Moving Through Darkness to Acceptance
The other day, I watched my loved one sitting with a new resident at Woodhaven, talking him through a difficult moment. As I observed their connection, I found myself wondering - when did this happen? When did I move from fear to acceptance? My own journey in recovery has taught me that acceptance, like healing, rarely happens in a single moment - it's a gradual awakening, a series of small surrenders that build upon each other.
My loved one's addiction was hidden in shadows while I frantically searched for answers to what I thought were purely mental health challenges. Back then, I was trying to solve the wrong puzzle, missing crucial pieces that would only reveal themselves with time.
When the truth finally emerged about his addiction with his disclosure, my first response was to seek treatment that primarily addressed mental health, with substance use as a secondary concern. I believed that drugs were just a coping mechanism for anxiety and depression. Looking back now, I see how I was taking small steps toward acceptance, even if I didn't recognize them as such.
In a way, this path mirrored my own journey with alcoholism. Just as I had once seen my drinking as a response to stress and anxiety rather than the disease itself, I was viewing my loved one's struggles through a similar lens. My own acceptance taught me that understanding the true nature of our disease is often a gradual process - one that requires both honesty and humility. But even with this personal experience, accepting my loved one's addiction brought its own unique challenges.
In the next chapter of our journey, I brought him to rehab. Though by then, I had accepted the need for treatment, I still hadn't fully embraced the reality of addiction itself.
Standing here now, almost four years since that initial disclosure, I find myself reflecting on when acceptance truly took root in my heart. Was it when recovery became such an integral part of his life, watching him build connections in meetings and find strength in fellowship? Was it when he found healing among peers who shared similar challenges? Maybe it was when he picked up his 30 day coin or his one-year coin, or his second - each milestone marking not just time but transformation.
Then there was his graduation day. Standing in the backyard of his sober living home, watching him receive his diploma despite all the time his addiction had taken from his education, I saw both what was lost and what was gained. The setting itself told a story - not in the traditional auditorium filled with caps and gowns, but in a place of healing surrounded by the people who helped him get there. The truth is, my acceptance isn't tied to any single moment or achievement. It's about my own internal shift - the gradual understanding that my loved one's addiction is part of who he is, but it doesn't define him.
As parents, we never stop worrying about our children - that's just part of who we are. Acceptance doesn't change that. What it does is give me the freedom to see my loved one wholly. It's allowed me to say with genuine pride, "Let me introduce you to this amazing young man I raised," without feeling the need to hide or explain away any part of his story.
What did acceptance do for me? Through my own recovery, I've learned that acceptance is a daily practice - one that transforms both the acceptor and the accepted. It taught me that I don't have to carry the weight of an imagined perfect past or control an uncertain future. Instead, I can be present in today, grateful for each step forward, no matter how small.
For those still struggling to find acceptance, know that it's okay for it to come in stages. Start small. Accept where you are today, even if it's not where you hoped to be. Accept that recovery - both yours and your loved one's - will have its own timeline. Accept that you don't have to understand everything to begin healing.
Find people who share similar experiences and understand the journey. In my own recovery, I've discovered the unique gift of understanding acceptance from both sides - as a parent and as someone who has walked the path of recovery. Write about your feelings, even if the words never leave your journal. Practice self-compassion - because acceptance of our loved ones often begins with accepting ourselves.
For me, acceptance isn't about surrendering or giving up hope. It's about finding a way to acknowledge what is while still believing in what can be. Through this journey, I've discovered that acceptance brings its own kind of peace - not perfect, but real. And in that reality, both my loved one and I continue to grow and connect in ways I never expected.
