Our Messy, Beautiful Summer Week 7
A guest post by Joan Nesbitt
The fact that Kate called me from college during the middle of a business meeting, which I was leading but which I interrupted to answer, was odd enough.
Her questions were even odder.
“I have Sunday off and I’m going to the city to have lunch with Aunt P. I was wondering if you know of a good place to eat in her neighborhood. Also, I want to go to the cemetery and place flowers on Grannie’s grave and I don’t know how to get there.”
On the surface, there are easy answers to Kate’s questions. But my sweet daughter unknowingly unleashed a hornet’s nest of angst in two simple sentences — so much so that I excused myself from the meeting to step outside, where stepping outside equals stepping into the vast wasteland of my emotion on the topic of my sister.
I’ve had what can politely be described as a “difficult” relationship with my sister. At the time of my mother’s death nearly four years ago, she and I were estranged for reasons not necessary to detail here but related to her lifetime of addiction and my lifetime of carefully cultivated anger. Right before my mother passed, Mom said very little other than she’d had a good life and she wasn’t afraid to die. But she had a final request: “Please stay close to P,” she asked quietly. “She doesn’t have anyone and she needs you.”
Let me tell you — I could write an irrefutable essay on why deathbed requests should be immediately outlawed, but that’s not the point of this story. To those living and those departing, deathbed requests are an unfair entreaty, or at least that’s how I felt after eight weeks of being the only family member holding vigil at my mother’s side during her final illness. But faced with my mother’s last request to do the one thing I knew I couldn’t do, I did what any loving daughter would do.
I lied.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I will.”
Six months later, I moved out of state. I moved for a lot of reasons, but being five hours away from my sister was surely at the top of the list.
And, now, here was my daughter, away at college and willing to drive two hours to have lunch with her aunt, whose calls I mostly don’t answer and whose texts I only occasionally return. I’ve always believed the universe sends people signals when they most need them. On this day, I thought the universe must be drunk, too. I didn’t like this signal and it surely was nothing more than a kind of cosmic glitch, an errant sign that had nothing to do with me.
But I took a deep breath and answered my daughter’s questions amid the traffic noise outside my office. I was surprisingly composed but unsurprisingly terse. I told her my sister lives in a terrible neighborhood and there’s no decent place to eat within miles of her house. But don’t take her anywhere fancy, I cautioned, because she looks like a homeless person. And don’t bother going to the cemetery because the grave is still unmarked and you won’t be able to find it. It’s a long story, I said, with the kind of exasperated tone that made it clear the failure to buy a headstone had everything to do with my sister’s broken promises.
It was the worst kind of explanation a mother could give a daughter, especially one as good-hearted as mine. It was shameful, really, but it was all I had. Love didn’t exactly win at that moment.
You know — those of us who are fans of Glennon would break a leg to meet her. I adore Glennon, but you know who I really want to meet? I want to meet Glennon’s Sister. I want to pull Sister aside and ask how she managed to be Sister to the Drunk all those years. Because during my sister’s awful, horrible years when she stole my car and my money and my jewelry and found every way humanly possibly to hurt my mother and nearly got herself killed, more than once by a drunken male companion — I stayed the hell away.
I made sure P knew she was not invited to my wedding. I made my mother promise not to take my children around her. When she was sent to jail, many times, I never bothered to ask where or why or for how long. I refused to visit her in the hospital after she was nearly beaten to death with a steel pipe until my mother tearfully begged me to go, after which I stood in the doorway of her dingy hospital room because I wasn’t brave enough to cross the linoleum abyss between my anger and her pain.
You know, for as hard as it must be to be Drunk — and Glennon has given me so many insights into that experience — it’s also hard to be Sister. I’m not making excuses, I’m just saying sobriety, especially my kind of protective sobriety which looks a lot like furious disapproval, is hard, too. The addicted and the sober — we’re like two jagged stones tumbling down a dirt road, crashing into each other and knocking off our smooth edges, unintentionally making each other sharper and scarring up the soft earth around us. We might be doing the best we can, the only ways we know how — and for Pete’s sake we ought to give each other a break given the circumstances — but it’s so ugly and so painful we don’t know what to do so we just keep tumbling.
Surprisingly, though, after my mother died the anger I had nurtured about my sister over so many years began to fray in a way that startled me. The unraveling of what had safeguarded and sustained me, the tattering that had moved beyond the edges into the center of my tightly woven gall, left me unsteady, as if I had lost the only emotional compass that worked for me with P. I sought a counselor’s assistance because the problem with losing your anger is that it’s not immediately replaced with an emotion you know how to work with. The absence of fury doesn’t create compassion. It’s something more like benign forbearance, which isn’t particularly conducive to family reconciliations. The counselor advised me to set the boundaries I needed to protect myself, but to commit to taking action in keeping with my values. Apparently the boundary I needed was 300 miles wide.
I figured I’d think about the values part later.
You know, my husband has this theory that the incarcerated aren’t the only ones in prison. He believes the wardens — and the System that retains them — are locked in the same dreadful dynamic, and the keepers aren’t any more free to leave than the criminals. Who’s to say which side of the bars is more subjugating, he asks?
His insight resonates with me because I haven’t known for a long time who’s on what side of what jail, P and me. She’s paid a steep price, including her health, a good bit of her sanity, and an unbreakable tether to her daily dose at the methadone clinic.
But I’ve paid a price too, one I’m just beginning to calculate. I’ve never believed in a literal hell but I can tell you hell away is a torturous place, maybe exactly what God warned us about, but so close to our noses that we humans couldn’t see it and instead we told stories of fire and brimstone because, you know, speck in her eye.
I don’t have a tidy answer today. I know P loves me, because she never fails to tell me. I know I love her too, because I am starting to let myself feel it, no matter how hard I try to resist and how few times I say it. I know we are sisters because we are breathtakingly imperfect in our sameness and because a million years ago, when she was 16 and I was 6, we rode around in the car together, the windows rolled down and the am radio playing Janis Joplin, who taught us “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”
The lyrics held true for her and I suddenly think they have held true for me, too. Maybe we were destined to spiral downward together, to plumb the depths of our souls in tandem until she hit the rock bottom of reckless addiction and I hit the rock bottom of hardened sobriety. The landing always hurts, I suddenly realize, but there’s comfort in finding hard ground, in stopping the free fall.
Who knew we would be emancipated together 45 years later?
With gratitude {for daughters, sisters, and second chances},
Joan, but, like my sister, you can call me JM
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Joan Nesbitt is a hopeless existentialist, relentless gratitude seeker, little-known blogger, and recent empty nester. She spends her days working in philanthropy and her evenings pursuing crack-pot domestic obsessions such as rendering lard for the perfect pie crust. Joan spent four years of her youth performing in a local Clown Troupe and believes learning at an early age to juggle and entertain finicky audiences was the best possible training for a working mother. You can find Joan on her blog, Debt of Gratitude, and on Twitter and Instagram.
This post is part of Momastery’s Our Messy, Beautiful Summer series.
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107 Comments
Thank you for your story. The brutal honesty in your words has really hit home.
You are so annoying. You seem to brag Everytime you make a point. You’re judgemental annoying egotistical stfu. If I was Your sis I’d stay awayfrom you. Its All about you isn’t it.
You’re delusional and self involved to see all the selfish horrible things you said in this post.
Just bc you’re not an addict doesn’t make you any better then your sister.
Your provably so basic it should be outlawed. You seem to have a miserable life no matter what youdo orsay. You’re just ugly
You are so annoying. You seem to brag Everytime you make a point. You’re judgemental annoying egotistical stfu. If I was Your sis I’d stay awayfrom you. Its All about you isn’t it.
You’re delusional and self involved to see all the selfish horrible things you said in this post.
Just bc you’re not an addict doesn’t make you any better then your sister.
Your provably so basic it should be outlawed. You seem to have a miserable life no matter what youdo orsay. You’re just ugly
I too am Sister. I am also the oldest. Today, a new day yet the same in so many ways. Ironic, my sister is also P. 8 paragraph text message again today. “I may need help again Sis.” So many lies, stealing, manipulation. This is deja vu for me, we went through this with P 30 years ago. We are still going through it but now it is alcohol and opiates not meth. There was about an 8 year break while she was “seemingly” sober. I can’t believe anything she tells me anymore. I have yet to respond to the latest chaos filled text. I am tired.
I just wanted to say, as the Addict (6 years sober), it is the callousness you convey that feeds the DISEASE. She looks like a homeless person? I pray your sister never sees that.
No. Just no.
You’re right
Amen…….how can Miss Above Thee, younger sister have a CLUE what demons P has to battle with over the years……God forbid dear ol baby sister try to EMPATHASIZE with her older sister. Maybe, instead of avoidance at all cost, Miss Above Thee might try to, oh I don’t know…….LISTEN WITHOUT JUDGEMENT, to find some insight into the hell P is stuck in……its so damn easy to look down ur nose and dismiss that which u don’t understand, all the while giving into her own vices without any guilt whatsoever!!! Lemme give u some advice that someone should have pointed out LONG ago…….EVERYBODY and I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US, has our own vice. That one thing we all turn to, to hep “take the edge off” of a rough day. Be that, shopping, gambling, smoking, drinking or chasing a roll in the hay, to name a few…..instead of dismissing those whites vices aren’t as “ok” to have, maybe we should see the person BEHIND the addiction & learn from each other’s mistakes. Cause hypocrisy is disgusting in every sense of the word. I’d rather be stuck in an elevator with your “homeless looking” sister, than Miss Holier than thou, ANY day of the week!!!!!! It’s this thinking right here that feeds the misguided notion of addiction being easily controlled vs the fact of the matter that it is a DISEASE, brought on by the chemistry of one’s brain being altered to the point where it NEEDS that substance just to function properly. What your sister needs is UNCONDITIONAL LOVE instead of being treated like a p.o.s., not worthy of the love of her baby sister!!!!
You are the one who needs help. Sounds to me like ur sister simply needs to know you care. God forbid she die and take with her the pain of being rejected and any opportunity for u to actually get it right!!!!
EDUCATE YOURSELF HOLIER THAN THOU
Thanks for sharing. I have a sibling who has abused drugs primarily cocaine for @ 15years probably longer. She has never been caught and her life is perfect and it’s unfair. I have worked, I work I struggle I am drug free I’ve done everything I was supposed too and I’m the one thats struggled, suffered, and been poor. Another of my siblings struggled with drugs and she was arrested dropped out of school and went from home to home (treatment home); it was a really hard time for all of us; and now she’s she’s clean! But, the former one of whom I refer is a bizarre injustice of life.
Further she has conned everyone into believing she is a model of work and behavior. We have a very difficult relationship it’s old and ugly. Drinking and marijuana were acceptable in my household; less encouraged than accepted; as well as other drugs to an extent. At 18 I met some people that socialized without using substances and after tripping mescaline by the family pool in view of my younger siblings; I thought. . . I am not going to set this example for them; and I stopped. I was 19 then; as time passed I said “This is my rebellion. This sobriety makes me different.” Now I’m 32 and I draw from this as a source but it is little salve.
I don’t know a single person who isn’t influenced by addiction in our culture, be it directly as an addict, in close relationship with one, or indirectly dealing with the after effects in people around them. It’s become “normal” to hear these stories…and of course I have my own; dad is sober 34 years, aunt sandy has 35…my son…well, I’m waiting…he’s only 30… and I hold the space for his healing to come. My 4 other children all know their brother has a disease and that his disease runs the show; for now. Thanks for bringing the issue “up”. It needs to be talked about w/o shame or embarrassment and for people to know they aren’t walking the road alone. My adult daughter brought the post to my attention. I believe it fed her heart, shored her up a bit, as she had to hold boundaries with her brother today. God help us all…
Thank you. Your story is a type of “fill in the blank” for, it seems, EVERYONE (myself included), and it is the heart of it that is just so damn brutiful and universal.
Wife of a recovered addict who doesn’t fully understand why I am so changed by his addiction. Your words, which I’ve sent to him, may help him with his perspective, and maybe even our marriage.
“The unraveling of what had safeguarded and sustained me, the tattering that had moved beyond the edges into the center of my tightly woven gall, left me unsteady, as if I had lost the only emotional compass that worked for me with P. I sought a counselor’s assistance because the problem with losing your anger is that it’s not immediately replaced with an emotion you know how to work with.”
I cannot thank you enough.
-K
Thank you for your post. I am the sister of a bi-polar alcoholic and I feel like I am on a very similar journey to where you started out. I don’t have much resposibility for my brother and it’s very easy for me to live my life and let him live his. The problem is though, that the anger and resentment and essentially the withering state that only intense disappointment can bring, is a prison of my own making. For the sake of my own heart, I want to have grace and love and unconditional conversations wtih him because in that, I find my own freedom and a capacity to REALLY love him.
I know though, that this is a journey I have to do with God because truthfully, I don’t trust myself as my compass naturally points towards judgement. I also can’t ignore it because it seems to have a festering life of its own if I leave it alone.
So thanks for your post. It has pushed the issue to the forefront so I can look at it square.
x
Fantastic writing. I’m the Daughter, my father just died on Mother’s Day. Over forty years of dealing with all his lies, many marriages, thievery and excuses. I don’t remember a time that I wasn’t dealing with his addiction. Even when he was sober he made me miserable. Nothing any person or program ever did for him worked. All that came out of AA was many marriages to other addicts. Psychiatrists suggested people for him to blame. Rehab/halfway houses just taught him how to steal and find other drug resources. And, no, finding Jesus never helped him, either. I wish I could tell everyone that has an addict in their lives that there is hope for recovery, but I don’t believe in it. I know people say you can beat addiction. I’ve never met anyone that has, but I’m told they are out there. I hate that my father took away so much of my ability to trust others and have faith in them. Unfortunately, I learned from age three on that the only reliable one was me, so that’s how I rolled. The only way I’ve had peace over the years was to remove myself from his life. Now, he’s permanently gone. There was no apology ever, no regrets mentioned, not even at the end. Only how I should have tried harder. My heart aches for all those that commented, the burden is great. If only all the memories and damage dissipated with his death.
Preach. My sister is bipolar and it is so hard separating the person from the disease. I’ve built up a lifetime of resentment for both.
Amen! Me, too!
Beign frustration…how true. I am Sister. He is a “functional” (for work only) alcoholic. He just returned from rehab. He seems very serious about recovery. His wife is very cautious. We all are. Thank you for sharing so honestly your circumstance and your heart.
I am Mother to an addicted son. I have three other children. The last six years have been hell. I don’t feel I am one of those mothers who unconditionally loves him and puts up with it. I am very angry. I want him out of the house as he is not gaining any perspective staying with us. But to get him to leave, well, he has no where to go and it might kill him. But I feel like him staying with us is killing me. He is one of those addicts who only focuses on the ways I don’t support him, how I don’t understand. He refuses to see all the damage he has caused us, all the pain. While his behaviours have changed somewhat, and he thinks of himself as being in recovery, we do not. He is on the methadone program and takes Valium daily. Also, anything else he can get his hands on. We see the fascination still with drugs and drug culture. He does not. He thinks he is fine. What a colossal waste of a life. I try to focus on the future, that there is hope he will get through this and it could make him a better person in the end. But not as long as he refuses to take ownership for the things he says and does. He lies and lies and lies. And always blames everyone else. I am worried that 10 years from now he will still be dependant on us. I also worry that we may never properly restore our relationship. My kids mean everything to me. I want to see him happy, healthy and whole. But I don’t think any of us will be the same again after all this. And not in a good way. My husband and I have mostly withdrawn from all our friends as it is so hard. The hardest thing is understanding the whole idea of sowing and reaping. If I sowed love and care into that bright little boy for so many years, how is it that this is what I reap???? As adults, we are all free to make our own decisions and live how we want. But as long as he is with us, and is dependant on us in so many ways, he remains a child but one who is sick. Yet he is an adult at 21.
Natalie, I wish I had better words of advice or comfort for you. But in so many ways the sibling relationship is different than the child relationship — so it seems the feelings we share are similar but the motivations and options are different. But I thank you for sharing so honestly, as it helps me see what my mother struggled with in her relationship with my sister.
I will say that I have terribly mixed feelings about the Methodone program. It’s hard to see how it has helped my sister, though I understand the alternative (street drugs) is awful too.
Your son is so young (my sister is in her early sixties now) and so I pray there is still time and resources to help him turn things around. I pray you and your husband find the support you need to be healthy in the midst of this heartache. Perhaps you can find ways to reconnect with friends and take care of yourself? A support system is so important for those who must navigate this heartbreaking path.
Hugs to you.
Hi.would you please tell me how is your son now?please tell me.me situation is nearly like yours.it would be so hopeful if you tell me.
Thank you for this. It comes at the perfect time in my life. This week after watching alcohol and substance abuse rule my sister we got her into a treatment facility. I never said much to her about it until this week and it was the most awful thing I babe ever done but at least she accepted the help we wanted her to have and maybe someday my kids will get to know their aunt for who she is and not what events she missed because she was “sick”. I am also watchingmy mom slowly realize that my sister is getting better and the she doesn’t have to worry all the time. I will admit to being jealous more then a few times of my sister but I also have to realize that at least my life isn’t filled with the hell that my sisters was. Anyway thank you for the reminder and pep talk that what we did was right and hopefully she will see how hard it was for all of us and not just her.
Hi, Shona. Did your sister get help with treatment? This story also resonated with me. After a Christmas day blow up with my sister, I have had enough. The worst part is that my mother wants to see the incident as an argument that spiraled out of control, rather than a result of addiction. I have been begging my family to stage an intervention for years. This is just so emotionally exhausting and devastating. How has your sister been after treatment?
I like your analogy of the two stones, but I wonder if you’re wrong about the edges getting sharper as you roll along: stones rubbing against one another knock OFF the points and sharp edges, and are actually smoothed over time.
Likewise, I think time and your shared history with your Sister has polished both of you-in many, painful crashings and collisions and amputations of those roughly formed bits-and as more and more of them fall away, you are better able to simply rest beside one another, and move more easily through the often jagged world around you.
Paul — my husband agrees with you and thinks the polishing analogy is accurate. At the time I wrote the essay, I felt pretty sharp and our interactions were painful and raw, thus my perspective of the jagged nature of our relationship. I love your notion that we might “simply rest beside one another.” What a lovely thing to work toward!
Absolutely beautiful. I loved every word. Thank you for sharing your story.
I have lived your life. My daughter lost her battle with heroin addiction in April at the very young age of 19. I wish there were so many things that were different. In the end I realize all that matters was that she knew she was loved. {and she did} YOU can not change an addict. I realized that a long time ago. I hope your sister knows she is loved and I hope you know you are loved as well.
I could have written this post. This is my life. It is hard to be sister and daughter. I often feel that I am also suffering from their addiction. I live and breath it every moment of everyday. I try to set boundaries to protect my heart, my kids, my husband, but the guilt of not being their for sister and father keep me up at night. Addiction sucks! Thank you so much for this post. I know I am not alone.
I could have written YOUR post. Addiction indeed sucks. You are not alone and thank you for reminding me that I am not alone either.
My husband is Brother (identical twin brother) and this was so insightful and beautiful and heartbreaking. The analogy about the two jagged stones described my husbands relationship with his brother so perfectly it took my breath away. I found Glennon while desperately looking for information on addiction and mental illness and this place has been so incredible. I have always wondered about Sister and thought of her as a hero. We lost my husbands brother to suicide almost two years ago. I loved him, and I will always wonder if we could have done more, been more, gave more.
You always wonder but truth is, you can’t care more than they do about themselves and think it will ever change. It is heartbreaking on every level.
Dear Joan,
I am also thankful for your honest and generous thoughts.
I have an older brother that made an exhausting number of painful choices. I know something of you pain. My heart goes out to you.
Here is a very different perspective, that I also believe is also absolutely true.
Quick background: I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and we believe that we all lived with our Father in heaven before we were born on this earth. (It’s also an ancient early Christian church that was lost-but that’s another story). We knew each other before we all came to this earth to be tested. We made promises. My brother knew ho hard life would be and he knew I would be tempted. He promised to come first, knowing that he would make poor choices, but because he would make them-I would see very clearly where that road goes and I wouldn’t make them. Was he spiritually stronger than me-underneath everything-did he sacrifice some of this short life for me? Maybe. What I know for sure is that things are not all that they seem to be. We we were “whole” before we came. We will be “whole” again in eternity. My brother is a fantastic person. He has the gentlest, kindest heart. Did he get lost here on earth? Was he willing to get lost-for me? Will I hug him in eternity and thank him for the chance to face his the confusion and grow up in the process? Am I learning to love unconditionally (while avoiding co-dependency)? Am I getting a taste of how our Father in heaven loves us? Do we have to look very hard to find the beautiful pre-mortal soul underneath the awful? Is this soul my teacher too? I think so….
Mary, you share a thought-provoking perspective and I’m grateful for folks like you so willing to share your thoughts and experiences. “Things are not all that they seem to be.” There may be no greater words of truth. Maybe our earthly journey is about uncovering the layers and seeing beyond our blinders. One thing is for sure. I’m uncovering new things in my heart every day and that has to be a good thing.
Yes, Joan. I hear you. So many things to uncover, so many things to learn. Sorry for the delay in response here-we just finished up with a wedding. Someday, probably in heaven, we’ll get to talk in person. I look forward to it!:D Also, Im on FB!. Best wishes!
My daughter is a 3 year sober heroin addict and currently an alcoholic. I have been to hell with her addictions and I still visit often. I come from a family of addicts and alcoholics. This life is not what I would have chosen. But I do choose to support my daughter even when she does not want my support, even when she does not want my love. I may not like her all the time but I do still love her. After everything, at the end of each day, I still love her. Thank you for writing this post. I understand your pain and your heartache. I am glad you have found the love that was lost and found your sister again. My prayers are with you.
My mother-in-law spiraled into addiction (meth and crack) after her husband and her mother died within one year of each other. She spent every penny of the generous inheritances she was awarded in one year flat with nothing to show for it. She went from being the first one there after her grandson was born, who would always bring him stuffed animals and clothes, who would chase him around the house tickling him with giggles filling the air to someone we didn’t even recognize physically or emotionally. I would have never thought it was possible if I didn’t see it happening before my own eyes. It hurt a lot for her to spend so much money and time on addiction instead of us. As she drifted to the point of becoming homeless and using daily, getting arrested, etc. we realized we were powerless and all we could do was pray. I prayed a lot. Then after almost 5 years of her being in active addiction, she was arrested and in jail for 40 days which was enough time for her to get clean and get her head clear enough to hear us and feel our love again. A week before Christmas, my husband made the difficult decision to post her bond and bring her to stay with us for the holidays. I fully supported him because I love my mother-in-law. When she is not actively using, she is the sweetest, most non-judgmental person. We welcomed her into our home and she made cookies with our kids, watched holiday movies, and experienced the holiday season with our family. One night she broke down and cried because it hit her how much she had missed during the years of active addiction. She ended up going to stay with her sister and has been in recovery for the past 9 months with only a couple of slips. Slips are part of the process I’ve learned. But, we are now able to have a relationship with her that we thank God for. I have been able to see the pain melt away from my husband’s eyes and the joy at spending time with his Mama. Sure, I could have been the wife who said “no way in hell will we allow her around our kids and in our home” but instead I made my boundary be “as long as she is not high, she is always welcome”. She has told me that spending time with us makes her want to keep doing right and being in recovery. Unconditional love is a powerful force. With addicts, we have to be careful not to enable and we must set boundaries, but if we do this with love and not spite everyone wins.
Sister of P, you can write! wow. just wow. thank you, thank you and God Bless you and P.
xoxxo from the East Coast
I am a Child of alcoholic parents, a Wife of a workaholic/alcoholic who does not work or drink anymore. Due to a back injury. Mother of of an addict who has been sober for 7yrs. He is struggling with diabetis and kidney failure. diagnosed with diabetis at 14.Kidney issues began 2 yrs ago. We also have a daughter and 2 other sons. They are all married except the son that is ill. he lives at home now as he needs help with his care. is not well enough to live alone. Growing up in an alcoholic household as I did I became a people pleaser. Not so unusual. after marriage I became a super wife and was very unhappy. my hubby and fought a lot about his never being home and excessive drinking. making our kids miserable. I have been through many years of therapy, learned a lot about my self, addictive behaviors, how to change, etc. one valuble thing I learned was to began change with myself and let GOD deal with the other party. so I quit fighting with my hubby and just focused on career, my relationship with GOD. Things got much better for me. The 3 older kids were all in college and starting out in their own lives, beginning serious relationships and moving out. this left the youngest alone. he was diagnosed with diabetis and many life plans he had were changed. he became very depressed. his sibling were to busy to see what was going on. Over a period of the next 5 yrs one brother moved back to ca, his dad started his graduate program and was neverhome, 2 siblings were married and moved away. my son was going to school and working. I was working. he and I were alone at home just the two of us all the time. very lonely after having a big close family. he began to date. got serious about a girl. she started doing drugs. there was some very erractic behavior. she was diagnosed as being bipolar. was prescribed medication. Things got a little better. his plan was to propose at CHRISTMAS! The more serious my son became about the relationship the more erractic her behavior became. she was not taking her meds consistanly. NOV.we were told she was expecting. Our grandaughter was born in march. in april the mother disappeared with the baby. this is when my sons drug abuse began. we did all the right things. hired an attorney, went to court. he was given joint custody. his joint custody was every other weekend from fri nit to sun afternoon. he was 19yrs old. he was crushed. He had to drive 5hrs one way to pick his daughter up. every rotten trick that could be played on him to keep him from seeing the baby was. then the mother moved again and no one knew where they were. this is when things got really bad. he gave up on himself, his life, his future, his relationship with his child. I know what the saving grace is in life it is forgiveness. because it frees you from what ever has you in prison. whatever your personal prison might be. this article about the sisters perspective initially made me very angry as I know from personal experience this sister has not completed her journey. she is not at a place of forgiveness yet. my 3 older children aren’t either.as a mother this breaks my heart. foregiveness is the only way to heal. Probably most of us walk around with some kind of hole in their heart or sole. but we don’t have to. Christ has given us the ability to truely be forgiven and redeemed. thank you for enduring my lengthy explanation, soo… many details. My son is now in stage 5 kidney failure and there a very real possiblity he may die. I want him to know his siblings love him and forgive him. its been 10yrs he is 30now. but they act and treat him like it was yesterday.
Being a sister is very hard. Your story resonated with me, right down to my very core.
I get what you mean about the carefully cultivated anger and the disapproval, I wore that armour too. When I was a teen I used to pick up my sister’s used syringes when she left them lying around her bedroom, because I didn’t know how to let my parents find out she was a drug addict. I kept picking them up after she stole my bank card and drained my account, after her boyfriend died of a heroin overdose and she kept right on using, I kept picking them up after she grew dangerously thin and mean, until one day I just couldn’t.
I know what you mean about hell. Becoming hard hearted is one way of living within it. I understand.
These days I live in exile too. I feel for you. Thank you so much for sharing your story.
Thank you for reminding me I am not alone — that there are many of us, whether sisters, daughters, mothers, partners or what-have-you. Thank you, thank you.
Thankyou for being brave enough to be brutifully honest in sharing your story.
I’m not sure I breathed the entire time I was reading that. That was an exquisite read. You are so brave to share that and so profoundly right about it. Thank you.
“You know, for as hard as it must be to be Drunk — and Glennon has given me so many insights into that experience — it’s also hard to be Sister. I’m not making excuses, I’m just saying sobriety, especially my kind of protective sobriety which looks a lot like furious disapproval, is hard, too. The addicted and the sober — we’re like two jagged stones tumbling down a dirt road, crashing into each other and knocking off our smooth edges, unintentionally making each other sharper and scarring up the soft earth around us. We might be doing the best we can, the only ways we know how — and for Pete’s sake we ought to give each other a break given the circumstances — but it’s so ugly and so painful we don’t know what to do so we just keep tumbling.”
Such beautiful and profound description and jarringly true.
Reading these comments, I’m struck by how many of us Sisters have not only had to learn how to set boundaries with the addict in our lives, but also how to hold those boundaries in the face of family members who set different boundaries for themselves. It can be such a lonely place to live. I’m so grateful to Joan and to everyone who shared their story here. Thank you for reminding us Sisters that we are not alone.
Yes. Thank you.
I pray that someday I will feel safe to draw close to my daughter again.
That was beautiful. I LOVED your description of hell. I believe that too. Much love to you and your sister.
I have read your blog and facebook updates for a year. I am always so inspired by your voice and the way you share it with all of us. Thank you.
It was today’s post in particular that hit me like a ton of bricks. YES. YES. That is me. I am the sister of the alcoholic.
I am the aunt who picked up broken pieces of children’s lives when they needed it because their father was MIA. I am the one who listened to his stories, excuses and lies. I watched disappointed faces when Daddy didn’t show up. I sat through the paranoid phone calls during withdraw. I even put up with the random girlfriend who surely “knew more than me” about helping him.
It was me who had to figure out where to draw healthy boundaries to protect myself and my children from my own brother. And there isn’t an instruction book for this stuff. I had to feel my way, blindly, being accused of being unloving, mean, and unforgiving.
I suffered through attacks of anger. Yelling. Hurt to my children. Disappointment. And pain.
All the while I am often told by other family members to take the higher road. Let go. Forgive. Love. And all of the niceties of the higher road that were crushing me with their expectations, all the while bringing more pain, hurt, and anger. To me and to him.
As of September 1, he is one year sober. I am so happy for him. Truly. He is slowly picking up the pieces of the devastation he left behind. Yet in his mind, that doesn’t include me. There are no apologies. No recognition for the hurt he caused his family. He only has statements about how we didn’t love him when he needed it most. He sees us as deserters.
His mom forgives in a way that only a mother is able – without question. Without reserve. No expectations. His father is the same.
Then there is me. I am not his mother. I am not his father. I did not birth him and love him with a parent’s unconditional love. Yet I hate for my love to have conditions….
So there I sit. Usually alone in this place. And then there was the post today! Someone else gets it! It is hard for SISTER too!
And I loved what she had to say. Thank you for allowing her to speak and to share the painful flipside of your own coin. I felt less alone on my journey today and I am so very grateful.
Thank you Glennon. Speak on sister! Share voices that resonate with the humanity in all of us!
Mary Wilson
Thank YOU for your comment, Mary! Your story and thoughts resonate so so so much with my own. You could have taken the words out of my mouth when you said, “Then there is me. I am not his mother. I am not his father. I did not birth him and love him with a parent’s unconditional love. Yet I hate for my love to have conditions….”
But when I read the sentence you wrote, “Usually alone in this place,” I said out loud to my computer screen, “NO! She’s not alone!” Which, of course, reminds me that I’m not alone in this place either. Thank you for helping me feel less alone on my journey!
We aren’t alone. This blog entry was so helpful for revealing that. Glad to know there are more of us struggling with how to love and how to protect ourselves.
I am one of you, too. Sister to two. It does feel good to know that there are others who understand.
This was exactly what (WHO?) I was thinking of when I read the post the other day about not having regrets over the years of being drunk or wasted or whatever since it all played a part in making the person who they are today. That is way too simple of a conclusion, and it neglects to acknowledge the collateral damage done on all the loving, exasperated, stymied onlookers. They are the casualties who can’t as easily say “It all turned out ok since it made me who I am today.”
I am Sister. Thank you for this. My sister is now terminally ill as a result of her long term addictions. The pain and frustration over 30 years have been unimaginable. I have groped for the right thing, swinging back and forth from anger to forgiveness, from throwing up high walls to having them pulled down by pity. I have rescued her, fought for her, pushed her away, drawn her close. My heart breaks for her and my parents, but I have come to realize that nothing I do changes anything. Sitting still with the pain, knowing I can do nothing, is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Our conversations over the past several years have been filled with her blaming everyone: Our parents, who house her and pay her medical bills; her husband, who works hard and also takes care of all the household duties, everyone it seems is the receiver of her rage. I recently wrote her to say I didn’t want to continue a relationship with her unless she gets professional help and chooses to make positive decisions. I never hear from her now, which is very heartbreaking to me and makes me question the boundary I created. But it is also a relief not to see her on the caller ID, knowing we are about to go one more round of her anger and self pity. And then my heart swings back: My sister is dying…
Thank you for articulating the pain of this process. I am Daughter and hear me in your story. Thanks again.
I am Daughter, as well. Sometimes there are no happy endings, just choices and consequences that we learn to make peace with. My father never sobered up, my brothers never chose to acknowledge the disease and dysfunction in our family. So I distanced myself, in every way possible, because the chaos and stress became too much to bear. In my search for health and wellness, I was labeled the “problem” member of the family; punishment for leaving. A few years ago my father committed suicide – went into the bathroom and shot himself in the head. There will be no happy endings – no sober apologies, insights, revelations, or reunions. I always envy that about Glennon’s family. And yet………..I have peace. I would have preferred to have those other things – but that option is no longer available. So instead I embrace the next best thing, the calm that comes from learning to accept “what is” after giving up trying to make my dad, my brothers, or my family anything other than what they are. Peace that comes from the truth of Janis’ words, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” I “lost” my family of origin (so yeah, plenty of counseling) but retained my sanity, and as sad as that choice and tradeoff is, I’ve learned to be okay with it. Sometimes we don’t get a fairytale ending, but we CAN still live peacefully ever after.
“It was shameful, really, but it was all I had. Love didn’t exactly win at that moment.”
This was a real gut-punch to read so early in the day! I identify with this strongly. When I finally realized that my sister wasn’t some unidentified, vague kind of “troubled” but a drug addict with a serious and long-lasting problem, there had already been so many years of lies and pain that the main thing I felt was anger. I was so grateful to the extended family and church friends who loved her and supported her because I just couldn’t do it.
I think of her now that a few years have passed sometimes with pity and rarely with anger, but mostly a sense of resignation. I know that’s partly because I have grown in the interim, but I also know that it’s mostly because we no longer see or speak to each other much at all. While I want her to recover more than anything in the world, that thought also scares me because I have no idea how I could relate to her as a healthy person. Or more accurately…the idea that *I* could be the dysfunctional one, or the one who had to change her behavior, brings out a lot of ugly feelings.
Beautiful. I, too, am Sister to a younger addict Brother. Although I am fortunate to have managed to move past the “fury” of such a difficult relationship and can even foster compassion for him now, I still relate to the “benign forbearance” of which you speak. I love my Brother, but I usually keep my distance.
My Mother is the one that still, at this late stage in her life, puts all that she has into his “black hole” of a life, under the reasoning of “I’m all he’s got”, and I find myself intentionally not asking her about him for fear of what I might hear. I rarely communicate with him and, although he lives a mere 5 minutes away (at my Mother’s house), I hardly ever see him. The fact is, the pain will always be there as long as his addictions reign, and when he’s clean, I am always waiting for him to fall off the wagon again, as he’s done so many times before.
No doubt about it. The pain of addiction is a web, spreading it’s immobilizing threads out from the center of the one from which it emanates and affecting all who find themselves entangled in their lives. Which is why, in the end, remaining “untangled” emotionally is as much a matter of self-preservation as anything. Peace to you and the best of luck to both you and your sister.
Wow. Just wow. Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing and insight with us. It is so brave and wise.
Thank you for writing this. I am Daughter. This resonates with me so much. After years I made the decision to withdraw from communication with my mom because I feel like that was necessary to keep myself and my family safe and emotionally sound. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about her and hope that we can move past this-and the addiction.
I am a Sister, too. Your story resonates deeply with me. It has been lonely for me because my family doesn’t quite see it the same way I do. Thank you so much for sharing.
Wow! I feel like you wrote this for me. It is my life with my sister and it has been a tough road. I know the power of forgiveness, thank God.
JM, that was….wow. I don’t have an addict in my life (that I’m aware of), and this still knocked my socks off. The pain, the anger, the distancing….you made it visible. I would say that emancipation must be wonderful, but I’m guessing it’s a bumpy road quite often. May both of you continue to make this journey in the light.
I, too, struggle with finding the difference between forgiveness and boundaries – trying to love, without feeling like a doormat. And I find it fascinating to watch my kids interact with some family members – because they don’t know the history or have the baggage, it’s a fresh start and they see people differently than I do. I try to see the people they see sometimes, but then I lose the boundaries, which are necessary, I think. The boundaries are so confusing to me. I love this post. Thank you for your honesty, and much love to you and yours.
You wrote exactly what I was thinking, Lisa.
Ditto.
I am a Sister as well, and my brother has been an alcoholic for longer than his entire adult life. I interact with him, but only casually. He usually only contacts me if he wants something. All his money goes down his gullet, so the reality is that anything we give him would just be supplementing the habit. I think of him often in a detached way, as though he died as a fifteen year old. We rarely see a glimpse of his personality that is unfiltered by alcohol, whether drunk and angry or hungover and angry. The idea of having a meaningful relationship with him is as unimaginable to me as trying to resurrect someone from death.
Wow. Your comment really resonates with me. My sister is only in her early 20s but she’s been using since she was a young teen and harming herself for longer than that, and sometimes it feels like a death of sorts. While I still have hope for her and her life, your comment is what I sometimes imagine her and my future to be which knocks the wind out of me.
Anyway, I don’t know what to say except that what you wrote moves me and that my heart goes out to you.
I hope it can be more helpful than hurtful for you; maybe it isn’t too late. Perhaps the concept could start a conversation if a window is open to that. I don’t know. It’s hard to offer hope from where I stand, but I hesitate to be pessimistic if there’s something to be gained from optimism. My brother is now in his late thirties, so she isn’t so far down the rabbit hole as he is.
So what happened with the daughter’s visit with her aunt? Unfinished story.
Thank you so much for writing this. I lost my brother last August. We had a very similar relationship… I tried to be there for him for so long, but my husband and I felt that we couldn’t let our daughter be exposed to the heartbreak of loving an addict, so we distanced ourselves. He was at my wedding (temporarily soberish), but he was in jail when our eldest was born and was in a halfway house in Florida when our youngest was born. He never met my youngest daughter because we wanted to be sure he was really, truly on the path to lasting sobriety. He came home when she was two weeks old and I talked to him standing in my driveway. It was an entirely different experience- It was HIM, you know? Not the addiction… He overdosed a few days later. I don’t know what the takeaway is, every minute of every day I come up with a new way I’m sure I could’ve saved him, but I’ll never know. Sending you and your sister so much love. And yes, from the moment I started reading this blog, even more than wanting to love on Glennon (which I do a LOT), I want to give Sister a medal and cry with her and hug her and… I don’t know. She’s my hero.
For so long, I have been struggling to put my feelings as a Sister into words. Thank you for doing this so eloquently. My sibling ran amok in my family. He took many of us down with him in his dark spiral. Though he passed, some of my family are stuck in the dark place he left behind. It was how they operated for so long, and sadly they don’t know how to live life any differently. Their anger and hopelessness have filled the void that he left behind. I have thankfully been in therapy and long ago learned to separate myself from the chaos he caused in our extended family. I was rejected for “changing” and not abiding by the secret covenant of co-dependency. I am a stronger and more resilient person because of it, and for that, and for so many survivors like you, I am thankful.
I love the jagged stones analogy. Maybe tumbling down that dirt road is what made your jagged edges smooth out.
Wow, just wow. I can’t relate but was drawn to every word because I could feel it. Thank you for sharing.
I’m the sister to an addict, too. It’s AWFUL. My parents often took out their frustrations on me, and I truly lived in fear for many years. My brother stole money, my wallet, broke into my home and got high in front of my children during Christmas. We had drug dealers follow us home and point guns at us. I just can’t even deal. He’s been in and out of jail, and currently has “found Jesus” (his usual code for I’m clean…for now). I need decades of therapy to come to grips with everything, and I am scared of the day that I will have to be executor of my parents last wishes. I hope this essay helps people love the sisters, brothers, moms, dads and friends of addicts. They need the extra attention and support, because it can be so very lonely.
My heart goes out to you. I have been there as well. It is so lonely, even now that my brother is gone.
Wow. Thank you for sharing your beautifully written, painfully difficult story with us. Prayers for you and your daughter and your sister. I can’t imagine the grief of losing your mom and feeling alone to suffer that at her bedside. Your strength blows me away. You truly have an amazing way with words.
I am an alcoholic in recovery, and my heart goes out to all of you. I had no idea that anyone cared about me, and no idea how much pain I had caused others, until I got sober. It was both eye-opening and horrifying. I don’t know that I will ever feel that the amends I’ve made and continue to make (some of my amends are living amends, which means they’re ongoing) are enough.
This was painful to read, but I’m glad I did.
I’m glad you did also. Best of luck with your sobriety. Stay strong.
“The absence of fury doesn’t create compassion. It’s something more like benign forbearance, which isn’t particularly conducive to family reconciliations.” I have never been able to accurately label this, but you nailed it. I’ll be mulling this one over. Thanks for bravely sharing your story.
I am not a sister of an addict, but I am the wife of an addict. I have not lived with him for many years, but haven’t divorced him because right now he is in recovery and our friendship has grown because of that. Today I am on my own recovery journey though not a recovery from a substance. I am recovering from the effects of what loving an addict did to me and the “addiction” I had to controlling and wanting to fix him. Today I don’t live in the same prison I thought I had to for many years. This has been the key to me finding compassion and forgiveness. I hope you can journey towards feeling like you are no longer in jail because it doesn’t have to be that way for you-even if she doesn’t find recovery.
Amy,
I was also married to an addict for 12 years. I also know how you can be “addicted” to trying to fix him. It is a hard battle that I fought, but eventually had to let go. Our kids are getting to be teenagers, and I felt it wasn’t the best environment for them anymore. I hope it all works out for you and your husband.
I am the wife of an alcoholic (9 months in recovery, a baby yet in this world of sobriety). What never ever computes with me, and why Alanon doesn’t make sense to me and why I get angry when other spouses talk to me, is that as also the child of an alcoholic, is the statement people make to me about not trying to control the alcoholic. I’ve come to see that I reverted right back to being the child of an alcoholic. I never tried to control and the only one I tried to fix was me. Years and years spent in therapy trying to be more. More of everything-prettier, nicer, sexier, a better wife, a better mother, more understanding and on and on. It wasn’t until I got to the end of the road on “fixing” me that I started dragging my husband into therapy with me and another year before he identified his drinking problem. A problem I didn’t even believe he had because I was still busy telling myself I wasn’t good enough and that’s why he didn’t love me. And this is the cycle we are having so much trouble breaking out of. Hems so used to me taking the blame that he fights tooth and nail now, even in his sobriety, against the reality that his behavior is problematic. It’s still “you’re never happy” and “nothing is good enough” and “you have issues”.
I haven’t met a single spouse of an alcoholic yet who doesn’t immediately tell me “you have to stop trying to control them” which leaves me even more alone. So alone. All that says to me is “go fix yourself some more”.
I so related to the statement someone made that it’s hard to learn how to love without vein a doormat. I have no respect for myself.
I loved this essay, but I still hope to find one from someone who knows that it’s like not to keep their spouse under their thumb, but to give them an endless amount of rope that you end up hanging yourself by.
As a wife of an addict, I have experienced both the control issues and the issues of feeling like something is wrong with me and that I need to fix myself. I understand where you are coming from with Al-Anon groups sometimes being too guarded about blaming the addict – sometimes we push that desire to blame the addict down too far and end up holding on to the blame ourselves. Neither blame is the complete answer, but I do think that sometimes we have to let those feelings out in a safe environment in order to work through them and move on. I still have a long way to go, but today working on me looks much different than it first did. It’s not that “I am not good enough”, but that “I am a work in progress” – sometimes stumbling, but learning that my worth is not based on the ups and downs of my husband’s addiction. I do hope that you find your true worth and know that you are not alone!
I was married to a person with addictive tendencies for years, although his addictions took on several forms, and not just alcohol or drugs. For years I totally, as you said, “focused on myself”, trying to do and say and be whatever he wanted me to be, never confronting him about his own problems. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that this type of “focusing on myself” was actually, in itself, an attempt to control. I tried to be the “perfect wife” in the hopes that it would make him happy and fix his problems. Of course, it did not.
What I have learned about “trying to control” another person is this: it is not so much about what you do or how you do it as it is WHY you do it. In conflict, I tend to have “passive-aggressive” tendencies, so an overt attempt to control another person has never been my problem. My problem is in my “being sneaky” about it, and it was when I saw that my “working on myself” and my being so generous and helpful were actually MY methods of trying to control that I began to change and TRULY work on myself. I developed outside interests. I went out with friends. I did things that I enjoyed doing. I stopped trying to be who I thought he wanted me to be. And if these things made him angry (which they did, which made me uncomfortable), I pushed myself through the discomfort and kept on working on my own LIFE.
Similarly, confronting someone else with their problems and behaviors and how it affects you and others may or may not be a form of control. It’s all about motive. If the action stems from fear and an attempt to get someone to change, then it’s control. If the action stems from a genuine concern for a person’s well-being, then it may not be. And I would argue that probably most actions have a little bit of both motives mixed in there. The trick is to not be dominated by a need to control others, and only you can figure out what your motives are. Keep fighting the good fight!
And therein lies the rub. I never thought he had “problems”. I thought I had problems. I didn’t think I had a right to ask for my husband to come home and be involved in the family, I didn’t think I deserved to be treated with love and respect. So now, when he does something disrespectful and I say “you did this, it hurt me” his immediate response is “you are only hurt because you’re never happy” or whatever other deflecting defensive thing he can come up with. The only thing I’m trying to “control” is getting him to acknowledge that he hurt me.
So I hear, “you’re trying to control him by asking to be treated with respect and love”. In that case, it’s clear I need a divorce. Because if I am being controlling by standing up for myself and saying I deserve better, then I give up. I just give up.
AB,
I would totally recommend checking out a book called “co-dependant no more”. It is an amazing resource for it was recommended to me by my counsellor when trying to work through issues related to living with someone with substance abuse and was amazing.
And for the record, I have lived a life. I have written and published books and tried my hand at owning a business and I run an open mic night and have friends and know who I am.
He says he loves me more than anything but he treats me like someone he hates. I guess I need to leave. I guess it’s the only thing I can “control”.
You can let go of trying to control another person, but also set boundaries — which is about controlling yourself. Deciding what you won’t put up with.
There is a Sara Groves song, in which she compares the life of an addict to a tornado, and the family is trying to live in proximity to that chaos. Through much of my older brother’s life, I identified with that image. I will collect your tumbling rock imagery in my heart, too. These painful words are lovely and direct. It’s so hard to be a Sister, and still there is so much good in it.
Oh how I would love to invite these two sisters to one of our colouring circles. we sit around a table, colouring mandalas, drinking good coffee and eating cake and in that peaceful, medARTative space, sisters stories begin to emerge from the place where the sister first went into hiding.
Sisters, mothers, daughters…we don’t always need depth psychology and a huge archaelogical dig into the dark cave of the painful past to reconnect, we just need a place where we can get creative, do things with our hands so our pain filled eyes can avert themselves as we create a new normal, spending time Being….together.
I would joyfully send these two warrior women a couple of mandalas to colour. Its like meeting ar the camp fire, peering into the flames and enjoying the stillness of the night sket….together.
*Apologies for those typos, late night typing by candle light.;)
“night sket” was meant to say “night Sky”.
Beautiful! That sounds like such a healing start to a conversation.
“the problem with losing your anger is that it’s not immediately replaced with an emotion you know how to work with”….how absolutely, positively, perfectly true.
As a Sister of two, one of whom died in his diseases, I appreciate your honest words. One of my hardest things has been learning to remain an adult with people who do not understand how to see me that way, and to set the boundaries I need to keep myself and my family emotionally sound.
Yes, this is exactly it. So much yes.
Yes. YES. It is painfully hard to be a sibling to an addict. You love them and you hate them. You support them, but you do not support their choices. You stand up for them when other family members put them down, but then turn around and say, “what the HELL are you doing?!” You praise them when they are on the wagon, but just step back and live in hurt, doing the tough love thing when they fall back off. You hope to hell that one day, they will stop this circle.
YES! Yes.
Beautiful post and viewpoint that those who are addicted don’t often have the foresight to notice.
As a Sister myself, I am so appreciative of this perspective and you sharing your journey. It is difficult beyond words to capture the experience of being the family member…and this allowed me some space to have my feelings and still feel love for my sister too. Thank you.
This is a beautiful essay, Joan, and such good insight to the difficulties of being invisibly and eternally tethered to an addict. I hope that you continue to find your way through your walls to love her completely as who she is. I think that’s the only answer for anybody, whatever their flaws may be: accepting that they are who they are and not setting expectations for them to be someone they’re not. It doesn’t mean that we must allow them to run reckless through our lives causing chaos, but it’s the only way to peace. Our expectations can lock us up in that jail, just as their addictions lock them into their own cells.
Woah. Everything I have always felt but never able to put into words. Spot on! Thanks for sharing!
Wow. Just wow JM.
That was so beautifully written – so much raw emotion that speaks to the daughter of an alcoholic who keeps her distance and jokes about her fathers inability to be sober while it cuts my heart like a dull spoon.
I have to marinate on this and be still with it.
Thank you for your honesty and big props to you for sharing your story.
My thoughts exactly Tristan. Very powerful and beautifully exact essay JM. Completely resonated with me in the same way as Tristan.
Thanks Jodi – much love you to and your journey.
YES, YES, YES……I’m with you Joan. I love Glennon but always relate to Sister and her pain. I am Sister……the struggle is real for me as much as it is for my sister. Love your husband’s prison analogy.
This was beautifully done. It IS hard to be Sister. It’s also hard to be Brother, Daughter, Son, Mother, Father. I know. I’ve been there.
Your bio is fantastic! I read the lard sentence and almost spit out my coffee. I love you for that quirkiness.
Your essay was my truth too, and I thank you for acknowledging this side of the dynamic. So many great nuggets of wisdom in your writing. Thank you.
Holy Mother of Everything, Joan, this is beautiful. And heartbreaking. And painfully, painfully accurate. Thanks for sharing this gorgeous piece with us.