When someone you love is struggling with addiction, it can feel confusing, painful, and overwhelming. Families often have questions that go unanswered—what helps, what doesn’t, and what recovery really looks like. To offer some insight, we’ve asked someone who has been through it to share their experience.
The person answering these questions is approaching three years in recovery. Their journey began with despair and isolation, but through the support of a 12-step fellowship and a commitment to change, they’ve rebuilt their life—and their relationships. In this honest Q&A, they speak directly to families, sharing what helped, what didn’t, and what they wish their loved ones had understood.
They’ve chosen to remain anonymous, but their message is clear: recovery is possible.
“Before I answer any of these questions, I just want to say that recovery is possible. I know that might be hard to believe if your loved one is still in active addiction, but I will be celebrating 3 years without a drink or drug next week.
I found recovery through Cocaine Anonymous (a 12-step fellowship). I started going to at least four meetings a week, I got a sponsor—another man who had been through the steps—and he guided me through the 12 steps. I joined a home group and got a service position helping at the meetings. After going through the steps, I started sponsoring other men and giving back what was freely given to me.
Today, I still go to meetings, I still have a home group, I still sponsor other men and I still work the steps every day in my life. That’s the only thing that’s ever really worked for me.
In these answers, I’ve stuck to my own personal experience. Individually, I wouldn’t be able to speak on behalf of Cocaine Anonymous as a fellowship—that’s one of our traditions that protects the fellowship—so I’m only sharing what I’ve been through and not trying to explain how the program works in general.
If you’re interested in learning more about fellowship, anyone can attend an “open” CA meeting in your area—you don’t have to be an addict to attend ‘open’ meetings of cocaine anonymous. ‘Closed’ meetings are for addicts only. There are also sister fellowships like Co-Anon and Al-Anon, which are for families and loved ones. I’ve left some links at the end.”
What led you to seek help?
“I started looking for help when I was about 16, mostly because of mental health problems. I thought that was why I used drugs the way I did—more recklessly than others my age. At the time it was mostly weed and alcohol, but I was already stealing, getting arrested, and falling out with my family and people and round me. I didn’t feel right in myself, and even though I didn’t want to take drugs, I couldn’t stop.
Over the years, I tried everything—counselling, therapy, day programmes, rehab, moving cities (the list goes on)—but things only got worse. The drugs got harder, the amounts got bigger, and I became more isolated. I couldn’t function properly.
I had been to 12-step fellowships before, but usually just to please my family or because I didn’t know where else to turn. I always stopped going, thinking there must be another way. But deep down I knew I’d met people in those rooms who were like me—and they were clean—so maybe there was hope.
Eventually, about three years ago, after losing everything again, I hit a point where I was done. Not just with the drugs, but with trying to figure it out in my own way. I went back to the fellowship and asked for help sincerely. This time I was really desperate. I hadn’t just lost things—I had lost myself. That’s when things started to change. I haven’t had a drink or drug since.”
What did your family say or do that helped — or made things harder?
“Over the years, my family tried all sorts of things—talks, helping with money, paying for rehab, letting me back home, kicking me out, begging me to stop. And honestly, none of it stopped me using. I wasn’t ready.
The most helpful thing they ever did was cut me off completely. It was painful at the time, but it was the right thing. Looking back, I can see that their help—even though it came from love—often made it easier for me to carry on. The minute someone took the pressure off, I used again.
That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything they did. My mum in particular really tried to keep me from going under completely. She loved me through all of it. But when someone’s in active addiction, that love can get twisted. I manipulated her kindness to keep feeding my addiction. It was a hard thing to admit, but it’s the truth.”
Looking back, what does ‘enabling’ mean to you?
“To me, enabling means helping someone stay in addiction—even if you don’t mean to. It’s usually done with love and good intentions, but it always stopped me from feeling the full consequences of my actions.
There’s financial enabling—like paying off debts or giving money. That’s the obvious one. But emotional enabling is just as powerful—things like protecting someone from discomfort or avoiding hard conversations. These come from love, but in addiction, they often prevent the emotional and psychological rock bottom that’s needed for real change.
People also tried to take on my responsibilities—like a boss who let me call in sick constantly and covered for me. He meant well, but it just helped me keep my job while still using.
And then there’s co-dependency, where my loved ones put aside their own needs to try to “save” me. My family gave so much of themselves trying to help me—and it only wore them down while I kept spiralling. I saw that in my family a lot. They were exhausted, stressed, and confused, trying to help me when I couldn’t even help myself.”
How do you reflect now on the impact your addiction had on your family?
“The damage I caused my family was quite deep. I’ve spent a lot of time in recovery specifically listing and facing the harms I caused, and I see now that my addiction affected every part of their lives.
They lived in constant fear—wondering where I was, if I was safe, if I was even alive. I broke their trust repeatedly, distanced myself emotionally, and caused them grief, stress, and exhaustion. Sometimes they had hope, and then I’d relapse and crush it again.
My dad was an addict too, so I know what it’s like to live with someone trapped in addiction. I can now understand their fear and helplessness in a much deeper way.
Today, I take full responsibility for the impact I had. I don’t carry that with shame anymore—I carry it with a commitment to make things right. Recovery has given me a new way to live, and I try to show my family that change is possible, not just through words but through consistent, loving action. I have also forgiven myself.”
What helped you rebuild those relationships?
“First and most important—staying clean. Without that, nothing else would’ve worked.
Then I looked honestly at the harm I caused and made amends where I could. That didn’t just mean saying sorry—it meant showing them through actions that I’ve changed. I used to say sorry all the time while still using. Now it’s about living differently.
I also gave them time. Rebuilding trust takes a while, and I didn’t rush it. I just kept doing the right thing and let that speak for itself.”
What do you wish your family had understood at the time?
“I wish they knew that even though I didn’t show it, I loved them deeply. I know my actions said the opposite—I lied, stole, manipulated. Addiction robbed me of my ability to love outwardly. It hijacked everything including my emotions, my values, my behaviour. It took over everything. I hated what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop.
The other thing I wish they understood is that you can’t save someone before they’re ready. I know it goes against every instinct as a parent to let go—but trying to rescue someone before they want help often just keeps them stuck.
Now that I sponsor other men, I see it all the time—people come in and out of recovery. And it’s heartbreaking, especially when you care. But I try to meet them where they are, not force them to be somewhere they’re not ready to be. I try to love them, but with boundaries. I’ve had to learn that you can’t life-jacket someone who won’t stop jumping into the water. I try to live by spiritual principles: tolerance, patience, compassion, and—most of all—acceptance. That they’ll stop when they’re ready, not one moment before.”
How would you suggest a family member talk to someone in active addiction?
“Avoid questions like “Why don’t you just stop?” or “What’s wrong with you?” That used to really shut me down. I didn’t know why I kept doing it either—and those comments just made me feel more broken and more misunderstood.
Try to treat them like someone who’s unwell, not just someone making bad choices. Addiction is a disease, and when I was using, I really didn’t have control most of the time.
If we treated addiction like we treat other life-threatening illnesses—with gentleness, boundaries, and care—people might feel less judged and more willing to accept help. I understand that’s not easy. Addiction frustrates everyone around it, because from the outside, it looks like a choice. But I promise you: when I was in the grips of it, I had almost no power to choose differently. If I could’ve stopped, I would have. But I couldn’t. Not until I hit my own bottom and asked for help.”
If a loved one is still using, how can families support them without losing themselves?
“What helped me most—though I only saw it clearly later—was when my family, especially my mum, started setting boundaries. Not out of anger, but out of self-preservation. She had reached her limit, and I can see now that continuing to try and help me while I was still using was only wearing her down.
It’s hard to describe how powerful it was when she stepped back. She still loved me—she made that clear—but she stopped trying to rescue me. That gave me space to realise that no one was going to save me but me. It didn’t feel good at the time, but in hindsight, it might’ve been the thing that planted the seed for change.
I think it’s important for families to know that letting go doesn’t mean giving up. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care. Sometimes it’s the most loving thing you can do—especially if the person isn’t ready to stop.
What I’ve seen, both in my own life and in others I’ve met through recovery, is that addiction can pull everyone into the chaos, not just the addict. And when that happens, no one gets well. That’s why looking after your own peace of mind, your own life, is so important. It’s not selfish.
My mum letting go didn’t fix me overnight. But it made a difference. It showed me that the people around me couldn’t and shouldn’t keep carrying the consequences of my choices. That realisation didn’t come quickly, but it stayed with me. And when I was finally ready, I knew she’d be there—but on her terms, not mine.”
Should families try to convince someone to go to treatment or recovery?
“In my experience, no. You can’t force someone into recovery and expect it to stick. I went to treatment and other support services to please other people or avoid trouble, but it never lasted. I always ended up using again. It was only when my own pain became unbearable, that I finally surrendered and asked for help.
What did make a difference was when I was ready—and at that point, having my mum’s support meant everything. She didn’t drag me there, but when I finally said I needed help, she was there.”
How do you maintain your recovery today? What role does your family play now?
“I maintain my recovery by living the 12 steps—every day. It’s not something I tick off a list. It’s how I live, how I think, how I treat people, and how I stay free. Recovery gave me a new life, and now that I have something to lose, I protect it fiercely.
My family no longer plays a “supportive role” in my recovery—they just get to be my family again, and that’s a beautiful thing. For so long, their identity revolved around worrying about me, managing my chaos, or trying to keep me alive. That’s no longer their burden. It’s my job to stay clean, to do the work, and to keep growing.
I’m responsible for my own recovery now, and I like it that way. I want them to focus on their own lives. That’s real healing—for them and for me.”
Conclusion
“If there’s one thing I’d want to finish with, it’s that recovery is absolutely possible. No matter how far gone someone seems, no matter how many times they’ve relapsed or pushed everyone away—change can still happen. I know that because it happened for me. And I was the kind of addict most people had written off.
But recovery didn’t happen because someone convinced me. It happened when I finally surrendered and became willing to do the work. And when that moment came, having people around me who still believed in me—but who had stepped back with healthy boundaries—made all the difference.
I’m so grateful to be clean today, and even more grateful to be present and connected with my family again—not as someone they need to rescue, but simply as a son, a brother, a person in recovery, living life one day at a time.”
Note: This interview is based on the personal experience of someone in recovery who has generously shared their story anonymously to support families. While their journey reflects the 12-step recovery path, the views expressed are their own and not on behalf of any fellowship.
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