I am a family member of several alcoholics and addicts. My grandmother is in active alcoholism, and my brother is in active addiction. I’ve lost family members to the disease and have seen family members recover.
Both of my husbands were addicts, the boyfriend after them… I seem to find myself surrounded by the disease from my earliest memories. Growing up that way, marrying into the situation… it changes how one navigates the world. When you’re surrounded by illness, you become ill yourself.
All of a sudden, what others find rational, you find irrational. What others find unreasonable makes perfect sense to you. Where others may put up boundaries and practice self-respect, you find yourself doing the opposite. Before you know it, you’re gone, and all that matters is them.
We Can’t Live Unless They Act Right
We need them to act right, do things differently, be different, think differently, and just get in LINE so that we can breathe! We need them to be sober (but not that way) and kind (but in this way) and considerate (at this level). Our demands grow and grow over time because over and over again they disappoint.
We believe that our requests are reasonable and completely within their power to fulfill. So, when they don’t fulfill them, it’s obviously because they don’t want to.
So…. when faced with all the disappointment and with the absolute confidence that we know exactly what needs to happen…. we just start doing it ourselves.
The Slippery Slope into Becoming an Enabler
They need a job?
“Well, here are 10 different places hiring and you need to be ready at 8 am and I’ll call off work so I can make sure you make it there, and I’ll sit and wait and….”
In other words, I’ll make sure this happens for you because, in my mind, this is the answer to the problem.
You can’t pay your rent?
“Okay, I’ll do it one more time but, in the future, I need you to do this!!!”
You can’t pay your rent again?
“Okay, but for real—this is the last time!”
You’re withdrawing and it hurts really bad?”
…I guess I can give you my left-over painkillers from my surgery to ease your pain….”
You want me to buy your drugs so you don’t break up with me?
“I will do that for us.”
You’re in jail and you can’t stand it?
“I’ll bail you out… again….”
We Know It’s Crazy… But We Do It Anyway
We start doing things that we know, in moments of clarity, are utterly unreasonable. But, in the moment, it seems the only answer and the right thing to do.
Of course, we’re not gonna let them feel the pain.
Of course, we love them and want them to be happy and successful.
And of course, we’re going to go out of our way to help them when they so clearly need it.
We’ll bankrupt ourselves emotionally and financially and spiritually if it means that we don’t have the guilt of doing nothing when our brains tell us we could do something.
We lose ourselves.
And every piece of self-worth we have….
This was my life, every day.
And when my ministrations continued to fail and the people continued to disappoint, I became angrier and angrier and angrier.
We Become Spiritually Sick
I found myself exploding at the drop of a hat. I found myself filled with hate and resentment. I found myself romanticizing suicide—as well as homicide. I found myself in jail, homeless, despondent, and worthless.
It was killing me: this need to make their world work and, as a natural byproduct, my world, this delusion that if I could JUST fix it, everything would be happy and peaceful and amazing.
Relatively quickly (at least compared to others) my pain became too much. It was either do something different or die. It was suggested to me, by a member of a 12-step group, to come to a meeting.
The meeting was for people like me—the family member.
My Journey to Recovery
I started my recovery journey over 4 years ago, and my life has completely transformed. I have clarity that I never imagined. And I now understand how the normies view these situations. The biggest piece of clarity I have received is this: let them hurt.
Let them go to jail. Let their lights get turned off. Let them run out of gas. Let them experience withdrawals. Let them be sad. Let them feel hopeless.
There is a power to pain. As humans, we want it to be over. And if the pain is bad enough, we’ll do anything to gain relief.
We will shed every bit of pride and stubbornness if we can just make it stop. Anything… we’ll do anything! My pain is what brought me to a new life. It’s what brought me to a willingness to do things differently. It’s what defeated me.
And when we’re defeated, all of a sudden, we find ourselves being open-minded to all sorts of alternatives.
So, who am I to take that opportunity away from someone else?
When Help Is Harmful
It is quite humbling to be told that every bit of “help” I believed I was giving to my addicted loved ones was actually harming them, that every time I intervened in their consequences, I was delaying their opportunity to get real help from people who could actually help them.
Every single time my delusional brain told me I was fixing it, I was only making the problem worse. By bailing them out of the consequences of their choices, I was actually intervening in them feeling enough pain to get them to a place where they’d decide to do things differently.
So, I let them hurt.
Harming them? How insane, I thought! But here’s what’s even more insane: once I stopped “helping,” all of a sudden, they started doing things for themselves.
When I stopped intervening, I was able to breathe easier. When I let go of the dishonesty that I was the only one with the power to solve the problems, they started figuring themselves out.
Did that mean my loved one was perfect and fine and sober? No. Did that mean they got the job they needed, started paying their bills, and became a productive member of society? No.
The real beauty was that it lifted the veil and gave them clarity that their problems were of their own making and the consequences were theirs to pay.
Over time, these loved ones started doing things for themselves. Some sought treatment. Others continued to use/drink. Some became responsible… others didn’t. I continued to let them hurt.
I Stopped Taking Their Dignity
I was able to be confident in the knowledge that they’re adults and can live their lives however they want. And I can be happy… not happy that they’re suffering, but happy because I’m finally doing the right thing, and mostly, because I deserve to be!
I was not put on this earth to solve all the problems of the world. And I cannot be the answer to someone else’s life. That is not my role, especially with adults. We must all be given the ability and the dignity to learn from our mistakes and grow as people.
I have stopped taking that dignity away from others. I let. Them. Hurt.
I now know myself. I know exactly what I’m okay with and what I’m not. And I feel zero guilt for being loyal to that. I set boundaries that adhere to that. I help when it’s appropriate. I value myself and give myself the respect I deserve, especially when they’re unable to.
I no longer feel guilty because I’m no longer taking ownership of their choices. I have become who I was meant to be, and I now know peace. It’s a wonderful life! I will always love them. Now, I’m able to love them AND accept who they’ve chosen to be! I let them hurt!
This is just my experience as a family member. Keep reading to hear the experience from the other side.
It Sure Is Nice Being Surrounded by Parachutes
I lived my teens and twenties surrounded by parachutes: my parents and one girlfriend after another.
A parachute is someone who will drop everything to save you from your own stupid mistakes. At some point, they stop being a person—they become a resource.
How often did I call my mom begging for money? Or just sneak a few 20s from her purse when she wasn’t looking?
How often did I convince one girlfriend after the next to pay for my drugs when I’d lost a job due to my addiction?
How many times did people save me and save me and save me?
I could have continued getting high for decades if they hadn’t caught on to my lies and stopped.
I used to think I was a sociopath—how else can you explain treating people you purport to love like that? I would marvel at my bad behavior, marvel more that I kept getting away with it, kept on going.
I didn’t know it was my disease, but I didn’t have to learn about all that—why bother when I had no incentive to get well, to go to AA meetings, to investigate rehabs? I just had to use the resources available to me to live however I wanted.
And that worked…
Right up until they told me “no.”
“No” Saved My Life
I used to think that, sooner or later, everyone in an addict’s life wises up and gets done with their crap.
But that’s just not true.
I know addicts in their 60s whose 80-year-old mothers are still paying for their apartments, their cars, their drugs.
People who truly suffer from this level of codependency rarely just “snap out of it.” They have their own disease, as I eventually came to learn—one just as powerful as mine.
They could become addicted to me.
But once they started getting around people who were well, they changed. Girlfriends would stick around for years, but they would leave sooner or later, and as the addiction progressed, there was only one set of parachutes left: my parents.
I’ll never forget the first time I asked my parents for money and they said, “No.”
How did I feel? Angry, betrayed, indignant.
That’s how my disease felt, anyway. “No” is a potent medication. It has the power to fight the disease in a way nothing else can. The real me was deep inside, screaming with joy that maybe, FINALLY, something would change.
When I finally had to deal with the consequences of my actions, can you guess what happened?
I couldn’t handle it.
I started to hurt—bad.
It wasn’t long before I slunk into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous to beg for help.
“No” Doesn’t Have to be Permanent
It took a few more “no’s” along the way. My parents said “no” to me coming back to the house after rehab. They said “no” when I tried to convince them I didn’t need rehab in the first place.
But they weren’t callous or cruel. When I started working the Steps and following directions, when I demonstrated that I was changing, that I was serious, they gave me small bits of help where it could help most.
They didn’t give me money for a sober house—they paid them directly and told me to get a job.
They didn’t give me money to go back to school—they helped me take out loans.
And as year after year of sobriety accumulated, they were willing to help with other things too.
But only where it made sense. Only where it would help. Only if I was consistently sober and demonstrating that I was no longer a lying, cheating thief. That I was working a steady job, showing up on time, being consistent, and doing my best.
It took me some time, but eventually, with precisely targeted bits of help, I was able to stand on my own two feet.
And my disease took a permanent back seat. I still go to meetings today. I still understand that my disease is watching and waiting. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
You Can Be the Solution for the Person in Your Life Who’s Suffering from the Disease of Addiction
It’s often the case that the addict is surrounded by parachutes, by people who don’t realize that they’re standing between the addict and a true chance at sobriety.
But you don’t have to be that anymore.
Our family program is designed for people like you who need help figuring out how to say “no” and start actually making a difference.