Detachment
How did we get here? How do we get out?
Detachment is about knowing you are not the cause of, nor
the cure for, another person's addictions. Detachment is about
knowing that you can care about someone without taking care
of them in inappropriate ways that prevent that person from
also becoming a responsible person. Detachment is about knowing
that we have the power to change and what we do not have the
power to change. Detachment is having the courage to change
the things we can and seeking the wisdom to know the difference.
Detachment is about not knowing what the future holds and
having the comfort of knowing who holds the future.
The family and friends affected by someone else's drinking
are, and have always been, some of the most remarkably loving
and lovable human beings among us. Common is a deeply developed
sense of commitment, selflessness, empathy, compassion, tenacity,
determination, a wisdom of the heart, courage in the face
of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, an immeasurably universal
strength of goodness and the ability to see the capacity for
goodness in others.
They retain these, the highest quality of human characteristics,
despite a disease that, often times, renders them helpless
and full of despair. Which is stunning if you consider the
eroding devastation that alcoholism brings into lives affected
by the disease of addiction.
At first, detachment can sound like an odd concept and in
direct conflict with these qualities of humanness. It is not.
Detachment is what will loosen the grip and render powerless
a disease that acts like an opportunistic spiritual predator
that takes goodness and twists it to serve its own corrupted
purposes.
Detachment is about being able to go and stay, at the same
time. It is having the wisdom not to jump in the water with
a drowning man to keep him from drowning but throwing him
a line to grab onto so that he can pull himself to the safety
of the shoreline.
I met a woman at an AA/Al-Anon speakers meeting, who, after
25 years of marriage to a man who drank to excess on a daily
basis, finally said Enough is enough. Enough of
my failed attempts to affect positive change. Enough of my
internalizing my husbands drinking problem. Enough of
thrashing around out here in the deep waters with him. I am
not going to save him this way and we are both going to drown.
She swam to the shores of Al-Anon.
The years of anger, bitterness,
resentment and disappointment began to dry up and evaporate.
She felt a lightness of being. She began to feel joy and hope.
She told me, I stopped saying anything to him about
his drinking. I simply left my literature and books about
Al-Anon and AA laying around the house. I stopped cleaning
up after his drinking episodes. I stopped rescuing him from
the consequences of his drinking. I adopted the attitude that
if his drinking got him into a mess he could get himself back
out of it. I stopped making excuses for him. If the children
asked, Where is dad I simply said, You will
have to ask him when you see him. I dont know the exact
reasons. If someone called the house asking after him
because he was a no show I answered the same way. I
dont know, he will have to explain it. I stopped
making plans that hinged on his being there.
I began to create
a life around him and at the same time made sure that he knew
about it if he wished to be a part of it. I learned to treat
him with the same respect and kindness I would give to even
a stranger. I stopped reacting to the negativity with anything
other than a positive response and became active in my own
life. I started to remember the dreams I had left behind so
long ago and decided to resurrect some of them. I realized
I could make many of my dreams come true. I discovered joy
and serenity. It was wonderful.
Two years later her husband began his recovery in AA. On the
day I talked to her, they had over twenty years of recovery
from the disease of alcoholism.
Detachment is not apathetic to the suffering of another nor
does it mean walking away from a drowning man. Detachment
is the lifeguard training in spiritual rescue.
©1998 Dalene Entenmann
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