When Charles admitted he had an addiction to an opiate, my attendance at support group had lapsed.
Because the house was going on the market in the spring, every minute was needed to get the house in shape to sell. Chaos had moved back into our lives and my instincts were telling me we’d need the money from the home sale to help Charles although we didn’t yet know about the addiction. So far, we’d spent over $250k on wilderness, therapeutic boarding school and regular boarding school.
Once he said, “Mom, I think I need help, I’m addicted to opiates,” it thrusted us into another disjointed system of care of which we knew nothing. Finding him help siphoned all my free time and included hours of phone calls back and forth to insurance companies and vetting resources for a nineteen year old. There was not a lot of time once he was in detox to make an educated decision.
Looking back, I’ve asked myself why I didn’t engage my group at a time when they’d be the most helpful. They’d all been through this and knew the ins and outs, ups and downs.
There’s a reason they tell you to put on your oxygen mask first on a plane. Because you can’t help someone else if you don’t help yourself first.
So when disaster struck, I crawled back into isolation, ignored my own self care, and neglected the one resource that had been the most helpful–my support group.
Charles wasn’t the only one who relapsed. I did, too.
