with others."

This is why I so openly share my and my mother's story. For those who love a woman who was taken by an overdose, for those who love a woman in active addiction, you are not alone.

While we can never force someone in active addiction to get help, Petracek said that there were things we could do if we're in a place to support the woman in your life: Attend a support group together, participate in sober activities together, assist with barriers or show up in a loving way. If you're on the other side — you've lost a woman in your life to an overdose — there are resources for you.

"People are gathering in all different ways to meet and support one another through these tragedies," Blassingame said. "The specificity of this type of loss creates space for people to discuss the hurdles that come from losing someone cloaked in stigma. The stigma falls away amidst a group of people who know all too well that your loved one was so much more than what took them from us."

Today, January 29th, is the fourth anniversary of my mom's death. A few days ago, I opened a letter she wrote to me in 2015.

"I've been sick with this disease for a very long time," she wrote. "But I can't die soon. I've got so much to do."

Knowing what I know now, this is the truth: My mother was charismatic, funny, strong-willed, intelligent, and beautiful. She was sick with a disease. She was a mother, a daughter, and a friend. She didn't choose to be addicted. She was a fighter. She was a loud, unapologetic spirit. She died of an overdose. She was loved. She loved.