- Alcohol
I am Sue; I am not an addict but the parent of one, and both I and my husband have alcoholism in our current and past extended families. Although neither my husband nor myself grew up in a home with active addiction/alcoholism, the disease’s desire to destroy still knocked on our door. Not only is active addiction passed generation to generation through our genes, but so are the self-destructive behaviors; the family and others adapt in order to cope with it. Those unhealthy behaviors, unless recognized and changed, remain present even when the active user is not there.
Living with this disease and its extenuating circumstances of codependency started long before my son’s active addiction. It did not have a name, just a lot of uneasy feelings that could not be put to rest. Those feelings festered into resentment, anger and heartache. I was losing myself and kept looking for an answer. When active addiction entered my life, everything came to a head.
As a parent, I am not unlike anyone else who wants the best for their family. I hoped to bring my sons to adulthood, let them take hold of their lives, and move into the next phase of my life, knowing with peace of mind that I had done my job. What seemed like a smooth transition for my parents was not to be for me.
I, alongside my husband, raised our sons with morals, values, a faith life, education and love. We had nightly family dinners and used that time to have conversations that would keep us connected and in touch with our day to day lives. As they got older, it was also a time to discuss drugs, alcohol and tobacco. Both myself and my husband, knowing alcoholism was in our extended families, made our kids aware it could put them at risk. We reinforced the need to make good choices and that peer pressure was not a reason to do something. More times than not, we watched them make good decisions. My older son graduated high school and went off to college. He saw others suffer the consequences of their actions. His risk-taking was not to be with alcohol or drugs. My younger son still had two more years of high school to complete.
Over those next two years, life had it stressors. Job concerns, marriage issues, and my mom’s declining health and subsequent death all coincided with my son’s breakup from his first love. During this time, we all needed and went to counseling.
The summer of 2006 after his graduation from high school, my son turned 18. That magic number was his ticket to escape from life. Family life, as we knew it, was forever changed. It became totally out of control and chaos reigned. My life turned a sharp corner onto an unknown and scary road, and I dragged my anger and resentment along with me.
My son’s heartache, insecurities and obsession all came pouring out after graduation as angry rebellion at us all. Staying out all night, drinking, crazy and sometimes dangerous stunts and hanging with unknown friends was the norm. His disrespect flew all around our house and frequently landed on me. I was so stressed, angry, fearful and hurt, I willingly passed the disrespect on to my husband, because he didn’t share my viewpoint or my feelings. His brother continued to be the overachiever and hero for me. We waited for fall.
College was literally ten minutes away and I was glad when the time came for my son to start and move into the dorm. I hoped his new environment and chance to make new friends would ease his pain and he would settle down. In reality, I knew it was a long shot; and as a parent, I regretted that decision. That decision really was about me, not him, and I no longer had the strength to fight it alone. His issues still existed and the need to fit in fueled his pain and search for relief from it. That quickly took him into the world of drugs, failing his first semester, and us moving him home. Things calmed briefly, but the emotional rollercoaster continued and escalated along with his behavior. I knew Ecstasy, raves and drug dealers were now part of the picture. My confrontations with him continued, only to realize I was talking to the addiction not to my son. My fears for him and our family, and all the sleepless nights made me thankful for the first arrest. I knew he needed help, but I felt lost as to how to make it happen. A few months later, a second arrest, with no one to blame but himself, put him in jail. Our choice to him was to go to treatment or stay in jail. He chose treatment. My prayers were answered, relieving my feeling of desperation.
I spent days researching about treatment centers. It was my obsession. I wanted to give him the best opportunity to get the education and treatment he needed to have a chance at recovery. His only request was that it was not indoors. A 60-day wilderness center was decided upon. We took him and dropped him off just before Thanksgiving 2007. Our family’s recovery would finally begin.
What does my recovery journey look like? It’s not so different than my son’s on the surface. Since his treatment began, I continue to educate myself about the disease of addiction. I attend 12-Step meetings and other support groups. I am learning what the 12-Steps mean in my addict’s life and in mine. I have been to family therapy. I am asking for support from those I need it from. I am learning about my family history of addiction, both in generations past or present, and understanding the role it plays. I am learning about the behaviors of codependency that my family and I dance to. So we all share the same tools of recovery. There our similarities end. We each have brought different issues to this table of recovery. Now using the tools we share, we have to work at healing ourselves by fearlessly taking on our own journey, in our own time.
My emotional journey is the personal side of my recovery. This is where I have to work hardest, because I didn’t recognize how much I had buried. Caring for others and being told not to worry about those uneasy feelings, left me with control, care-taking and anger issues to address. This has been a process of recognizing, accepting and owning those things in bits and pieces over a span of time.
I was able to start with my honest heartfelt letters of love to my son while he was in the wilderness. It allowed me not to be the parent and to express my anger, fear, and sadness that was at the core of my enabling behavior. The 12-Step meetings continue to let me voice my reality and receive acceptance; and in return, I can gratefully give back to others in need.
Family, friends and the professionals continue to give unconditional love and support, allowing me not to push down feelings that I otherwise may not express. This helps me to be as honest with myself as I can be at any given moment. A counselor who recognized my need to understand the steps suggested I find a meeting that specifically worked the steps, and that helped me to truly start focusing on me. I had read them weekly for years. But by deepening my understanding, my spiritual life has grown to the point where I can put my faith before my fear. That was and continues to be a turning point for me. I can say I own my recovery, and turn my son’s over to him and his higher power.
My son knows I have walked this journey alongside him from the beginning and will continue to do so. I will also support him in anything he does to be in recovery. But how I walk beside him now is different. Our journeys are connected but separate. I still have unconditional love for him, but when the chaos and craziness of addiction rears its head, I take care of myself. I trust his higher power will do the job I am not meant to do.
My journey in recovery continues to have its ups and downs, but it is not the scary or crazy ride it once was. The experiences of arrests, jail, court, rehab, and addiction were not what I wanted as part of my life, but my greater power had a different plan. Acceptance of my truth, and the recovery that has followed and continues, has brought me many gifts. I am grateful for all the growth and positive change it brings to me and my family. Becoming a better person brings a smile to my face.