A message for our families

Growing up, my family and I experienced the overwhelming powerlessness that comes from living with an alcoholic. My father’s drinking, despite our desperate emotional appeals, placed immense strain on my brother, my mother, and myself. Alcoholism is an illness that ripples through the entire family, and for years, we all suffered as my father’s addiction tightened its grip. We sought help—through church, rehab, and countless other ways—but no matter how hard we tried, my dad always returned to his old friend, the bottle.

My dad was never a bad person. In fact, he had a deeply good heart. Today, I understand that he wasn’t failing us—he was suffering from an illness. But at the time, I didn’t know how to make sense of his behaviour. I became bitter, angry, and resentful, not understanding why he wouldn’t stop drinking despite our pleas. This resentment lived inside me throughout my own struggles with addiction until, at the age of 23, I found recovery.

My poor mother endured decades of my father’s alcoholism, only to face the added heartbreak of my own addiction. She carried the weight of self-blame, questioning what she might have done wrong to cause me to turn to drugs and alcohol. This is a common burden for family members, especially parents—they often feel responsible for their loved one’s addiction. But like my mom eventually learned, it wasn’t her fault. Releasing that self-blame is a vital step in healing for families. Despite her inner pain, my mother remained the rock of our family, holding us together. The powerlessness she felt was overwhelming, yet her unconditional love never wavered throughout my journey of recovery. My brother, too, held me in his prayers, hoping that I would one day find my way back.

When I was 18 months sober, I received a devastating call. My mom had found my father dead on our living room floor. That moment shook my family to its core. Even after everything, my dad wasn’t a bad man. In fact, his love for us only grew stronger as he aged, especially with the arrival of his grandchildren. Yet, I always carried a sense of guilt in my heart—guilt for the years I spent resenting him, for the distance between us caused by my own addiction.

One month before he passed, I had a moment with him that I will cherish forever. Driving in the car together, I apologized to him. I told him I was sorry for blaming him, for the pain my addiction caused our family, and reassured him that it wasn’t his fault I had gone down this path. In return, he told me he never judged me. “You and I shared the same problems,” he said. Little did I know that just a month after this moment of amends, he would be gone. He never fully overcame his own battle with addiction, but our relationship had begun to heal.

The last 18 months of my father’s life were the best times we spent together. He never reached full abstinence, but we restored our bond, and I found peace in that. I will never forget seeing him swim in the ocean for the first time in my life. During that same period, I also made amends to my brother and mother—the two strongest people I know. My brother remains my best friend, and my mother, the matriarch of our family, will always be the heart that held us together.

I share this story not just to tell my own journey, but to show that I truly understand the many facets of addiction—both as a sufferer and as a family member. I know how addiction tears families apart, and I also know the profound impact recovery can have on rebuilding those bonds. Lived experience is at the core of everything we do at Wight House Recovery, and we believe it’s the key to real healing.

For family members walking this difficult path alongside their loved one, finding guidance from someone who has lived through similar experiences can make all the difference. It’s more than just knowledge—it’s the understanding that comes from personal connection. We offer that here. We’ve been there, and we walk this path with you. We look forward to helping you find healing and rediscover the strength of family, together.

Warmly,
Reece