Chapter 1: The Dilemma of Dependence

In a world filled with challenges, I find immense gratitude for my sobriety and the stark reminder that external circumstances haven't improved.

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My mother has a knack for making me feel foolish. Here's a story about her behavior that left a lasting impression on me. Four years ago, at the age of 32, I underwent a necessary hysterectomy. I am deeply thankful that the procedure was authorized, especially since I was experiencing significant pain and was unable to contemplate having more children. My teenage son was more than enough for me.

The surgery took place in the summer, and I spent weeks preparing for the recovery period. Knowing I would be unable to care for myself immediately afterward, I asked my mother for assistance with transportation to and from the hospital and to help with my dog during my recovery. Despite my reservations about depending on her, I had no one else to turn to.

The surgery itself went smoothly. However, upon waking in the recovery room, I felt an intense discomfort in my eyes, as if they were filled with sand. Had they performed the operation in a desert?

I had packed eye drops in my hospital bag, which I entrusted to my mother while the staff informed her I was out of surgery. An hour passed before they located her; she was busy socializing with a friend, seemingly indifferent to my medical situation.

When she finally arrived, my backpack was nowhere in sight. The staff was preparing to transfer me to a room, so she promised to retrieve it and meet us there. Two hours later, she still hadn't returned, leaving me unable to call her since my phone was in that bag.

Desperate for both my phone and my mother's support, I clung to the hope that she would be the caring parent I envisioned. Unfortunately, that hope was misplaced. When she finally reappeared, she handed me my bag and inquired about my condition—only because others were present to witness our interaction. Then, she disappeared again.

I worked diligently to be discharged quickly, yearning to return home. Having spent a significant amount of time in hospitals during my father's illness, I was eager to leave.

When she reappeared, it was only to take me to fill my pain medication prescription. Although it felt like an eternity, she also brought me coffee and food, so I tried to overlook the delay.

However, upon opening the pain medication bottle, I immediately sensed something was amiss. Half of the pills were missing. She had taken them before handing the bottle to me.

It became clear that she had attempted to distract me with coffee, hoping I wouldn't notice. Little did she know, I am quite observant. In pain and fully aware that I would need the complete prescription, I confronted her in tears. Initially, she denied any wrongdoing.

Then, shockingly, she offered to assist me in searching for the missing pills! Eventually, she claimed she took them to prevent me from misusing them.

I am in recovery from alcoholism, and while I do appreciate pain medication when necessary, it is not her place to make decisions on my behalf. After admitting to taking the pills, she insisted it was my addiction that prompted her actions.

To my astonishment, she even called my doctor to request more medication for me. The doctor was surprised but likely assumed it was due to my sensitivity to pain from Fibromyalgia. I later picked up another prescription myself.

How could my mother, a woman in her mid-60s, act in such a way? In recovery, we learn that it is not our responsibility to determine if someone is an addict. That decision lies solely with them. I understand this because, despite the numerous times I was told I needed help, I could not accept it until I recognized my own addiction.

Reflecting on my mother's behavior, it feels all too familiar—no, it is familiar. She has only escalated since that incident. The dynamics have shifted; I am now the responsible one. The extent of her deceit is almost laughable.

Observing her behavior reinforces my gratitude for my sobriety. I no longer prioritize alcohol over my son, as she does with me. It's challenging to feel empathy for her; she is aware of her actions and chooses to continue down this path.

She will never acknowledge her addiction, as her narcissistic mindset convinces her that she is immune to its effects. She once claimed her German heritage meant she couldn't get drunk. I know otherwise, but all I can do is maintain distance from her.

These encounters can be triggering and painful, yet they serve as reminders of my past struggles, the events that unfolded, and my current state.

I have never regretted waking up sober after a night without drinking! This is the life I choose for myself. My mother is not worth jeopardizing my recovery—no one is.

Have you encountered a similar situation with a loved one?

With love, Quinn

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Chapter 2: Reflections on Addiction and Recovery

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