Alcoholism is a Bitch
If you're reading this and suffering from alcoholism yourself—or watching a loved one suffer—you know what I mean.
My heart aches with you. It’s so painful. For the whole family. And it truly affects everyone.
Alcoholism is a confusing disorder.
It comes with a lot of baggage.
A lot of secrets.
A lot that the brain tries to make sense of.
A lot of suffering.
A lot of feelings.
It is not black and white.
It is not linear.
When am I being too soft?
When am I being too cold?
When does this person need a lifeline?
One day I think I’m enabling.
The next, I wonder if I’m abandoning.
Should I pick up the phone or let it ring?
If I engage, am I crossing a boundary I promised myself I’d hold?
The rules change—or maybe they never made sense to begin with.
When do I listen to my heart, and when do I listen to my brain?
Is there anything left I can do?
It’s a constant emotional tug-of-war.
Even all my Al-Anon knowledge and experience doesn't seem to be working today.
In Al-Anon, I learned:
To focus on myself instead of obsessing about the alcoholic.
To identify my boundaries—what I can tolerate emotionally, mentally, physically, and financially.
That I’m not alone.
That this is complex, deeply personal work.
That I don’t need to decide everything right away.
That it's okay to pause.
To wait for the next right step.
So I focus on myself, in the midst of all the worry.
I ground myself. I tend to my nervous system.
And I pray.
A lot of prayer and meditation.
I surrender my worries to God—because I know I can’t carry all this alone.
I get into nature.
I lay in tall grass.
I give my pain to Mother Earth—to hold, to compost for me.
I feel the cold, damp earth beneath me.
I notice the points where the back of my body meets her:
the back of my head, shoulders, low back and hips, thighs, heels.
I feel the warm sun on my face,
and a breeze over my skin.
I hear birds singing, leaves rustling.
Above me, a great maple tree stretches its limbs.
It reminds me of the trees from my childhood.
I follow its branches with my eyes, thinking of my vagus nerve—how it runs through my body, regulating me.
The branches and my nerve, both systems of connection, of resilience.
I imagine they’re one and the same.
The tree whispers calmness into my nervous system.
I feel it.
I sigh.
Then again, deeper.
I wonder:
How many storms has this tree endured?
How many limbs has it lost?
Has the ground beneath it ever shifted or crumbled?
And yet—it still stands.
Tall. Beautiful. Rooted.
I look to the sky.
Clouds pass by.
Thoughts, worries—they come and go like the clouds.
I try not to grasp at them.
I let them pass: my anger, my sadness, my resentment.
And then two clouds meet and become one.
We are one.
And I ask myself:
What would Mother Earth do with alcoholism?
Would she meet it gently, like she meets a storm?
Would she bend, sway, adapt—while still remaining rooted and steady?
What would the matriarch do?
Would she meet the alcoholic where they are—without judgment, but with boundaries, grace, and unwavering strength?
Maybe there’s no single right answer.
Maybe the path is found in each moment:
a breath, a boundary, a surrender, a grounding.
Maybe the only thing to do is to keep showing up for myself with love,
the way I wish they could show up for themselves.
And in that space—in that steadiness—
I begin to feel just a little more free.
Not from the pain.
But from the need to fix it all.
Just for today, that is enough.
“You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm.” — Unknown
If you or someone you love is struggling with alcoholism, you're not alone. Al-Anon Family Groups offers support for families and friends affected by someone else's drinking. Help is out there. Healing is possible.
If this blog post resonated with you, take a moment to ground yourself. In this companion YouTube video, I guide you through a simple somatic technique to support your nervous system—and share thoughts on building a support team when life feels heavy.
🎥 Watch now: Building a Support Team & Using External Resources | Simple Somatic Technique for Grounding
You don’t have to carry it all alone.
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