My 28-year-old son is nearing the milestone of receiving his 60-day sobriety chip. Despite his ongoing battle with substance addiction since his teenage years, he attends AA meetings five times a week and calls his sponsor daily. On the surface, these should bring me joy. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of sadness.
Currently, he is enrolled in a six-month recovery program at a facility in southern California, far from our home on the East Coast. He resides in an expansive oceanfront mansion where his meals are catered, and he has access to a gym, transportation, and job placement services. He undergoes weekly drug tests and participates in both group and individual counseling.
His stay is not funded by insurance or my resources, but rather arranged by childhood friends who stepped in to help him. For many, such opportunities are unattainable. Even those with good health insurance often find their coverage for addiction treatment limited. How can we realistically expect a few days in detox and some outpatient sessions to remedy what is often a lifelong struggle?
When my son was 22, I faced the absurdity of learning from our insurance company that he didn’t qualify for detox because “his liver wasn’t sick enough.” This was after nearly a decade of habitual drinking. Did they expect me to wait another decade for him to qualify for help?
The effort required to maintain sobriety is daunting enough. Add to that the pressures of employment, childcare, financial strains, and the daily grind of life. While I understand that true sobriety comes when an individual is ready to commit to it, it seems logical that certain circumstances might make the journey easier. Treatment shouldn’t be a privilege reserved for the fortunate. My son has always been blessed with advocates in his corner; what about those who don’t have the same support?
I recognize that recovery centers require funding, and I understand the limitations of state support. However, we must consider the long-term costs of addiction to society—unemployment, healthcare expenses, incarceration, foster care, and more. Investing in effective treatment programs could provide a better chance for success and, ultimately, reduce these costs.
Supporting a Loved One in Recovery
For those without a safety net, what can you do to support a loved one striving for sobriety? Offer to drive them to meetings or court appearances (including childcare if necessary). Help them prepare for job interviews by providing appropriate clothing and nutritious meals. Encourage physical activity and remind them that you care.
Will such support resolve all their challenges? No. Could it make things too easy for them? Perhaps, but sometimes making things easier isn’t a bad approach. Will you risk being taken advantage of? That’s something to navigate, but it’s ultimately your responsibility to set boundaries.
Recovery is rarely a straightforward path, and the emotional toll on family members can be just as severe, if not more so. While some may focus on the positive moments, my experience has been quite the opposite. My memories include attending drug court weekly during high school, watching him leave court in handcuffs after a night in juvenile detention, and advocating for him to join a college team, only for him to drop out shortly thereafter. There were months of silence between us, countless court appearances, and even moments of calling the police when he took my car without permission. The unique details of each family’s journey may differ, but the underlying pattern remains the same: embracing happiness and hope leaves you vulnerable to disappointment.
So, if I believe everyone deserves support, why am I not celebrating my son’s progress? Perhaps it’s the feeling that he’s had more chances than many others. Maybe I fear that this opportunity will lead to another letdown. Or perhaps it’s simply a reluctance to hope after years of disappointments. Regardless of the reason, it seems unjust that I should feel joy while others struggle without the same opportunities.
I understand the need for gratitude; I am thankful that my son is alive when so many others are not. I’ll never forget the call I received when he told me his best friend had died in an accident. As long as there is life, there is hope, and hope ultimately outweighs fear.
I can’t explain why he has been granted so many opportunities. A friend once suggested that these chances may not be for him but for those willing to support him. Help truly works both ways. I just hope he seizes this opportunity and finds a way to give back in the future.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of a loved one’s addiction recovery can be a bittersweet journey, filled with hope and fear. While I am grateful my son is alive and receiving help, the disparity in access to resources for others weighs heavily on my heart.