My mother isn’t an alcoholic, but she is in recovery. She began attending 12-step meetings around the time I did, but for different reasons. I was attending meetings because as an alcoholic and drug addict in treatment, going to meetings was mandatory. I assumed my mother was attending meetings because I’d driven her to the edge of insanity.
After spending several months in treatment and a halfway house, I moved in with my parents. I had a sponsor, I was going to lots of meetings, and I was re-enrolled in school. One of my biggest fears about moving back home was that my mother would have a constant paranoia about my precarious sobriety. I wouldn’t have blamed her. No doubt, she had plenty of concerns.
At that time, I had met a lot of new people in recovery but hadn’t made many friends. One evening I announced that I’d be reuniting with some guys from the old days, friends of mine before recovery. Unsurprisingly, my mom wore a worried face. There wasn’t much discussion about it and I knew she hated the idea, but I went anyway.
They picked me up and it took no more than ten minutes before I realized that my old buddies and I no longer had much in common—particularly when they all gathered around a pipe full of weed. I stood up and walked outside, feeling foolish.
That was the last time I saw those guys. I’m fortunate to have stayed sober that night but it was an important event. By letting me walk out that door, my mom showed that she trusted me with my own recovery even if I wasn’t acting trustworthy. She knew it might not end well but let me go anyway. She allowed me ownership of my choices. Recovery is all about choices—whether public or private.
Through her own recovery program, she understands that although support and community are essential to recovery, it’s really up to the individual to do the work. We need people to help us along the path, but we can’t be carried.
My mother and I speak a common language. We’ve acquired some tools that work, helping us with lifelong habits that don’t. We encourage and console each other, and excitedly share the small revelations we have along the way. We exchange those stories of God’s power and artistry in bringing healing where there once was brokenness. Her recovery is hers, and my recovery is mine, but we share them with each other joyfully.
~ By Ted Nielsen
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