90 Meetings in 90 Days

Last night, for the first time in this seven year battle, I went to Al Anon. I had the preconceived idea that the second I sat down in one of those meetings I was laying down the battle and admitting defeat trying to save my loved one. I thought they would echo the sentiments of everyone around me and tell me to abandon my loved one to their “choices” and walk away. I thought they would tell me to turn away and leave them alone in their struggles and suffering. I resisted going because until my dying breath, I will refuse defeat. I will use all of my resources, my time, my intention, my love and my life if I have to in order to make sure my person can see the Dawn of another day and use that day to stand up and start fighting for his life.

I thought they would tell me not to sacrifice myself for him when all I can think of is, who would I be without him? The thought of losing a child is the most devastating thing you can imagine. When faced with this nightmare, There are two kinds of people. One kind stays and fights, and one kind runs like a coward. I do not fault cowards, but in my soul I’m a warrior built for the trenches. I cannot and will not ever give up knowing that my sword in his battle is the only reason he is currently alive and fighting for his life in rehab.

I can tell you with absolute certainty that my victory rests in the Lord. My God has seen me through things that would destroy lesser humans. It would curl the toes of the blissfully, unaware in polite society. My God is also moved mountains and made miracles to make sure this boy survives.

So walking into any room and admitting defeat was unacceptable to me.

But this time, after getting my son into rehab for the like the 10th time, I was exhausted. The only thing harder than fighting for your child’s life is fighting the people in your life for your right to continue to walk through the underworld to make sure your child makes it out alive.

After seven years in this battle, I have lost almost everything and everyone that I have held dear. I have spun out into my own mental health tragedy, and I have fought my own fight back from hell. So I thought, why not just go? Why not just walked to the door, sit down in the chair, and lay down my armor for one hour and see how these people at the table are making it through their own battles.

And what I found wasn’t resistance, it wasn’t advice, it wasn’t judgement, it was community. I didn’t necessarily say anything that would make anyone feel any particular empathy for me other than the fact that I was seated at their table and they knew everything I’ve been through to get there without ever saying a word. I found myself in each and every one of their stories in ways that broke me and completed me all at once. I am them and they are me.

No one told me what to do, questioned what I have done, or judged me for even being in this war at all. They did something far greater that I had known I needed, and that was simply to sit with me. Sit and witness my place at the table. Witness my battle. And witness me as a mother doing her best. They offered kindness and respect without me having to earn it or demand that I deserve it. And without doing hardly anything at all, they were able to lift the weight of grief, sorrow, and isolation so that I could breathe for just that one hour without fear and shame crushing me by the sheer magnitude of what we have been through over the last seven years.

So tonight, I will be going to NarAnon. I imagine that I will find the same relief for the immense suffering I have endured alone, simply by being in the presence of others who are trying to survive the same suffering. I won’t have to earn their acceptance or justify how i fight my way through the underworld. They won’t have to decide if I am right or wrong, good or bad.

Suffering must be witnessed to be endured. By witnessing collective grief, we can lay our burdens down and together find ways to heal, nurture and grow ourselves into the human beings who create change for those in whom change is necessary for the betterment of each other and all of society.

My name is Jennie M. And my loved one is an addict and an alcoholic but he is alive today fighting for his right to be a survivor.