The struggles of addiction in the family.

I'm struggling. 

I feel like I'm floating in this empty space between "I don't know" and "I can't". 

Life has been hard recently. Signed divorced papers. Visiting ailing grandparents. Living with a growing and stubborn three year old. A lot going on at work. And sending someone I love and care about to treatment. 

How often do you feel like giving up? And what does it mean to you when you say that - "I want to just give up". 

Jacob, bless his adorable little heart, has been going through a phase where he wants to "cuddle mommy for little bit" before bed. Often times it ends up as "sleeping in mommy's bed". Which means less sleep for me. Then there was one morning - after a late night of crying - a fit was thrown and I think I spent a good 20 minutes wrestling a crying and flailing little boy into his clothes. I wanted to give up that day. 

At work, we recently finished our big fundraiser and immediately jumped into our next and new fundraiser. There's been a ton of work with follow up for both events. Some days I feel like I'm completely new at this job again and unsure that my talents are skills are good enough to complete what needs to be finished. It's those days that I want to give up. 

When I say I want to give up, I mostly mean I want to go back to bed and sleep the rest of the day. Or I want to just get away for a small vacation and forget the realities of every day life. Something that sounds great, but not easily done.

Austin has said a couple times recently that he just wants to get to treatment. That things seem to be spinning out of control - out of his control. Maybe he was struggling with giving up or giving in. And then he called me last week and said he'd be starting treatment in a week. 

Something felt different about treatment this time. I can't tell you what though. Maybe it was because Austin did the work of starting the process himself. I can tell you that I couldn't wait for him to start treatment. I kept thinking that once he's in treatment, I'll know where he is. I'll know he'll be safe. But this past week leading up to treatment has not been an easy one. 

It was filled with realizations that probably scared Austin, knowing that his life was at a crossroads, no longer able to continue the way it was. Those scared feelings caused fights and arguments that were not really about whatever it was we were fighting about. It was filled with avoidance and not much communication. It was filled with a lot of "just want to give up" feelings. 

I really can't explain the toll that addiction takes on your family. You just can't understand unless you've experienced yourself. And that's something I wouldn't wish on anyone. 

Austin's parents, Jacob and myself drove Austin to treatment. Jacob and I didn't get to see Austin off the last time he tried treatment. It was nice to have the opportunity to do that this time. I also realized that as we dropped Austin off, it was probably the last time I'd see him as my husband. And that was confirmed to me this morning as I received an email with a court hearing date. When he leaves treatment, we will officially be divorced. This was weighing on me. As we left, I didn't feel that relief that I was hoping for, that I was counting on. Instead there was only extreme sadness and nervousness. 

When I got home and explained these feelings to my mom, she said I haven't let go. And I thought "Of course not!" 

How do you let go of someone you thought you'd be spending the rest of your life with? How do you let go of the father of your child? How do you let go of someone who you love and only want the best for? How do you let go of someone when they have no one else around? 

And this is where the problem lies. 

I've always been the type of person who cares too much. Maybe that's not the right way to put this. I'm the type of person who would do whatever I could to protect those I love from any harm. I don't want those I love to have to experience any kind pain or sadness. I would gladly take it all on myself so that those I love would know no such thing. I was protective of my sister and brother growing up. My heart aches for others when I know they're in pain. My heart aches even when I hear stories of those I don't know who are sad or in pain.

I'm a problem solver. If there's a problem, I want to fix it. I want to work until we have a solution to fix the problem. Especially if that problem causes hurt or sadness. I want to take away your pain. I want to fix whatever it is that needs fixing so that you can be happy. I want to put you first. 

I vowed that this year would be the year of me. The year I put Jacob and myself first. But I'm really struggling with that. 

Right now I'm worried about Austin. I'm worried about if he's going to make it through treatment. I'm worried about what he means when he says "I want to give up". I'm worried about the life he'll have upon leaving treatment. I'm worried that treatment won't help. 

And I know - I know, logically, that none of that is up to me. It is all up to Austin - his decisions, his actions. And I know I should be focusing on myself and on Jacob. But how do you do that? How do you just stop worrying? 

I apologize that this post has no flow and probably doesn't make any sense. But that's also the way life feels lately. I am working on putting Jacob and myself first. I'm trying to focus on the now, trying to really treasure my time with Jacob. I'm trying to spend more time reading with him or playing with him. (This is also probably the reason I don't fight the "cuddle mommy a little bit" as much as I should) I'm going to keep going to Al-Anon meetings. I'm going to keep trying to find time to sit down with God every day and do my bible journaling. I'm going to try to do more things that make me happy.  

But at the same time, at least for a little while longer, I'm struggling. Struggling with the consequences of Austin's actions before he left for treatment. Struggling with essentially acting as a single parent while Austin's in treatment. Struggling to find the balance between worrying about a loved one and worrying about my own happiness. I'm mourning. Mourning the end of my marriage. Mourning for the life I wanted. 

And still, here I am, floating. Floating inside this addiction-created bubble. Feeling lonely and sad. 

Here's to figuring out how to pop that bubble and let go and let God.