From The Forum, December, 2016
“Someone else’s drinking brought me to the meetings, but day-to-day living keeps me coming back.”
When I joined the rooms of recovery, I thought that if my my daughter would just change, then I would be happy. I looked everywhere for the magic bullet to bring about this change. Time passed, and for a while it looked like Angie was changing. And then she wasn’t. I was confused. How was I ever going to be happy if I kept riding on the roller coaster with her?
It was time for me to get off. I needed to realize that a lot of my problems were of my own making. And allowing my happiness and well-being to depend on other people isn’t wise because I have no control over them.
But I do have power over my own life and the choices I make. So I’ve learned to put the focus back on myself and change in ways that will help me to live better. I’ve let go of obsessing over a disease I can’t control. And I’ve turned my attention to other things and people in my life that bring me joy.
My recovery program has shown me how to work the tools “in all my affairs.” It has shown me how it benefits me everywhere. It started with my daughter. But, with or without success on that front, I can still lead a good and productive life elsewhere, enjoying healthier relationships to really make my life worth living.
“Take rest; a field that is rested gives a beautiful crop.” ~Ovid
I was blindsided by my daughter’s drug addiction. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but I was. So I went into high gear from the beginning in an effort to save her. I did what many parents do. We all do what we can because we love our children and we want them to be okay. But I exhausted myself and I crashed hard. I had to make some serious changes in my life in order to survive the strain of being an addict’s mom.
With much gratitude I embrace my recovery program now. In the rooms I have learned so many things: to let go of my guilt; to accept that addiction in a loved one isn’t my fault; to detach with love; to cease obsessing about my addict and focus more on myself, changing my attitudes, and making my life better; taking care of myself; resting my mind and my body.
There’s a lot of peace from accepting what I can’t change, as much as that hurts. I’ve stopped wearing myself out trying to convince Angie to reenter recovery from her addiction. Only she can make that decision; I accept that now without resistance and recognize my powerlessness.
Life is unfolding as it was meant to. I believe things happen for a reason, and I hold onto that faith.
“The first gift a newcomer receives from contact with Al-Anon is hope. Seeing how others rise above their problems, listening to situations worse than their own, absorbing the atmosphere of love and goodwill, send them home with a new lease on life.” (One Day At a Time in Al-Anon, pg.94)
“Happy Our Program Exists.” Well, that’s an understatement! Without the tools I’ve picked up in the rooms of recovery, I would be very depressed. It wasn’t easy to undergo a complete overhaul of my attitude, but I needed one.
I came into the Program miserable, anxious and terrified. I felt overly responsible, as though what I did could cure my daughter’s illness. But over time I’ve learned to let go of a situation I lacked the ability to change.
There’s a lot of freedom in that.
From Hope for Today, August 20:
“The more I feel my smallness and powerlessness, the more I grow in spirituality.”
There’s a lot of wisdom in that short sentence. And it has everything to do with turning our will over to a Higher Power. It’s about letting go of our ego more and becoming right-sized.
This is hard work, because catering to our ego is part of what makes us human. We are all at times slaves to our will and desires, but living with an addicted child in the family all these years, I’ve learned how my will can distort reality. Turning myself into a pretzel was destroying me.
I’ve learned to accept what I cannot change, and allow the peace and serenity of the Spirit to fill me up. I don’t have the power to change my daughter, though I wish with all my being that I did. So I’m still learning to let go, even after all these years. It’s so very hard; Angie is my child.
Life goes on, and there are other voices out there. I’m listening to them.