Part Of The Process

What do you do when someone you care about seems bent on self-destruction?

I have a dear friend in a flyover state, who has taken the first step toward recovery, but seems unable or unwilling to go any further. He's an amazing man who can light up every room he enters, but who seems determined to remain in a dungeon of darkness.

One of the things I have learned, perhaps the hard way or perhaps through time, is that recovery and emotional peace won't come looking for me. My journey means doing the work to look for them, recognizing them when I find them within my own soul, and making sure I have opened my heart and mind to accept them.

Recovery and emotional peace are not Jehovah's Witnesses. They don't come ringing my doorbell.

My friend took a very first, difficult step. He recognized the depth of his depair and the severity of his problem, and he went to rehab. He spent more than a month learning the tools he needed to deal with his addiction. He came out of it seeming stronger and ready to deal with life on life's terms. But in recent days I have heard the same despair return to his voice. I am hearing the same detachment, and the same self pity that was so common before he finally asked for help.

I hear the sadness in his voice when he says that he has nobody to talk to and nobody to turn to. How can I make him understand that he has a whole fellowship full of people to turn to and who will listen? But they can't read his mind. And if he doesn't show up to take the journey with them, he can't complain about not having a seat on the bus.

I've also learned that I get back what I give out. If I show up, if I'm a positive influence, if I recognize someone else's pain, if I'm willing to listen, then I will get all those things back. People want to be with me and help me when I am open to them being there, and when I show I can be there for someone else. I'm not the only one feeling lost and alone. Even when I want to run and hide, I need to remember that by showing up and sharing and being available, I might help someone else in need.

There is no entitlement option in recovery. This is a cooperative process. I need to do my part. So, I do my best to help others. I care about others. I do service in the way I can. I share. I'm honest. I make recovery a priority and not something else on the list after cleaning the kitchen and going to the store. All those things are part of the process. And inevitably I get back more than I gave.

Recovery is like a chicken pot pie. Someone brings the chicken. Someone else has the flour for the crust. Other people have the potatoes and the peas and the carrots and the gravy and the salt & pepper. The only way you get to have pot pie for dinner is if everyone contributes what they have to make the recipe work. Then everyone gets to share dinner, and everyone leaves with a smile on their face.

Unless everyone shares, all you've got is a bunch of bland ingredients, rotting alone on a kitchen counter.

I'm learning that the things I seek are within my reach. The hardest part is accepting they are there and being willing to do the work to make it happen. Recovery is hard. But the alternative is even harder.

I love my friend, and will continue to love him until he loves himself. Even if he doesn't believe it.