During Recovery Month each September, Apricity shares stories of the successes of people living in recovery from substance use disorders to celebrate, inspire, and demonstrate that recovery is possible. This month, we’d also like to show the true impact of recovery on children who grew up with a parent in active addiction.
How has my mom's addiction and recovery impacted me?
The weight of the question alone far exceeds the length of my page - so I apologize in advance for the lack of a stopping point.
You'll find as you read that, in truth, only the impact of her addiction alone has a halting-point; the impact of her recovery would have to follow me into the next life.
I would like to sit here and tell you that my mom's absence in my early years was just another obstacle to overcome and another uncomfortable, but fleeting, season of life. Unfortunately, it expanded into several seasons and reared its ugly head in dozens of mountains throughout each. As someone with a taste for familiarity, I eventually came to appreciate that the mountains all had one thing in common - they all had to be climbed without a mother's hand or guidance.
I remember growing up, I had several friends with Moms - actively present Moms. One day I was at one of these friend's houses, and I remember watching the two of them laugh together. It was a deep belly laugh that was the direct result of an inside joke the two of them shared. What should've been a moment I could laugh along to became a moment that filled me with so much anger that I could physically feel my blood temperature rise. It was jealousy in its ugliest form. What a terrible thing to be envious and mad of - a mother-daughter bond that my best friend was able to experience, but in my head, something like that was supposed to belong to me, and it just wasn't fair.
Aside from knowing I could not just pick up the phone and give her a call, the largest impact my mom's addiction had on me came in the form of what I didn't know. I had no idea what having a mom was like. I knew what it meant to have my hair brushed and braided, my clothes ironed, and my scrapes bandaged because I was fortunate enough to have a phenomenal set of grandparents. I did not, however, know the weight of a mother’s voice when she says, “it will be okay.” I didn’t know the 4am talks about life with the person who gave you yours. I did not know what it felt like to have your heart stitched back up by the very person who watched its first beat. Thus starts the impact of her recovery, where all those discoveries were made.
I’ve read many psychology books in my lifetime, whether school assignments or simply out of interest. More than a few of them mentioned the long-standing effects on a child without their mother in their developmental years. What’s become more interesting to me over time, however, is that very circle around to the impact of reacquaintance – or maybe I have yet to get my hands on those ones.
Again, I’d like to sit here and tell you that from the second my mom reentered my life, all was healed and all was happy. Her reappearance came with a lot of confusion – mainly a confusion of roles. At 23 years old, I felt like I was too old for a “mom” in the traditional way, and I already had a plethora of placeholders for that role. As previously stated, I had no idea what that truly looked like, therefore I had no idea why I really needed it – hence my slight delay in applause when it came time for the guest appearance.
In cooking terms, because one thing I’ve learned is that she loves to cook, our relationship was in the crockpot. It was a slow process, but the truth is, I think if I had the choice, I still would’ve preferred it that way. Why? Because there was never some magical word that she said that healed all the hurts and filled a void I wasn’t even wholly aware existed. There was just consistency – a steady stir just when I needed it, a lid to keep the warmth in, and a relationship that became nourishment.
I now know exactly what it’s like to have a mom – to have my mom. Having my mom means I will always have a resilient, tenacious, unbreakable fighter beside me for the rest of my battles. Having my mom means that I will always have an innovative, resourceful, creative problem-solver for all of life’s dilemmas. It means that I have her healing touch to mend the hurts, her bird’s-eye view when I get caught in the details, and her unwavering, unconditional love and support on days when I'm ready to give up. Not because she was necessarily born that way--although I do firmly believe that her attributes have probably always been ones worth revering--but because of her experiences, her strength, God, and Apricity’s programs that supported her.
In my lifetime, I've written a Salutatorian speech, a Maid of Honor speech, a nine-page annotated bibliography, and about a dozen book reports. There is no speech, report, or paper that holds the weight of this one or that I am as proud and honored to write. I will never take for granted that my mom was able to make it out on the other side of addiction, nor the relationship I have with the woman it shaped her into. My hope? My hope is that more people realize that full recovery is attainable, healing is not linear, and forgiveness is paramount.
- Dallas Carver, Constance’s daughter