It has taken decades and literally tens of thousands of deaths to get people to finally question the “tough love” approach to addiction. I admit that before addiction touched my life I assumed that was the only approach that worked. Probably because a great many addicts in recovery say it saved their lives.
Unfortunately there is no one size fits all in addiction treatment. I think many have found recovery in spite of tough love. Addiction is complex, baffling and insidious. Every time I read a blog or blurb about how tough loved saved the life of an addict I can’t help but feel such sympathy for the thousands of moms who got “the call” after turning their child away. If tough love was the answer we would all know it, the opioid epidemic would not be claiming thousands yearly.
If methadone, suboxone or vivitrol was a the answer we would all know it. I have walked alongside my son for over twenty years now as he has fallen in and out of addiction. I have learned a lot over the years. What I say now is we must continue to talk, the scientists and Doctors must continue to search because we don’t have an answer. Those of us who are trapped in this madness must continue to speak the truth about our loved ones.
The truth that they are ill, they need our compassion and love not judgment and wrath. My heart breaks whenever I read a post from a mom who has little left but anger and bitterness toward her child. Addiction drives people to do things that appall them when they are sober. If they are able to find recovery the memory of their actions often keeps them from moving forward because they have lost any sense of self esteem and family has abandoned them.
How sad is it that in meetings across the country there are addicts who have found recovery but they are alone because their loved ones have had to abandon them out of sheer self preservation. I have no judgment for the families either. My son is once again in recovery (five months). We speak regularly. Yesterday as he was sharing about a new job and his goals for the next year it was more clear than ever to me that he is a warrior. I have watched him battle his whole adult life. I will never abandon him. I will continue to walk alongside with the wisdom I have acquired over the years. When I am able to offer help that propels him forward towards recovery I am there. For days, months and hopefully year’s.
I could hear the words echo like a child’s faraway pleading…
“Why, God?? Why can you part an entire sea of water but you can’t seem to fix my “little” problem.”
I spouted the accusations into the air like a thick plume of smog…
I felt the searing pain and confusion deep in my heart.
Why wasn’t I worthy enough for God’s attention?
Why did others have these spiritual experiences, yet my little family is still fractured seemingly beyond repair with what my eldest son’s addiction had caused?
I had prayed. Oh, how I had prayed. Oh, I’ve always been a believer that there was a power greater than myself who was directing this harrowing game of life. But I had never truly NEEDED there to be one as much as I had the last 2-3 years.
That was about the time I started the wrenching conundrum of wanting more than anything to believe that there is SOMEONE who is listening and can take a look at my problems and put them on the “to be solved list”.
On this particular day, I wasn’t feeling my list was even visible, let alone being checked off.
My son was still deep in addiction, with no signs of wanting help. He had legal warrants for his arrest for many felonies for possession while trying to feed the cravings of his disease. He had abandoned his family; including his kids, lost his million-dollar business & had zero possessions or money to his name.
I had been praying to my God, with some anger and disappointment, that no mountains were being moved on my behalf. I had inquired fervently why I wasn’t good enough to receive all the spiritual blessings that “others” seem to get, with a very quick disclaimer of “not that I’m not appreciative of everything I have sir. “ So I drifted off to sleep with the compromise of “ok then, please just show me, my son, in the future with his kids & a house & a real job again…” By dang it, I had not been awake the next morning for more than 30 seconds when I realized that my God had done it.
My dream…..
I was in some sort of open mall. I was with his ex-wife and his kids. Suddenly I see my son out of the corner of my eye. He’s strolling down the center like nothing! I freeze! It had been a year at least since they had seen each other but more than that, I KNEW she would think that I set her up just for him to see his kids. I panicked, as she hurried to block her kids from seeing him, but it was too late. I was trying to reassure her that I didn’t know he was here….but it didn’t matter, his beautiful Daughter had seen him. She yelled, “Daddy!” He took her in his arms.
This moment. This moment that every child of an addict must feel. To be abandoned-no-more. To be loved and cared for by the most important people in their life. To feel validated. Important. In that moment, the drugs, a disease, work, or whatever else the reason was told for the disappearance from their life, didn’t matter.
Life was complete.
All the dots were connected. They could now color in the black and white picture of the happy family & turn the page……
I somehow disappeared in typical dream fashion…
Only to reappear in chapter 3 or so. Where I visualized them talking and the kids playing together.
I’ve gone so long pretending Trying to show everything is okay I’d rather not worry you With the weight I carry each day. Its slowly getting harder To hold all the emotions back Piece by piece, fragment by fragment The illusion is starting to crack You’ve begun to notice silent tears You’re starting to realize the pain. Beginning to see how fragile I am within this frame. There’s not a lot of strength left Not as much fight I have to give. My body is beginning to break down And all I want is to live. Live for every moment in time That I took for granted before. Pray and be thankful for my blessings Try to be humble as I kneel upon the floor. I am thankful for the many things God has had me live without. Because if I he hadn’t done so How would I know what life and love are truly about?
-Shadoe Christine “Heaven is a matter of perspective”
That is a question that families don’t really want to ask themselves. It’s usually a question asked out of frustration and after a long time of battling family addiction. Followed by: “I’ve done everything I know to do.”
Lately I have been thinking about this question and it is very troubling. For a fixer like me what does that really mean, I failed? I’m not one to accept defeat. There is a fix, I just haven’t gotten the right formula. That was always my answer. I always seemed to disregard the real answer because I never really accepted the premise of the question. My failure to accept reality that some never do get better causes me much heartache. I bring this up because of the many families that have been struggling for years with their love ones addiction.
I’ve asked this difficult question to a few family members. Only because they are completely overwhelmed, stressed out and at the end of their ropes. These family members are dealing with physical and mental breakdowns and need to release their love ones addiction back to them, instead of carrying it around on their shoulders. It’s a hard question for me to ask because I know by the time someone contacts me, there is a desperation and hopelessness that I do understand very well and they aren’t looking to hear someone to tell them to let go, they are looking for ‘the answer’.
I’m not talking about giving up on our love one or not helping them when they really need it. I’m talking about taking your life back and loving yourself again.
Put aside the anger, hurt, disappointment, guilt and past. Not for them, but for your well being. Negative emotions are hard to let go, but we need to find it ourselves to do so because it damages us more than anyone else. Don’t try to analyze addiction (or your love one). But try to understand ideas like we are powerless over our loved one’s addiction, that we can’t fix or change them. The truth is they can only do it themselves and the sooner we can see that the better our families will be.
Take time through this hard journey to take care of yourself. To Love yourself. This will make for a heather family, so when your love one does get better, the family will be in a better place and please remember even if they don’t get better, you can and do deserve a life of your own.
That’s what I constantly hear myself saying these days.
In this political climate of the world today, it’s SO easy to find yourself in a sudden moment of anger, shock, and surprise at any and every new development.
It’s hard not to react and retort with a knee- jerk response. It’s hard to remember that you are no doubt going to waste your energy AND Not likely to change ANY minds.
Those of us in the business of momma hood find ourself in this predictament quite often.
“Pick your battles”
Is our war cry.
Those of us with a very loved one in active addiction live with this fear & panic daily.
It’s amazing what happens when another human being ever so conveniently decides to cross your way in a not so positive manner.
Even if it’s one of your own ….
One minute everything’s fine, the next, you’re at the top of the highest roller coaster heading down to the depths of who knows where.
We find ourselves plunged head- first into a world that we were only vaguely aware of before.
What to do?
Most people, especially the “anon” groups tell you to detach with love. Unfortunately alot of their stories that I hear, feel more like detach with coldness and aloofness.
It goes against every mother- cell of survival and caretaking imaginable. That’s why we hang on for so long.
Sometimes too long. Until we are deficient & lacking energy, focus and hope. The very things people look toward us for.
We are the healers, the lovers, the make-it-all better-ers. We stay up all night just to make sure our babies don’t choke if they have breathing problems.
Over the years we fervently buy creams, vitamins, educational toys to make sure they develop normally. We worry if they are lacking anything that might cause their stuff esteem to plummet.
Now our babies are out there doing all sorts of self harm and damage to their precious bodies. We can’t think about it without cringing and feeling a deep sense of .. Failure? Or is it just sadness?
Yet we are told over and over again, “Let go” “Give it to God”. “Live your life.”
So we resort to…..
Appearing to”let go..
Appealing to God to take it…
And Attempting to live our life.
Because if we do anything other than that, we are punished for caring.
Twenty or thirty years ago we would be punished for not caring, for not giving our family everything they need and providing for their safety and comfort. But the minute they turn 18, OR the minute they are labeled “an addict”; we are judged as co-dependant.
Robert Weiss, in his Book Prodependance, squelches that diagnosis saying that it’s not abnormal to care about someone when your family is in crisis, whether that crisis be cancer or addiction.
It’s a comforting book full of validation for us suffering Mom’s.
But just because it’s not abnormal to care, doesn’t mean it’s healthy either. If you find yourself lost, feeling powerless, depressed and struggling to relate to anything and anyone, then you have a problem OTHER than your addicted loved one.
That’s when you need to decide: “Is this vile creature that has hijacked your beautiful child, going to have two victims or just one?”
That’s the question of the day for this mom of a person with a substance use disorder……
These are the words I heard echo from a co-worker during a meeting today. She was talking about a client who didn’t want to go to a place of business in case he had to sit by a heroin addict.
If I was financially independent, I would have stood up and said: (well- yelled, “There are worse things than being a heroin addict, like being intolerant of humans who’s sins show on the outside!”
But I’m not, so I didn’t.
As it is, I sat there in my silence of suffering as usual.
Michael J Wilson in his book Loving Lions describes the impact as this
“I watch the impact that my addiction has, and it’s like watching a horror movie. You know something bad is going to happen and you want to yell at the person onscreen to not go into that basement, not to open that door, but they never hear you. The movie goes on and I am forced to watch, trapped within myself, unable to stop it. I feel helpless, I feel useless, and I feel worthless.”
I keep my struggle with my Lion seperate than other areas of my life. Or, I at least try.
Later on that day I was sending another patient to see a medical provider as scheduled, and she yells out, “I’ll be back, I’m going to see the drug dealer!” Haha, everyone laughs, while my insides fall the 1000 feet that it took me to build them up again after the comment earlier this morning.
Drinking or joking about “needing” a glass of wine, is all fun and games until you see the first phone call from the jail knowing it’s your beloved child who not only had that glass of wine, but couldn’t stop at one.
Loving lions also describes their (the person with a substance use disorder) ( in-)ability to fix that problem too:
“I do not have the ability to fix a problem that has me convinced it does not exist. I am not capable of putting myself into the challenging recovery process that is required to get well. I am not capable of coming up with a plan to fix a problem I cannot see clearly. I am not capable of fixing this without help. I am not capable of pulling myself out of this hole. “
Which brings us to a crossroads and to the normal model of “a disease”. How do you help someone who’s very disease won’t let them believe they need help?
It’s like a pimp. Convinces his girls that they can’t live without him, even though HE is the problem, engaging them in illegal activities, lowering their quality of life, risking their health, their freedom etc.
Drugs are the biggest pimpmobile ever and I wish that caravan hadn’t stopped in my town.
Just to top my day off, this Day in The Life of a Mom of a person with a Substance Use Disorder; I see a “Story” pop up on my son’s Facebook. He is quite new at Facebook, having only had it the last year or two when his addiction seared to new “heights” so to speak; so I was curious that he figured out that feature.
Much to my shock, I saw a conversation that he accidently posted on there, which was “seemingly like a drug deal”. Unbelievable. I frantically tried to message him to delete it. No answer. I knew there were people on his Facebook that were not “real” friends and would look at that as “ah ha see? He’s still at it, what a loser” or whatever people think of addicts. No, I’m not trying to cushion his fall. He’s fell so hard the last 2 years there’s no cushion left. I guess I’m just still a bit embarrassed of it all.
Shame and blame go right along with the agenda of addiction. For not only the addict, but the family.
My son finally answered my frantic messages. He said he doesn’t know how that conversation got on a story or how to get it off. I hurriedly explained with detailed screenshots how to get it off.
Then in true Nar-anon cringe worth fashion, I gave unsolicited advice & told him since he has warrants out, he probably should be more careful. He still insisted it wasn’t a drug deal.
Ok son. Over and out. 10-4 to this day. Another Day in the Life of a Mother of a person with a Substance Use Disorder.
The little girl with the shy smile, came over to me, as I was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Her sticky fingers grabbed my hands and led me to the dining room table where the family was singing Happy Birthday to her new little sister.
She placed herself in the tall wooden chair and put my hands on top of it, then told me to stay there behind her. She Grandma for support. My heart melted.
The birthday girl’s Mom brought the My Little Pony cake in, as the familiar song rang out with happy smiles all around. 🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶
As I watched the plume of smoke rise up from the candles, I felt the tears stinging my eyes.
This was my little 6 year old granddaughter; who I managed to see a few times a year, despite living only a couple hours away.
The people in attendance were mostly her new family, my youngest son’s tribe as he forged into a new relationship and new life.
The previous life had held my eldest son, the family business, and all my other happy kids and grandkids.
As the grey smoke disappeared into the abyss, my eyes clouded in tears as I thought of the irony of that smoke.
The sweetness of life swirled up in the yummy pink fluffy frosting. The colored candles of adventure dripping with melted wax. The lightness of the flame flickering, taunting. The flame is what separates the light from the darkness. When the flame extinguishes, the smoke does its dance….
And oh, did our smoke dance. Our family had now joined one of millions ripped apart with addiction, specifically opiods which not so quickly, dominoed into heroin.
We can argue all day long about who’s fault that was, but it’s clear that anyone who was remotely vulnerable to addiction had some intense marketing help.
Over 200,000 thousand Americans have been lost to the opiod epidemic crisis. The recent Sackler family lawsuit has brought to light some factors of this.
But this isn’t what this story is about. This story is about a little girl and her grandma.
This Grandma, who tries to go to work, be a wife and a Grandma. Who tries to not let others see her pain. She plans Christmas parties and goes on outings with her other kids without mentioning him.
A grandma who spends her days trying to maintain some normalcy, not knowing if she’ll get “the call” that day. The dreaded call is known amoung mothers of addicts groups on Facebook. Hundreds, thousands of them. Almost daily, the scene repeats itself: wake up, click on Facebook, see a post saying “I got the call today”. You feel your body freeze in horror. Maybe this day, no facebook groups. Too depressing.
But today she didn’t. Today she made the mistake of mentioning him.
It was to the younger son- and he didn’t like it.
She mentioned that “He”, would probably be going to jail soon and she wondered if the younger son had any old work trucks that wasn’t being used just so he could get around until then. He said no, he got rid of them all.
Case closed. Then in saying our goodbyes, this Grandma mentioned to not say anything about the ‘jail thing’ to anyone. (Ya know, we have to keep the secrecy and shame of addiction rampant).
I thought.
He proceeded to tell his mom, me. His mom that he once revered as a young teen, that she needs to quit coming around and always talking about “him”. He went on to say that he doesn’t want to hear anything about how I’m helping the addict, because “HE” doesn’t want to be helped. As I started to explain, that’s the nature of the disease, it tells them they don’t need help; he rejected any explanation. He was not to be ‘educated’, not this day or any day.
My therapist would be so disappointed. I crossed so many boundaries. Boundaries of not letting people feel however they want to feel. Educating people who didn’t ask to be educated. Telling people what they should do. At that moment though, I didn’t care what my therapist thought. I had already fired him anyway, for not understanding and agreeing with harm reduction in addiction.
All I cared about in that moment, was that I had now lost another son to this monster.
I immediately felt my emotions elevating to freak out proportions. I was already jet lagged with fatigue due to a previous day and night full of anxiety and stress of a different subject and nature, so I was primed for a major meltdown.
And I obliged.
As my husband pulled away from my son’s house, I screamed in a fit of rage. I screamed at him to LET ME DIE!!! That I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not losing another child and going through another 2 or more years of not seeing this grandchild like I already had done with the addict’s children. My husband had to pull over and fight me in the snow for 2 hours as I let out the tears and pain and frustrations of trying to maintain normalcy the last few months. Of trying to find a reason to live, as I screamed:
“I can’t watch this play out anymore!!!! I can’t bear to see my family fall apart, my son go to prison, and me left with the strict instructions to NOT CARE or DO ANYTHING about it all”.
If this is screaming of unstableness, co-dependancy, and enmeshment; all are probly correct.
The anguish, the disappointment, the sheer agony of the ripple effect of addiction, is not something that you can describe to someone who hasn’t experienced it anyway.
So, here we are. The dead of winter. The dark, coldness enveloping my shoes and my heart as I stood in the middle of a dirt road in rural America, begging my husband to just let me die. I mean, he had a gun.
That’s right.
Concealed carry gun owner. Perfect. I thought. It’s not as if I hadn’t thought about it before.
Suicide is a darkness that’s hard to explain. It also doesn’t just happen (usually) as a knee jerk coping skill to a bad fight such as this. But this moment might be an exception.
The person in a full fledged emotional turbine such as this, just wants the pain to end. And in that tunnel of darkness, the distraught brain can’t see another way out.
But my husband wasn’t in agreement.
He took me home. Worn out. Defeated. Hopeless.
My son later sent texts that solidified that I “needed mental help” & he didn’t want “negative people around his daughters” and “when I decided to quit helping the ‘tweaker’ I could be in his life”. So there’s that……
Love, with strict conditions attached, from my very own flesh and blood.
Oh…. the ripple effects of addiction.
When everyone has their answer to a problem- that in and of itself – is actually an unhealthy solution to a bigger problem.
The problem is, there is no perfect solution. And if left untreated in family recovery- the ripple effects of addiction will go on and on.
We’re coming up on a year of this pandemic. My daughter was really Ill last December with what she thinks was Covid.
I wrote this article last April when the pandemic was in full force. It’s meant to show the living hell a mom of a substance use disorder person lives with comparitively to Covid 19.
