Dear Happy Asses,
“A mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child.”
— Nicole Helget
I want to be very clear that I don’t believe this statement is true at all, especially if you are a mother dealing with addiction in your family. When I first read it, I remember thinking, Why in the world would anyone say that? It hurt me for quite a number of years, as it has so many moms who’ve quietly carried that same ache.
I used to sit in conversations with other mothers who spoke proudly, and rightfully so, about how thankful they were that their children had stayed free from addiction. I was happy for them, but I couldn’t join in. I stayed quiet, still wrestling with guilt and shame, still asking myself what I had done wrong to raise a child who was drowning in addiction and, in turn, pulling me down with him.
My head knew I wasn’t responsible, but that message hadn’t yet reached my heart.
It wasn’t until I entered a program of recovery, one that taught me what was my part and what wasn’t—that I began to heal. I discovered a new credo that saved me: We learned how to be happy and content whether our loved one was sober or not.
That became my lifeline. I realized that if my happiness, peace, or even my basic sense of well being, depended on another human being, even my own child, I was doomed.
It’s almost impossible for a mother, who is wired to save, rescue, nurture, and correct, to let go of those instincts. They work beautifully in normal circumstances, but all bets are off when you’re dealing with someone in active addiction. Sheldon reminded me on the podcast that to baby an addict is to bury an addict. Those words stopped me in my tracks, because they hold such painful truth.
Recently, Sheldon and I recorded a two-part podcast about his addiction and our shared journey through it. It’s raw and painful at times, but I hope it reaches a mama out there who needs to hear this: You are not the cause of your child’s disease.
Over time, I’ve learned to eat, sleep, and breathe the Serenity Prayer, sometimes repeating it over and over until it finally soaked into my soul. It’s there, in that quiet surrender, that I found a peace only God can give.
If you’re suffering because of someone else’s choices, please know that sometimes the best thing to do is nothing, and that may be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Each person must face their own consequences and find their own path to healing.
My prayer for you, sweet friend, is this: If you’re blaming yourself or thinking there’s still one more thing you can do, there is—but it’s not what you think. It’s in the letting go, the trusting, and the believing that God loves your child even more than you do.
Love you all,
Karen Key Smith
