Recovery As A Road Trip
Some of you know that I frequently make the drive back and forth from Long Island to Pennsylvania. This morning, I left Woodhaven at 4 AM for my journey home, only to discover that my car was unexpectedly covered in frost—definitely not what I anticipated in mid-October but a reminder of our mountainous location. I had to wait for the frost to melt before I could hit the road, a moment that highlighted how some journeys require patience before we can truly begin. While my route itself is generally straightforward—160 miles from door to door, with about 150 of those miles usually smooth sailing—there is one section that remains unpredictable: the approach to the George Washington Bridge from both directions.
Why am I writing a blog about the George Washington Bridge? It’s something I think about every time I embark on this journey. For my New York and New Jersey friends, you understand this bridge well. For everyone else, I hope you can see that the significance of the George Washington Bridge serves as a metaphor for parenting. This 160-mile journey has become my metaphor today about recovery.
I try to plan my journey based on the traffic at the bridge, just as I plan for the unpredictable moments of parenting a child with addiction. There are many early stages of both addiction and recovery that require us to anticipate and prepare for events, including family gatherings, implementing new discipline routines, setting boundaries, new therapeutic interventions, navigating residential programs, and discussions with school staff. We can plan for each of these challenges, but much like the potholes on the road that can cause delays, we can't predict everything. I can put all my mental effort into finding the best way to navigate the bridge at the right time, but sometimes, my efforts seem futile against the obstacles in my way. It’s not that my driving is poor or my timing is off; it’s just that external factors can slow me down.
Along my journey, I sometimes find myself needing to pause for a bathroom break, a simple reminder that personal well-being can't be ignored. In an effort to keep the drive going, I often uncomfortably try to push through without a break. Yet, the reality is that sometimes I need to stop and use the bathroom. This mirrors our own personal care. Why wait until I reach my breaking point? Wouldn't it be easier to acknowledge the need for self-care upfront and build a routine that prevents me from feeling overwhelmed? I could make time to reconnect with friends and family, attend more meetings, enjoy some laughter, and focus on taking care of myself.
Along the journey, I also encounter unpredictable moments. Just like I can plan to reach the George Washington Bridge before traffic builds, unexpected events can occur. A couple of days ago, while driving along Interstate 80, I passed several dead deer on the side of the road. I wondered how the deer thought they could cross a busy interstate. It reminded me of my loved one’s reckless decisions during his active addiction—choices that seemed incredibly foolish and unlikely to end well, resulting in serious consequences. In those moments, I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between them and the deer, all of us caught in the aftermath of decisions made without foresight, including the innocent drivers who hit the deer. It is more than just the deer that felt the weight of the impact.
The never-ending construction along the road is another reminder of the challenges we face. For three years, I’ve been driving back and forth through Scranton, and there’s a small stretch of roadway that has been a construction zone for what feels like ages. Most of the time, there’s little happening, yet it causes lane adjustments that require my full attention. This serves as a metaphor for parts of recovery that demand greater focus and dedication. Just like the narrowing of the road requires careful navigation, recovery requires ongoing attention to both my loved one’s needs and my own.
The other day, I was making great progress until I hit that construction zone. My GPS, which had predicted a 7:50 PM arrival, suddenly changed to a 10 PM arrival time, and the road was closed. I felt stuck, unable to move forward. It was a moment of frustration, reminiscent of how I’ve felt during difficult phases of my loved one’s recovery—times when it seemed like progress was impossible. Yet, after a half-hour delay, the road opened up again, and I was able to continue my journey. It was a hopeful reminder that progress can resume, even after setbacks.
As I approached Woodhaven, I found comfort in knowing that I would soon be able to enjoy some ice cream with Mike and his family, who had kindly texted me about the stash in the freezer. I reminded myself that there will always be obstacles, just as there are in life and recovery. The key is to be prepared for them and to recognize that while the journey may not always be straightforward, we can still take moments to enjoy it.
I know that at some point in my life, hopefully not too distant, I will make this journey less frequently—perhaps in July 2026, when I hope to retire from my school district. In the meantime, I’ll make the most of this drive. I’ll connect with family and friends, listen to audiobooks and podcasts, and take the time for self-care, including bathroom breaks when necessary. While recovery doesn’t have a clear endpoint like my drives do, I find comfort in knowing that each journey, regardless of the challenges, brings growth and resilience.
While I prefer the solitude and beauty of the sunrise at Woodhaven, this morning, I was able to enjoy the sun rising as I crossed the bridge. I felt a sense of anticipation and hope, knowing that today will be a beautiful day, and I’m ready to embrace whatever comes my way—especially since I’ll be on time.
