CONVERSATIONS WITH OUR LOVED ONES IN RECOVERY

A mom wrote to me: My son is new to recovery, and I’m wondering if I can ask him all the questions that I have? Sometime I feel like I can’t say how I have been hurt, or how I feel, or how his addiction has affected our family. I don’t’ want to drive him away or make him feel more ashamed than he already feels.

My reflection: When Jeff read a draft of Stay Close, his response was, “You stripped me naked in this book.” I said, “But why didn’t you stop? Why did you continue to hurt all of us?” His eyes filled with tears and he said, “You wrote an entire book about addiction and you still don’t understand. I never wanted to hurt you. I tried to keep you to the side and out of the way. You’re my mom and I love you, but I’m an addict, Mom. I’m an addict.”

Today’s Promise to consider: With my son, a recovering heroin addict, HOW I asked the question was more important than what and when I asked. He was already beaten-up by the addiction and felt guilt and shame, so I needed to be gentle. Today, when we talk about the stormy years of his addiction, I ask questions calmly, without judgment, and in love.

“I SAW WHAT I WANTED TO” – ADDICTION AND DELUSION

While I was listening to a song by O+S, the words “I saw what I wanted to” made me think about addiction. During the early years of my son’s drug use, I was quick to see what I wanted to: the boy who earned high grades, the athlete who was the captain of the soccer team, the son who spoke with respect and commanded an impressive grasp of the English language. I’ve wondered why I didn’t see the boy who insisted on spending every weekend out of the house and with his friends, the boy whose clothes smelled like cigarettes, and the boy who dressed in black and had multiple stories as to where he spent the weekend nights.

My reflection: I saw what I wanted to. I believed the son I loved. I chose to look at the good grades and athletic prowess, and I refused to see the reality of what I think I knew was happening.

Today’s Promise: Today, I choose to live in honesty. The early years of my son’s addiction were filled with fiction – the stories I accepted, and those that Jeff projected. I believed them because, maybe, it was easier. If that’s true, what was easier became a nightmare. There is only one way out of addiction: seeing and telling the truth.