From Healing Within Our Alcoholic Relationships, CAL, p. 9-10
“Ceasing to Enable
Our constant protective watchfulness of the alcoholics in our lives makes it easy for them to continue drinking and delay getting help. As long as we convince ourselves that we are doing our very best for them, they may have no incentive to get sober. Until we learn, as we do in Al-Anon, that shielding alcoholics from the consequences of their drinking only prolongs the course of the disease, the situation isn’t likely to improve.”
It took me years to really believe this and stop “helping” my daughter. At the time, the consequences looked unbearable to me: living on the street, going to prison, etc.
Out of my own sense of guilt, since I’m a double winner, I felt that she got it from me, that it was my fault. Over time I finally accepted that my daughter’s illness was not my fault. Period. And any attempt to carry the responsibility for her disease was terribly misguided. When I brought this new attitude into my belief system, I felt free for the first time in years. I cannot save Annie from substance use disorder, but I gratefully and gracefully have learned to save myself.
From Each Day A New Beginning, by Karen Casey, December 1:
“’And it isn’t the thing you do, dear, it’s the thing you leave undone which gives you a bit of a heartache at the setting of the sun.’ ~Margaret Sangster”
A quality many of us share, a very human quality, is to expect near perfection from ourselves, to expect the impossible in all tasks done. I must rejoice for the good I do. Each time I pat myself on the back for a job well done, my confidence grows a little bit more. Recovery is best measured by my emotional and spiritual health, expressed in my apparent confidence and trust in “the process.”
Creeping perfectionism is a strange form of self-sabotage. At first it seems like such a good and healthy attitude. But setting realistic goals and doing my best to achieve them is very different from placing unyielding demands on myself and feeling “less-than” if I fail to meet them.
It all boils down to being honest and knowing myself as I am, not as I think I should be. Knowing myself and coming away liking myself—well, for many of us that’s a process that takes a long time. Holding onto realistic aspirations can be a healthy thing. But demanding perfection of myself and worse, punishing myself when I fall short, is not healthy. It’s a bitter tyrant holding a whip at my back.
Strong language, yes. But not as strong as the sting of that whip on my back. I’m happy to be free of it. I love my recovery fellowship where I’m just one in a community of equals, where I can mess up and they love me anyway. I’ve grown up in the rooms all these years and I’ve learned to love myself, warts and all. This is where I found my humanity. I am truly blessed and happy to be alive, now more than ever as we join hands to strengthen our communities.
I messaged a friend on Facebook: “Oh, God Bless, Maryann, my heart goes out to you and all of us mothers. I often say on these sites that I’m grieving a living death because Annie, my daughter, is not the person who’s walking in her shoes. She’s split right down the middle. Anyway, we all have different stories, but some parts are so familiar. My recovery is all about finding solutions for myself, and I hope it helps you too. One thing I’ve learned on this difficult journey is to live in the solution, not in the problem. That’s how I’ve learned to be happy. Hugs to you!”
From a Nar-Anon handout: “People like myself whose problems have brought them to the point of despair have come to Nar-Anon to seek advice and find solutions. As soon as they attend the first meeting they feel like they have come home and feel like they are among people who really understand. And fortunate is the newcomer who finds a group that permits such expression. It gives those who have gone before them a way to give encouragement and hope. The newcomer discovers that it is by giving and receiving in our sharing that we are able to heal ourselves, and slowly we are able to regain control of our lives again.
But still more fortunate is the newcomer who finds a group that does not allow such unburdening to continue meeting after meeting. There is work to be done; Nar-Anon is not a sounding board for continually reviewing our miseries, but a way to learn how to detach ourselves from them.
A Recovery reminder:
I will learn by listening, by reading all the Nar-Anon literature as well as all good books on the subject of substance use disorder, by working and trying to live the 12 Steps. The more I read and study the more knowledge I receive. Knowledge is power, and I will be able to help myself as well as others.”
“‘They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm’ ~Dorothy Parker
Variety in experiences is necessary for our continued growth. We mistakenly think that the ‘untroubled’ life would be forever welcome. It’s the deep waves of life that teach us to be better swimmers.”
Ain’t that the truth? But who said I wanted to be a good swimmer?
Well, to follow this metaphor along, before I got into recovery, I was very good at dogpaddling. When I had to face a problem, I paddled around it or avoided the water altogether. I never learned to swim properly. And certainly not well. I lived on the fringes of what I recognize now to be a healthy life, a life filled with honesty, self-care, and love of and service to others. Before recovery, I used avoidance, hiding, dishonesty, and any substance I could get my hands on (food, drugs, alcohol) to numb me for a while so I wouldn’t have to face “life on life’s terms.”
I was so deeply unhappy from a very young age, and so terribly self-absorbed in my own sadness that I failed to recognize what a fortunate life I had had in so many ways. Attitude is everything, and I needed to do some serious work to adjust mine. Recovery has come to me in waves over the past twenty-plus years, and the one thing that grounds me to the core is a deep sense of gratitude.
All of us on this page have experienced the “deep waves” of life that they mention in the reading. I lost my daughter to substance use disorder twenty-three years ago. She may or may not be alive in San Francisco right now. But I haven’t seen her in thirteen years. On the rare occasions that I have heard from her in these lost years, she was not my daughter, not the one I raised. Her personality has completely changed, she has no moral compass, and I imagine that all the years of substance abuse have caused considerable brain damage.
That’s the “deep wave” that has caused me the most heartache. But there are others that I chose to focus on and be an excuse for my own unhappy life. An unhappy childhood, a divorce and three angry kids, estrangement from my family of origin. Luckily I had found recovery before I got incurable blood cancer or that would have been another excuse to feel sorry for myself.
It’s these “deep waves” that have made me a better swimmer. Life’s challenges, some of them small, some of them overwhelming. I’ve learned to face them like an adult, not like a frightened child. And in doing so, I have given myself another chance at life. How lucky is that? To get a second chance, to make living amends to my remaining kids and grandkids, to try to heal the estrangement in my family, all these “waves” that might have drowned me before I decided to do life differently.
I am one lucky lady. I thank God and my recovery fellowship, all my friends here who I think of as family for the opportunity to live happy, joyous and free. God Bless!
“When I came into Al-Anon at the suggestion of a friend, my life was unmanageable in so many ways. I was unaware that living with alcoholism was involved in my broken relationships, divorce, several addictions, inability to be honest with myself, people pleasing, and other things I had not uncovered yet, either because of denial of lack of discovery.”
“lack of discovery…” Bingo! I feel as though I’d been living in a fog for most of my early life, only I didn’t know it. I didn’t know anything about the family disease that (I now know) was interfering with my well-being.
Where was this article—this enlightenment—when I needed it? As a younger woman I blamed myself and others for everything that was wrong in my life. I understood nothing about the complicated disease of substance use disorder. But twenty years of work in Al-Anon have opened my eyes. The fog has lifted and now I see more clearly. I understand why I internalized so much of the dysfunction that was happening in my family and carried the guilt myself from which there was no relief.
Not until I entered this compassionate fellowship. It is in these rooms that I found forgiveness for my parents and myself, along with critical tools to continue the healing work I was doing. The 12-Steps and the slogans, when practiced, have helped me navigate through my life. And life, itself, is a mixed bag. I’ve had joys, but also incredible sorrows. Using the teaching of Al-Anon as a guide, I’ve learned to be grateful for my blessings. And I’ve learned to accept my sorrows with grace without being destroyed by them. Learning how to put things into healthier perspective has been a gift of the program.
I have been given hope for a better life, and I’ll always be grateful that I opened my mind to some good advice: “Go to a meeting, Marilea. It might be the answer for you.”
It was. And my fears have been replaced by the certainty that all will be well, in God’s plan.
I have been in ongoing recovery for quite a few years, and I’ve written this blog for over a decade. Yet it is utterly refreshing for me to see myself grow in real time and share it with you. Here is something I have realized recently as a result of my 12-Step work:
I’ve often said here that guilt is a crippling emotion. How so? I had felt that when I let guilt overpower me, I would become vulnerable and lose my resolve when dealing with my daughter, and probably others as well. The boundaries I had set to protect me would fall away. So I would become crippled in my dealings with her.
That kind of thinking demonstrates how far I needed to grow in order to work with guilt differently so that it would become my teacher and not a means to punish myself. Now I see that the only thing that crippled me was me, and not the emotion behind it. The second promise of AA says that I will not regret the past nor wish to close a door on it. When I can truly not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it, I will be able to accept myself as an evolving woman just like so many of us in recovery.
I will see that my whole life—the good, the bad and the ugly—has been a series of lessons for me, one after the other. And that wishing away my past would be a form of self-annihilation. I will try to embrace my failures with my loved ones—not with angst and remorse—but with humility and. grace.
From Healing Within Our Alcoholic Relationships, CAL, p. 22
“Step Seven: Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings
Am I really ready to have my shortcomings removed, or do I cling to some of my favorite ones—those I think are justified by circumstances?
Do I know they cannot be removed until I am ready, and that while I have any reservations, I cannot be ready to be helped toward my goal of a full, serene life?
Have I reached a point of being truly humble?
Is it only my mind that is ready, or do I truly wish, from my heart, to learn how to live a better life?
Unassuming as the tone of this step appears, can I see it as an instrument of power that can change my life?
How soon will I learn to put it to use?”
All of these questions are good food for thought. On the first one, I am an expert at self-justification! Aren’t we all? J On #2, my readiness is critical to all parts of my recovery. If I really believe that I can’t get through the day without checking in with Annie “one last time,” then I’m not ready to have my stubbornness and denial removed—my belief that her recovery depends on my reaching out to her over and over again, regardless of her continued lack of responses. For #3, I think that my continual failure to get what I want through my own devices has humbled me. I’m grateful for that. For #4, yes I truly wish to live a better life. And when I follow the Steps and guidelines in my recovery program, a better life is my reward.
Substance use disorder doesn’t discriminate. Before my daughter was swallowed up in it, she was a successful ten-year-old gymnast, competing in England while we were traveling in the Foreign Service and living in Greece. She was a gifted artist. And she graduated from college with a B.A. in Journalism. When she was twenty-one, it all fell apart.
I no longer speculate on “Why Annie?” Rich, poor, educated or not, substance use disorder can strike anywhere. And sometimes there is a gene component—four generations in my family—but not always.
The particular poignancy of this mother’s story is that Annie and I mirror each other: we both suffer from substance use disorder. So my story has a bit of a spin to it. It’s all graphically portrayed in my books. I’m not as detached as many parents without such baggage. My guilt and overinflated sense of responsibility consistently prevented me from being objective or from acting intelligently. I had to let go of my remorse before I could be helpful to her. And I had to learn to value myself enough to do that.
That came from working the steps of my recovery program. Self-forgiveness is critical to my ability to move on. Mine has been a classic redemption story.
I have learned to live well, despite the fact that my daughter is estranged from me. Many fellow parents, myself included, are primarily interested in the magic bullet that will save our children. But I’m glad I stayed in recovery long enough to learn that even though I’m powerless to save my daughter, I can still save myself. There are other voices in my world who call me: other children, grandchildren, family and many friends. I want to listen and live well for them. That is the message of my story and many others’: that even though I’m weathering one of a parent’s worst nightmares, I’ve learned that there’s no glory in martyrdom, and that I’ve earned the right to live happily, whether Annie recovers or not. Life goes on, and we with it. I’ve lived a blessed life, and only through my work in recovery have I found the good sense to recognize and be grateful for that.
As I’ve watched Annie slipping away all these years, I’ve learned to view my life through a different lens. The tools of recovery have taught me how to be grateful for what I have, how to let go of people and situations that I cannot change, and to have faith in something greater, wiser, and more powerful than I am.
Losing my child to substance use disorder did break me a few years ago, and in my brokenness and despair I turned toward the light that had always been there. I’m so grateful that I still had the eyes to see it.
A simple mantra, but very true. We’ve all heard about “self-talk,” both positive and negative. Negative self-talk is common for those of us who struggle with self-esteem. “Oh I’ll never win that contest, so I’m not gonna bother trying.” It’s not just laziness that forms such an attitude. It’s also the absolute certainty that I’m not gonna win. And to avoid the disappointment of losing, I feel it’s better to not even try. How many times have I been there? Too many to count.
Positive self-talk, on the other hand, says: “What have I got to lose? Nothing! And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be good enough to win.” I guess a healthier perspective would be something like: “Look, winning or losing a contest isn’t everything. If I win, that means my work was better than the other contestants’ entries. And if I lose it means that other entries were better than mine. But it doesn’t mean that mine was bad, It’s important to really believe that. There was just stiff competition.”
In my recovery program, making comparisons is discouraged. We are operating on a level playing field. We learn to accept ourselves as we are, warts and all. Unlike the contest above, we recognize that we are all equals. And when we tell ourselves that, we cease feeling inferior to anyone else. We all have defects and strengths. We work on our defects in the program, to minimize them, and to build on our strengths.
As we learn to do that, to make these self-affirmations, we are building up our self-confidence, and positive self-talk comes to us more frequently. These thoughts become part of our makeup. They solidify and become things we can rely on. So since thoughts can become real things in our lives, we learn to choose the good ones.
“No, not my daughter. She’s had such a privileged life, was given so many advantages, this couldn’t be happening to her.”
This is what I told myself for a long time. I simply couldn’t believe that my daughter would throw her life away like this. “This sort of thing happens to other people’s children.” Well, I got rid of that arrogance very quickly. Her behavior was undeniably that of a full-blown substance abuser, deep in the disease. This was the child I had raised, not other people’s children.
She stole everything that wasn’t nailed down in the house. When she said we must have been robbed, I believed her and called the police. I swallowed her lies hook, line and sinker. When she stole my identity, twice, the credit card company called me and encouraged me to call the authorities. I blew them off and said I would take care of it. I did nothing, afraid of the consequences she would face. I lacked the courage to do the right thing.
Those consequences might have taught her a lesson. But by helping her to avoid them, she was emboldened to do more. This is what my denial had wrought; my daughter was a runaway train, having abandoned the moral code I taught all my kids when they were little, caught in the grip of a cruel disease that had claimed her for 23 years. Maybe if I had faced the truth early on, things would have been different. Or maybe not. I needed to accept the fact that my part in her disease was insignificant.
I don’t beat myself up with guilt anymore. I, too, have been in recovery for 23 years. And I have learned something important in the rooms: I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. I have since learned a lot and I know more, about denial, enabling, and preventing my child from facing the consequences of her actions.
Yes, this is one of my many mantras: “I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.”
No more guilt. Just love and compassion for the both of us. Amen to that.
