My 28-year-old son is on the verge of receiving his 60-day sobriety chip. He has battled substance abuse since his teenage years. He attends AA meetings five times a week and speaks with his sponsor daily. These are undoubtedly positive steps, yet instead of feeling joy, I find myself overwhelmed with sadness.
Currently, he is in a six-month recovery program in Southern California, far from our East Coast home. He resides in a luxurious oceanfront mansion where meals, gym access, transportation, and job placement assistance are all provided. Weekly drug tests and both group and individual therapy sessions are part of his routine.
Remarkably, he is there not due to our insurance or financial support, but thanks to the efforts of some childhood friends who arranged for his stay. This opportunity, however, is not something most individuals can easily access. Even with comprehensive health coverage, many insurance plans offer limited support for addiction treatment. How can we expect a few days in detox and some outpatient appointments to address what is often a lifelong struggle?
There was a time when my insurance company told me my son didn’t qualify for detox because “his liver wasn’t sick enough.” He had already been a regular drinker for nearly a decade at that point. Was I supposed to wait even longer for him to become eligible for coverage?
Staying sober is a monumental task on its own, compounded by job responsibilities, childcare, financial issues, and daily life’s relentless stressors. Sobriety is a personal journey, one that requires the individual to be ready to make a change. Support is essential, but without personal readiness, it often doesn’t matter. However, it seems reasonable to suggest that a conducive environment could make the journey a bit easier.
Treatment should not create a divide between those who have resources and those who do not. My son has been fortunate to have advocates in his corner, but what about those who lack such support? I recognize that facilities like this one require funding and that state resources are often insufficient. Yet, we must consider the long-term societal costs of addiction—lost productivity, healthcare expenses, incarceration, and foster care, to name a few. Wouldn’t it make sense to invest in effective treatment programs that provide a higher likelihood of recovery success?
So, how can you support a loved one striving for sobriety if you don’t have the same privileges? Offer to drive them to meetings or court dates, including childcare if necessary. Help them prepare for job interviews with appropriate attire. Provide healthy meals and encourage physical activity. Show them you care.
Will these actions solve everything? No. Could you make things too easy for them? Perhaps, but sometimes, making things easier isn’t a negative. Will you risk being taken advantage of? That’s a possibility, and it’s up to you to recognize it when it happens.
Recovery is not a linear process, and the emotional rollercoaster can be just as painful for family members. While some may focus on the positives, I find myself reflecting on the darker moments. Some of my most memorable experiences include attending drug court during his high school years, witnessing him leave court in handcuffs after refusing a urine test following a championship game, and watching him graduate while in rehab. I even tried to convince a college coach to give him a chance, only to see him drop out after one semester. The years were filled with silence, courtrooms, rehab arrangements post-DUI incidents, and painful moments like discovering he had stolen from a friend who tried to help him.
The stories may differ from family to family, but the underlying theme remains the same: embracing happiness and hope puts you at risk for future disappointment.
If I believe in the inherent worthiness of everyone seeking help, why am I not celebrating my son’s achievements? Perhaps it’s the feeling that he’s had numerous chances while others have not. Or maybe it’s the fear of yet another letdown after so many disappointments. Regardless of the reason, true happiness feels elusive until everyone has an equal opportunity.
I recognize the necessity for gratitude; my son is alive when so many others are not. I vividly remember the day he called to tell me his best friend had tragically lost his life in an accident after a night out. As long as there is life, there is hope—and hope can conquer fear.
I can’t explain why he has been granted multiple opportunities, but a friend reminded me that these gifts may not solely be for him; they might also serve those who help him. Support can be reciprocal, and I can only hope he will one day pay this kindness forward.
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Summary
My son’s path to sobriety is filled with complexity and emotional turmoil. While I recognize his progress and the support he receives, I can’t help but feel sadness for those without similar opportunities. The journey to recovery is not straightforward, and it brings both hope and fear. Ultimately, I wish for equal chances for all struggling with addiction.
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