I talk about addiction a lot.
I’ve lived it myself. I work with people who are struggling with substance use. I sit across from people in treatment and listen to their stories. I’ve seen what addiction and mental health struggles can do to a person and to the people around them. I thought I understood that pretty well.
Prefer to watch instead? You can watch this week’s reflection on YouTube.
This week, it hit home in a different way.
Someone in my family died suddenly after struggling for many years with alcohol and other challenges. And over the past several days, I’ve experienced up close the kind of pain and grief I’ve seen in other families, but never from this perspective.
I understand what it’s like to be the person struggling. I understand the shame, the promises we make to ourselves, the attempts to change, and the hope that somehow this time will be different. I understand what it’s like to be the person everyone is worried about.
And when you’re that person, your world can get pretty small. I know mine did. So much of your attention can become focused on simply getting through the day, dealing with what’s happening inside you, or trying to convince yourself and everyone else that you’re okay. It can be hard to see what the people who love you are going through.
What I’m seeing this week is the other side of that. I’m seeing the agony of loving someone and wanting desperately to fix what is happening to them, while slowly realizing that you can’t.
You can love someone. You can support them. You can encourage them to get help. You can worry about them, lose sleep over them, get angry or frustrated, and hope with everything you have that something will finally change.
But there are some things we simply cannot do for another person.
I know that truth from recovery. You cannot recover for someone else. And whether someone is struggling with substance use, their mental health, or both, we cannot simply love them out of what they are going through.
That is an incredibly painful thing to accept when you love someone. And when the outcome is the one everyone feared, all of that helplessness can turn into questions. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. Why? Why didn’t I do more? Could I have done something differently?
Those questions may not have answers. But I understand now, in a way I didn’t before, where they come from. They come from love. From wishing there had been one more thing you could have said or done that would have changed the outcome.
I’ve spent a lot of years looking at these struggles primarily through the eyes of the person going through them, because I’ve been that person. This week has widened that view for me.
I knew these struggles affected families. Of course I did. This week, I understand it differently.
So I want to end this reflection a little differently than I normally do.
If you are struggling with substance use or mental health issues, or if someone you love is struggling, please reach out. You don’t have to have everything figured out. You don’t even have to know exactly what kind of help you need. You can just start by talking to someone.
SAMHSA’s National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357)
It’s free and confidential, and they can help connect you with treatment and support.
You don’t have to figure out the whole road ahead. Just take the next step.
And if someone came to mind while you were reading this, please consider passing it along to them. Sometimes reaching out is a next step too.
