What’s it like being the parent of an addict? I’m not talking about the day-to-day experience with a crisis and drama around every corner. I mean what is it like inside the mind of a parent who has gone from discovery (of a child’s drug use) to recovery (from a drug addiction)? As I take stock of my current emotional state – examining all of the emotions I have felt over the last 10 years – I wonder: Am I normal? Am I a survivor? Am I crazy? Maybe I’m just a composite of these experiences and it’s simply who I am now.

***

After reflecting on the last 10 years, here is my emotional inventory:

Hurt: Hurt is one of the emotions that never fully dissipates. Usually I am able to put the hurt aside and shield myself. Occasionally, however, it jumps out at me. I have never hurt like I had while suffering through my son’s active addiction. For me, it is a hurt that even overshadows the death of a loved one. I spent a long time with this emotion. For many years I couldn’t separate the disease in my son from my son himself. His addiction was a personal affront and I held onto very deeply. The pain from this emotion took me to places I wish I never would have seen. This was the hardest to reconcile within myself. Hurt was the most destructive emotion for me and it drove my life.

Anger: Anger was my defense mechanism against the hurt. Anger moved me to do things that I am not proud of: scream and curse at my son, scream and curse at my wonderful wife — in fact, at times, I attacked anyone who was within reach. For the most part, my anger wasn’t physical. Rather, I sliced people to bits with words. But one day my anger drove me to my lowest point in life — I struck my son in anger. My son taught me a lesson, however. Even though he was high and addicted, he did not strike back. His respect for me at that time was greater than my respect for him. Of this, I am ashamed. “You have a right to be angry,” he would say. I have heard those words before. But they are empty. Anger comes with the territory. Our response to life with anger is something we must find a way to live with, while not destroying ourselves.

Suspicion: I always thought of myself as a trusting person. My whole philosophy in life was that I was too lazy to distrust somebody. After all, trusting is easy. To distrust, on the other hand, requires a tremendous amount of work and energy. Yet, suspicion makes distrust easier. You begin to see the evil in a person. It is easy to forget that the symptoms of a disease can mask the reality of a situation. It is easy to allow suspicion to drive your life and behaviors. I’m not talking about the things the parent of an addict must do to protect themselves and the addict. I talking about learning to see evil in a person, when evil is not the intent. This outlook leads to negative consequences for all involved.

Contempt: Contempt is the culmination of hurt, anger and suspicion. Contempt is a terrible thing for parents to hold against their own children. Contempt can easily slide to a place where there is no caring. I felt once that I was entering that place. I can’t go there; it is a one way door. Thankfully, I did not go through that passage. It is a bad, bad place.

Joy: Joy is that emotion we all want. When I think of joy the picture of Snoopy dancing on top of his doghouse comes to mind. Joy comes from many places -– but it is immediate and temporary. However joy is a fix that I craved. I’d twist reality in order to experience that feeling. Too often my desire for joy allowed me to ignore realities to the detriment of myself and my son.

Hope: Hope was the most dangerous of positive emotions. Hope set me up for terrible lows. I misunderstood hope for most of the time that my son was using. It was an emotion that I transferred to others. My hope was based upon the actions — or lack thereof — by others. I would pass out hope to people like business cards at a conference. I placed my hope in the hands of rehabs, meetings, counselors…anyone. I allowed others to both build up my hope and pull it out from underneath me. Yet, hope is an emotion that must be internalized; it isn’t a wish. Hope is an awareness of life and the tender nature of what impacted me. Where there is life there is hope; it was only after I understood that simple phrase that I understood what hope really was, rather than what I wanted it to be.

Happiness: Happiness is so much more than joy. Joy is fleeting, happiness is an internal state of being. Happiness can be found in all things. Happiness can be obvious: the birth of wonderful grandchildren; the sound of, “Papa come here.” But happiness can be born of heartache and pain, like the happiness I feel to have known my father for 27 years of my life. Happiness isn’t the smile or grin you see on my face, it is the feeling inside. The smile is simply a physical response.

Appreciation: Appreciation is the dominant feeling I have today. Appreciation isn’t a “thank you,” but rather, it is a recognition of what “is.” Appreciation is taking it all in-the good, the bad and the ugly. The simple process of writing this post is a process of appreciation for me. The horrible emotions and actions I described above are just as valuable in shaping my well being as the wonderful feelings I experience today while my son is in recovery. Appreciation ALLOWS me to learn from what I have experienced over these past 10 years. If I choose not to learn then what has been the worth of a decade of my life? I wish that I had never experienced any of this and that my son had never been an addict. If there was a time machine I’d be on it right now to change it all, but that can’t happen. Ignoring the bad and only recognizing the good discounts my life and make me less than. I want to be the best I can be. In order to do so, I must learn from my terrible mistakes.

Love: Love is so much more than what we whisper at night before falling asleep. Love is a life preserver in a storm; it is a foundation that holds you up; it is something that makes you better than what you can be alone. I learned more about love in the last 10 years than I had learned all my life before. Love comes not just from those whom are close to you, but also from those who have enough in their life that they wish to share. All you have to do is ACCEPT it.

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As the parent of an addict, I have learned that we are not perfect. In fact, we shouldn’t even strive for perfection. Trying to be perfect causes terrible control issues (speaking from experience here). It’s a hard lesson, but we all must do what we are capable of doing at any one time. Self assessment and learning isn’t something we do, it is a process we work through.

I wish that I could live the rest of my life experiencing only the positive emotions. But I know that hurt, anger and suspicion will at some time again enter my life. That’s the way life is. Yet after experiencing the extreme emotions brought about by parenting an addict – and acknowledging them — I believe that I will be better able to cope with any negative feelings that arise.

Have any of you have experienced these same emotions? If you have, it is worth the reflection to examine what being the parent of an addict has done for you as much as it has done to you.

Maybe I’m normal, or maybe not. But no matter, quoting an old wise philosopher, Popeye the Sailor Man:

“I yam wot I yam. And that’s all wot I yam……”

Blogger Carole Bennett, MA is author of the book “Reclaim Your Life – You and the Alcohol/Addict” (www.reclaimyourlifebook.com) and the founder of Family Recovery Solutions, a counseling center for family and friends of loved ones with a drug or alcohol problem.

Substance abuse within a family is a devastating, gut-wrenching problem.  It can tear at the very fiber of even the strongest family 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

How do responsible parents communicate with their other healthy, children about the disease that has infected their other sibling?  Confusion, uncertainty and insecurity abounds for children who don’t understand why their brother or sister is sleeping all day, acting crazy, looking funny and no longer participate with the family.

I believe that being honest and open to your child/children about their sibling’s substance abuse issues is respectful and fair.  Don’t forget that children are very intuitive and if they see their parents speaking in hushed tones when it comes to their sibling or witness an emotional and/or physical change they will realize something is up.

Here are seven tips for parents on how to begin a conversation about substance abuse in the family:

1.) Pick an easy, comfortable time to chat with your kids.  Maybe a picnic in the park or a meal at their favorite restaurant is a good backdrop.

2.) Though it is a big deal, don’t make it so in the conversation.   Parents should be able to tell the truth in a way that children are able to understand and prepare themselves for the changes that will happen in the family. For many kids, routine helps them feel safe. So if life becomes unpredictable, they will need help adjusting to the changes.

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Why is it so hard to give up on our dreams for our children?  We stare reality in the face every day and yet we still hold on to those hopes and dreams.

The day our kids are born we start making plans. We start squirreling away money into college accounts. We dream of smiling proudly as our child graciously strides across the stage at graduation. Nice, neat little homes in the suburbs with our grandchildren playing in the yard. Some of us even have the audacity to picture ourselves in the front row during a presidential inauguration on a cold January day in Washington.

It’s all possible for anyone.

Then we snap out of our dream and see our child addicted to a drug and wonder if the future is even possible. We mourn the loss of our dream. We experience suffering for our child because in our life and wisdom we know the hardship of life even without being saddled with addiction. We cry, become depressed and grieve this fading picture. Never really giving up the hope that all of the past will go away and we all get a “do over”.

Finally, after months or years we realize that today is all we get and tomorrow can be just as fearful as it can be hopeful.

The next phase of our realization begins to become clear. These dreams were ours. That is why the pain is so great. We feel our dream slipping away. It’s such a shame we have imposed our dream upon our child and we see their addiction as a failure to achieve our dream. Oh, I’m sorry, I mean “reach their potential” is the way we say it as parents.

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In response to Ron Grover’s recent post, there’s been a lot of discussion about the benefits of writing a letter to a son or daughter struggling with a drug or alcohol problem.

And I think there’s something in it for both the parent and the child.

For a parent, a letter allows a chance to express feelings that they may not be able to say in person. The simple act of sitting down and writing can often be cathartic. There’s something about capturing and sharing the dizzying array of feelings we walk around with – the frustrations, anger, disappointment, hope and love — to your teen or young adult in the written word.

Maybe because of our fast-paced digital world the old-fashioned, ink-on-paper way of communicating is intimate, a true expression of the heart and mind.

And obviously there’s something unique for the recipient too. A  fresh  way to get through to a child. Somehow it’s different than an email or text – or even a conversation.

What do you think about reaching out to your child with a written letter?  Have you done this before, and if so, what phrases or words have struck a chord?  Would you recommend letter-writing to other parents looking to get through to their child with a drug or alcohol problem? Also, what about sending an email or a text – do you think this packs the same emotional punch?

If you’ve already written a letter to your child, please feel free to share the letter here as well as any tips you have with others in our community.

What parent hasn’t wished their addictive teen would simply disappear? “Antarctica is lovely this time of year; we’ll send your gloves.� As for visions of sprinkling arsenic on their Hot Pockets, well…

Terrible bad mean selfish parents. Or perhaps not selfish enough. All parents have felt this surge of bitter resentment. Who’ll dare admit that outside of group or individual therapy or in hushed whispers to a best friend? ‘Cause otherwise you’re ripe to be reported to social services.

As if bankrupting your savings on therapists/private schools/wilderness programs/escorts/lawyers/residential treatment centers, shredding your relationships (what must the divorce rate among parents of teen addicts be?), undermining your work performance (yes the boss is a jerk for not understanding why you can’t concentrate) and ingesting way too many Ho-Hos (don’t they stack neatly on the treadmill?) isn’t sufficient (plus of course their addiction is all our fault), you feel guilty for expressing feelings of normal anger.
 
Why? Because we’ve ceased to exist as independent life forms. Everything is sublimated to the sick child fighting a terrible illness. Any reason we parents talk to our cereal spoons?

Yet we’re still breathing, more or less. And there must be times when you think of yourself first because if you lose your mind, you’re no good to anyone. Dead heroes might make stirring role models, but lousy parents; who’ll drive them to the mall? How can you make coherent decisions half-addled? How can you expect your child to have normal feelings if you don’t?

Martyrdom does have its appeal, but not long-term. You must find ways to separate yourself from the craziness. Go to the movies. Shop ‘til you drop. Have a date with your partner. Sneak off for a glass of wine. Okay, okay, I know, but we’re only human. Guess what? If we don’t take their calls or check the morgue every 10 minutes, life will go on. It’s imperative ours does, too. We are entitled. Because when they get better, and they will, it’s important that you and your family members recover, too — we all need a life to return to.