I found my first glimmer of hope when I finally mustered the strength to tell my son, “Choose rehab, or choose a life without your family. “ My hope did NOT arise from his response (which was three days in coming) but in the fact that I finally knew in my heart of hearts that things wouldn’t change unless we changed…and I garnered the strength and conviction to draw that line in the sand.

That strength and conviction had eluded me for so long because I was so afraid for my son. I was afraid that if I kicked him out, he would get hurt.   I was afraid he would get into even more trouble if he didn’t have somewhere to live.  I was afraid he would fall in with a bad crowd, which was such an unfounded fear because he was bad enough on his own.  And on some level, I rationalized that confronting his addiction—drawing a line in the sand—somehow made it more real.  I know that sounds strange, but a little voice in my head whispered that  if I didn’t need to kick him out, then his problem really wasn’t that bad, was it??  That’s denial at its best.

Once I mustered the strength to offer one or the other– drugs or family– then our family had a chance to get better, collectively and individually.  My son could choose to seek recovery and I could choose to deny entry to his substance abuse in my life.  When I claimed that power, I found a hope that sustains me, one day at a time, no matter what my son does or doesn’t do.

“Life is brutal. But it’s also beautiful. Brutiful, I call it. Life’s brutal and beautiful are woven together so tightly that they can’t be separated. Reject the brutal, reject the beauty. So now I embrace both, and I live well and hard and real.”

Glennon, Momastery.com

“As a child I had a good life. My family was very wealthy, I went to a good school and I had lots of friends. I lived with my mom, dad, and little sisters. I was the oldest child, so I was always looking after my siblings, trying to be a good role model for them. We were a pretty happy family until my father was killed in a car accident. After that, things kind of got a little crazy. I was confused. I started hanging out with different types of people than my usual crowd…“the druggies,” people called them. I think I was just curious and alone.

I started drinking and going to parties. The people I hung out with liked to do heroin. I was never really interested in trying it, but I got curious and gave it a try. Immediately, I became what I thought was happy, enjoying life for the first time since my dad had passed away. Then things started getting a little out of control. I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted more, a better high. So I decided to shoot up. I was doing anything to get money, to get high, even taking things from my mom or one of my sisters.

I was breaking my family’s heart. My mom kicked me out when I was 17. She told me I could go to rehab or get out. And I wasn’t ready to clean up my life. I was on my own for a while, and I knew I couldn’t make it on my own. I knew I was in a dark place, and the path I was going down…God only knows where I’d end up. I started to see that I needed help. I started to see what everyone else saw.

I finally agreed to go to rehab. I hated it at first. I was never really that good with a lot of rules, but I know it did me good. After the first couple of weeks fighting the system, I started doing what they told me–going to meetings, getting a Sponsor, working the steps. I thought it was all so stupid in the beginning but I really didn’t have anything to lose and I definitely didn’t want to go back to where I was before. I ended up staying for a year and a half.

I never thought my life would turn out this way. I’ve been clean for two years now. Sometimes I struggle with everything and want to get away, but I know that I’ve come this far, and in my mind there is no turning back.”

As they say in Al-Anon, “Don’t leave before the miracle occurs.”  Hold onto hope, set healthy boundaries, and know that miracles do happen.

I’m reminded of when he was in public school. Seemingly simple rules and class requirements were not so easy for him. He’d receive failing grades for not turning in homework and “detention” for not following the rules. With a private instructor, he’d succeed and demonstrate above average competency. Progression. My son’s disease has kept him in a revolving door for a long time.

I’m told addiction is an inside job and that’s understandable to me. I’m told recovery will be an inside job too and I hope my son is able to. One thing is certain, I’m not able to help him in the traditional sense. I have read, listened to and talked to many recovering addicts. Some have been in similar situations like my son. They overcame and turned their lives around. Their mothers were not part of their recovery story but for honorable mention if they had stopped their financial support and rescuing behavior. I’ve seen miracles and know that it is possible. This is the hope that a mother holds onto.  There’s another kind of hope I found; it’s the hope that I can accept my son for who he is and where he is and still find joy and happiness in my life.  He has a revolving door, not me.  I don’t have to go in and out of it anymore.

“We have dreams and hopes for our children as they grow and discover life. Then one day we wake up to find they have become involved in the battle of addiction. And so our life as we hoped it would be has changed. As parents, we may find we have trouble sleeping, we may start to have health issues, we may find ourselves crying or even angry over the simplest of things. Please look at the possibility that you are grieving the loss of your child as you knew him or her.

Grief and loss are naturally interwoven into addiction. Grief is different for each one of us, but please don’t discount it. We put so much energy into getting back our child that we often forget about ourselves. Here are some ways to deal with your grief:

• If you acknowledge that you are grieving, I invite you to work through the grieving process with a  counselor who will help you understand your losses and deal with them in a healthy and constructive way.
• Grief can feel suffocating. A good exercise to release grief is to take a very deep breath, hold it      tightly and then release it slowly. You will feel your body calm down. It is also therapeutic to cry in the shower or yell in the car or smash pillows  with a tennis racquet—anything physical to vent your sorrow, your anger, your disappointment.

• You might also want to write a  letter to whatever is running your life—addiciton, fear, remorse—and tell  it that you are taking back your life.  You can also write down your sorrows and regrets and burn them in a fireplace or “burning bowl.” The important thing is to symbolically purge your “if only’s” so that you can free yourself to live more in the moment.
• There are also some great books  that will help support recovery. Check out The
  Grief Recovery Handbook by John W. James and Russell Friedman or The Precious Present by Spencer Johnson.

It is up to each of us to ‘push the clouds away’ in order to be happy. Don’t sit on the sidelines and don’t become a victim—you have the power to reclaim your serenity.  If you have questions about grief or any other substance abuse issues, please feel free to send me your questions.  Best wishes for a healthy New Year.”

Ricki Townsend, NAADAC, interventionist and family counselor

 
I have a different perspective now on what I hope for my kids as they grow into their adult years. I hope that they are happy, healthy and responsible as defined by them. What makes me happy is not the same thing that makes them happy. They are individuals with hopes and dreams and they may choose very different paths than I would have for them. I realized that I needed to let go of my expectations of them and let them find their way on their terms. I have tried my best to transition from parenting them to coaching and supporting them. This is not always easy. I find myself jumping in every now and then with a statement like, ‘Why would you do that?’ or ‘Wouldn’t you rather do…’ but I try to catch myself. I did this today and when I realized I was infringing my desires I stopped and admitted, ‘I’m sorry, it’s not my business.’ And then kept my mouth shut. Then remembered what a very dear friend used to say, ‘I have the right to remain silent, but I don’t always have the ability.’ I know I need to try to remain silent to be a good coach and supporter even when it’s challenging.

I saw a man today walking down the road which was in the country, at least 3 miles away from anything other than a house. I went by him and then about an hour later was coming back the same way and saw him sitting on the side of the road with his head down. My first thought was that he was someone who may be battling addiction and had lost his place to live, maybe alienating himself from his family. My heart was heavy for him and I said a little prayer of hope that maybe a local church would find a way to help. Prior to dealing with my own loved ones trials and tribulations with addiction I may have seen a man on the side of the road not with sympathy but with judgment about how he might have ended up in the situation. Now that I have been on this journey I can relate to the quote and no that no matter how bad it has become or how broken an person feels, they can have just one single moment of clarity that can change the whole course of their life where they decide they want to heal from addiction and live a life of recovery. It is so important to know that there is always hope for recovery and to pray and have compassion for those who may not have taken the step toward a better life but at some time may be willing to make the change.

The most helpful advice I got was to learn as much as I can about the disease of addiction.  First, there are numerous articles and books on the biological changes in the brain from substance abuse and addiction.  Most insightful was listening to alcoholics and addicts in recovery.  I began to see that addicts think differently than I do, and that these differences are fundamental in the co-dependent relationship.  I went to open meetings when I could and I obtained speaker CD’s of people in recovery who share where they came from, how they got recovery and how they were doing today.  When I wasn’t doing that, I was reading books like

At some point in doing all these things, a realization came to me in my heart:  there really is hope for the addict – he can find recovery and overcome seemingly hopeless circumstances.  And those circumstances may seem hopeless to me, but maybe not to them.  Whether in prison, on the streets, homeless, isolated, ripping and running…I saw and heard from testimonials of these very same people.  They were living proof of just how they overcame the obsession.   If they could do it, then the possibility was there for my sons.

The notion that only addicts could help addicts, not moms of addicts helping addicts, became crystal clear.  It was as if this burden of responsibility was lifted off my shoulders.  This is how hope for them was help for me.  I could learn how to get out of their way and start focusing on my part in it.

When my youngest enlisted I thought that 3 years would be so long, I would miss him so much, I did not know how I’d survive his absence – a little on the dramatic side. It was all fearful thoughts driven by how I thought I would feel being separated from him. When my eldest sought rehab he said “30 days is a long time, I don’t know if I can be away that long.” The weird thing is I also had a pang of similar sentiment. Yet seeing my other son commit 3 years to service put things in perspective. What I realized is I FEARED THE UNKNOWN and this disabled me from taking a risk, trying something new and trusting that it would turn out fine.  These feelings permeated to grasping my sons, holding them hostage as well.

There are solutions to dealing with fears and particularly the fight against time. One example is living just for today. I recall a speaker who in sobriety said “I don’t have to think about not drinking for the next 60 years, I only have to not drink today.” Same holds true for me. I don’t have to think about my son’s sentencing, I only have to think about today. I can do this one day at a time. What once seemed unbearable now becomes obtainable – it’s all relative to my attitude in relation to time. Time for me is right now, right here, in this moment. There are two days I can let go of: yesterday and tomorrow. Living for today, one day at a time, frees me from the fears of the future and guilt from the past.  It also releases my firm grasp on my sons – this is where hope appears.