Movin' On Up

So, it’s been the week from hell.

You know the one - that week where everything in your world appears to be flying apart at the seams and you’re running madly after it with needle and thread trying to stitch it up before it becomes beyond repair.

Here’s the short version: sick with a cold; broke; husband traveling trying to make us not broke; two adult children living at home due to a variety of difficulties; condo in a constant state of disarray due to four people living in a place designed for two; five projects running all at once at work – each that require focus and attention to detail, neither of which I possess right now; what seems like a million phone calls and/or emails with someone on the other end wanting me to fix something, make them feel better, listen to them complain, or give them money.  It just seems there aren't enough hours in the day, words in my vocabulary or dollars in the bank. Repeat for 5 days straight and there you have it.

So, I've been running. Not literally, don’t be ridiculous, who has time for physical exercise with all this going on? Running to keep up, feeling constantly behind, like the treadmill is eternally on and there is no “Off” switch.

Even better, I work in the field of self-development. I've spent years working “on myself”, raising my vibration, finding my center, focusing on my inner peace. So, I of all people, should understand that “you create your own reality”, “the law of attraction will bring you more of whatever you focus on”, “you need to take care of yourself first or you have nothing to give to others”, “love yourself and love will come to you”. Yeah, yeah, yeah – I have no time to think about that right now. Those are lovely, airy-fairy ideals, but in the next 2 hours I have copy to write, 15 more emails to respond to, and a husband who needs to be picked up at the airport, which is an hour away. Inner peace – right.

In spite of my internal mocking of my own beliefs, they are somewhat ingrained. So I take few minutes to calm myself, come back to center and envision my trip to the airport during rush hour flowing effortlessly. I see the roads being free of traffic, the flight being on time, an easy journey there and back, allowing me to get this done in the shortest amount of time possible so I can get on to the next thing.

And it happens like that. Just as I've seen in my mind’s eye, clear roads, flight on time, flashing lights and police sirens. Wait – really? Yep. 100 yards from the terminal and I’m getting pulled over. Seriously?? Who gets a ticket in the airport? It was all going so well, I was nearly there, I had almost pulled it off, why? Why now?

The officer summed it up for me. I rolled down the window and he said, “Ma’am, you need to slow down.”

Ya think? He had no idea how correct he was.

Just when I had forgotten that the Universe often has a wicked sense of humor, it sent me a cop who, other than the uniform, looked and sounded exactly like George Jefferson (RIP Sherman Hemsley) to remind me, “That airport ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

No, it ain’t…um, isn’t. Neither are any of my other projects and issues.  They’ll all still be there when I get to them, at my own pace, in my own time.  Some of the people who want me to fix them might even wander off if I don’t reply immediately or have the words they want to hear.  I can take the time to actually run, or walk, or nap, or do something that makes me feel like I’m re-filling my fuel tank so that I can keep going. What a concept.

Thanks, George. I mean, Officer. 

P.S. I could have done without the fine.

The Fear Interference

We have an old garage door opener. Old – and by old I mean ancient – analog switches and the whole nine. 

So, we weren't too surprised when the remotes stopped working.  Well, one stopped working completely and the other I had to take apart and press the button on the circuit board to make it work.

You can’t even get the original remotes anymore. But they do make one that they say is compatible. Fingers crossed, I ordered the replacements and we nursed along with what we began referring to as the “ghetto remote” while we waited for the new ones to arrive.

A few days passed and the replacement remotes appeared on our doorstep.  I stood in our kitchen just inside the entrance to the garage and set the analog switches to match the code on the opener, pressed the button on the new remote and bam! – the garage door went up.  Cool, so we’re done here right?

Wrong.

My husband goes to an early meeting the next day while I’m still sleeping. I wake to a text message from him that says, “My garage door opener doesn't work.”  Fabulous.

I get up, go immediately to the garage (because I am certain my husband simply doesn't understand how to operate the new remote) and try the remote in my car - nothing – the door doesn't budge.  Seriously? How could it work fine the previous evening and not work the next day??

I still had the ghetto remote in my car, so I try that one and the door goes right up. 

My conclusion? Something has to be wrong with the new remotes.

I climb up on the step ladder with the new remote in hand and discover that if the remote is within 5 inches of the receiver, it works.  Move it a foot or more away and nothing.  Fantastic.

We spend the next week getting by with the ghetto remote while I research every possible website, owner’s manual, spec sheet, schematic, and help line I can find. 

Each attempt is more frustrating than the last as everything points to the fact that the new remotes SHOULD work. But they still don’t.

I find one manufacturer’s forum that says some sort of frequency interference could be the only thing to cause the remotes to work next to the receiver but not at a distance.  Their solution? Find the source of the interference and eliminate it. It could be anything they say – cable tv signal, CFL bulbs, your neighbor’s microwave….etc. Great – thanks for that.

Now we’re frustrated to the point that we’re ready to go to the expense of replacing the entire garage door opener unit, even though there couldn't be a worse time for that financially.

I find myself being grateful that we have the ghetto remote until we can figure something out.  It may be old and decrepit, and the little red light on it stays on half the time, but at least it allows things to function. Good thing we held on to it or we’d be completely screwed.

The following day tragedy strikes.  I leave home on an errand; shut the garage door with the ghetto remote, and it falls apart in my hand.  The wire running from the battery to the circuit board breaks completely off and would have to be soldered back in place in order to work. Noooooo!

Lovely. Now I’m certain our only option is to replace the entire opener unit. 

I do my errand, and return home. Dejectedly, I glance at the two new remotes on the kitchen table.

Worth a try, I think to myself. I press the button on one of the new remotes and the garage door immediately opens.

I walk out to the end of the driveway, press the button, the door closes.

It was in this moment that I realized that the precious ghetto remote I had kept in my car and clung to as my safety net was emitting enough of a signal to interfere with the new remotes.  Once that connection was broken, everything worked like a dream.

I felt incredibly dumb. I created a problem that didn't need to exist simply because I didn't chuck the old remote. Why didn't I trust that the upgrade would be fine?

The answer is it was mostly fear.  Fear that if I gave up the old thing the new one wouldn't be as good or work for me in the way I wanted.

Sort of like life, right?

How often is it that we desperately want things to change, but we are too afraid to let go of where we are now?

We keep dragging our old ways of being, old relationships that no longer serve us, old conflicts, old fears along with us and we wonder why things don’t shift as quickly as we would like.

You can spend all kinds of time working on shifting your vibration, raising your frequency, aligning yourself with the things that you want to manifest, but until you release those old, heavier things that aren't a match to your new lighter frequency, the interference will hold you back.

When you can cut those old cords, snip those old wires, release that old baggage, then the doors can open for you.  Even ancient garage doors ;-)

You DO Know Better

Every Christmas that I cook dinner I prepare a Broccoli Soufflé Ring from a recipe that my sister gave me years ago.  It’s a sort of family tradition now and makes for a lovely centerpiece to the meal. The original recipe calls for heavy whipping cream, which I never seem to have on hand or always forget to buy, so I have always used half & half instead. I recall my sister telling me, the first few times she made it, that it stuck to the ring mold and wouldn’t turn out.  I never had that issue. It was always light and fluffy and gorgeous as I flipped it out of the mold onto the serving plate—voila!

This year as I was shopping for the ingredients, I saw the heavy cream and thought, “For once, I am going to prepare the broccoli ring like you are supposed to, rather than my half-assed way with substitutions”

In the midst of preparing Christmas dinner for 10, the timer rang indicating the ring was ready to come out of the oven.  It’s always the last item out, so it will be tall and fluffy when you put it on the table. So I have a dining room full of guests and I flip the mold onto the serving plate and…you guessed it…splat! Half the contents of the mold stayed inside and my ring looked like some sort of green pudding pile.  

Crap! Why, didn’t I prepare it the way I always have that has turned out so lovely? Why did I assume that even though it had always worked for me, the recipe must be right and I must be wrong?

Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?  We don’t trust that our way could be better. We assume that the powers that be, in this case Martha Stewart, must be smarter, better prepared, and far more intelligent than we could ever hope to aspire.

Guess what? That’s a load of garbage. We are taught from childhood that others know best. Well, when you’re five that might be true. But you aren’t five anymore, and it’s more than ok to embrace your own wisdom.  Trust your own inner knowing. Let my green pudding pile serve as a reminder and trust your own instincts in all things. You are an amazing being who’s hard wired to infinite intelligence. And when you allow yourself to connect to it, everything falls into place.

As we move into the New Year, my resolution is a simple one. I resolve to trust me, to listen to me, to love me – first.  Embrace your inner wisdom, trust your feelings, don’t change what’s working because someone else says so.  They have no idea of the power of YOU.

Happy New Year!

Embrace the Sad, Allow the Happy

Surrendering to change has been one of the toughest lessons for me as I’ve navigated the world of addiction recovery alongside my man.  I’ve mentioned before that it’s no coincidence that the 12 steps of AA & NA are referred to as “a design for living”. Being a part of these programs, even peripherally, I’ve gained tools and perspective for achieving my own happiness in life. I’ve discovered that often, to be able to truly allow the happy, we have to walk through the sad.

I know that you who have walked this road will understand. We remember all too clearly the pain and struggle of our addicts in their disease, the difficulties of rehab and family therapy; the trials of re-building a life from the ashes. Had we not trudged that dark road, we would not truly appreciate the sunlight that we now know.

In the spirit of moving through the heartbreak to reach the healing, I share with you my notes on the end of a friendship with love and the hope that it may help you along your own journey.

It seems like we’ve been friends forever. I couldn’t tell you when we met, or how we became so close, it just happened. Those friendships are always the best, the ones that just are. For years we have spent summers and holidays together filled with laughter and fun no matter what was going on in our lives. When we were broke, we laughed at home. When were richer, we laughed on airplanes and in restaurants.

 I know I could call in the middle of the night and you would be there, and you know the same to be true of us. We’re cool like that. Well, we were cool like that.

Something has changed. I never saw it coming, but here it is. It’s as though I woke up one day and all was different. I know that can’t be true, because we see each other all the time, but it’s no longer the same. We still share a joke and a hug now and then, but the bond has somehow evaporated. It’s superficial now, an act almost.  And just like I have no idea how and when we began, I can’t say how or when it ended, but I’m suddenly very aware that it has.

We still extend invitations to you, but they are always declined. It’s no longer a given that we will spend weekends and holidays together. There were no cross words, no life-altering incidents occurred—it’s just over.

Life is like that, I know. All good things come to an end eventually. And while I’m sad and a bit confused about this ending, I can’t help but smile when I think of the times we shared. Our lives are so much richer for having shared them with you.

“Thanks for the memories” seems a trite thing to say, but we really mean it.

Be well.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

My husband often says that his definition of respect is based on seeing someone acting in a manner that he, given the same set of circumstances, is unsure he would be able to do. He uses this reference often when speaking to others about my staying with him as he battled his addictions. He says, “I would have left me, had the table been turned. But, she never did.”

I find myself in that place of respect for him today.

It’s been a rough road lately. In the wake of the country’s economic struggle, he was a casualty of his employer’s attempt to cut costs. Laid off from a six-figure job that provided our vehicles and health benefits, he never wavered from his position that it must all for the best and someday we would know how and why.  He has methodically put one foot in front of the other daily working toward regaining a position that will afford him a similar income. We’re not there yet, but we are on the road to recovery.

Recovery is something he knows about. He’s six years sober, and I mean sober, I don’t mean dry. There is a distinct difference between the individual who has put down their drug of choice for a period of time (dry) and those for whom the compulsion to use has left, therefore they no longer need to do so (sober).  You can tell the difference by the sense of inner peace that the sober person exudes.  My husband has that inner peace. In the midst of his own financial and emotional struggle, he has continued his work with other addicts and alcoholics; carrying the message of hope and the promise of a solution to those who haven’t yet reached that place inside themselves.

Today I learned that it had been said by someone within the sanctity of the AA group of which my husband is a member, during a meeting for which he was not present, that the reason he had lost his job was that he had failed a drug test. Ludicrous, of course—anyone within his employer’s organization would know differently, but this individual was not someone on the inside, it was merely a “you know what I heard…” situation.  I was livid. Absolutely appalled and angry, that anyone-let alone a member of AA, a program of rigorous honesty-would say such a thing.  Hasn’t this man been through enough? Why would anyone feel the need to kick him when he was down in this fashion?

As I was sharing my rage with him, my husband said only, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to justify my sobriety to anyone. I know I have it. That’s enough.”

Now THAT is an attitude that I am fairly certain I would not be able to adopt were I personally the target of the same circumstance. As I continued sharing my anger and frustration about someone within the program spewing lies, he said only, “The program of Alcoholics Anonymous is perfect. The people within it are not. One idiot in the room doesn't get to take from me all the good that has happened there”

As I breathed those words in, my anger began to fade with the realization that they are a metaphor for our world at-large. Our planet is perfect, the people residing on it are not. No one can take the good from us when that is where we choose to put our focus.

Like I said, he has that inner peace…and my undying respect.

Sticky Fridge

As I was leaving my house this morning to have Mother’s Day breakfast with my husband and kids, I stopped to put the coffee creamer in the fridge. The top was loose and came off in my hand and I promptly splashed Vanilla Caramel Coffee-Mate on a wide variety of items in my refrigerator. Yes, a fabulous sticky mess running everywhere when we had ten minutes to make it to the restaurant that is exactly ten minutes across town.

When I was first married and trying to be the perfect wife and mother, this incident would have meant that I had to stop and clean everything right then, all the while chastising myself for being so stupid to have not checked that the lid was tight. I would have been late to breakfast and felt guilty for ruining everyone else’s Mother’s Day. Today, I didn’t have to do that.

When I was with my first husband, this incident would have resulting in him screaming obscenities at me for being so stupid not to have tightened the lid, now making him late for breakfast. I would have ended up in tears, and felt guilty for ruining everyone else’s Mother’s Day. Today, I didn’t have to do that.

Before my present husband got sober, how this incident played out would have depended on how much he had already had to drink that morning. Suffice it to say that regardless of how it occurred, I would have blamed myself for spilling the creamer, which led to the unrest that (I thought) caused my husband to drink more, ended up in tears and felt guilty for ruining everyone else’s Mother’s Day. Today, I didn’t have to do that.

Today, I grabbed some paper towels and mopped up the worst of the mess and said, “Eff it--we can clean the rest later, let’s go eat!” And we did. And no one, including me, cared that there was creamer spilled in the fridge. No one yelled. No one got angry. No one was drunk. There was no guilt. There was no blame. There was just breakfast, and laughter, and love.

I realize now that I had to do all of those things to understand that I didn’t HAVE to do those things. Today, I understand that it’s okay to put myself first sometimes. If in any one of the previous scenarios, had I chosen to put myself first and release my self-judgment around being stupid for spilling the creamer; they all would have diffused very quickly and there would have been no ugliness.  Today, I understand that unless I take care of Marti first, I have nothing to give anyone else anyway. And I am so very grateful to be me—now.

Take the time to put yourself first. Be kind to yourself. Love you, first; and everything else becomes so much easier. You will find strength you didn’t know you had, kindness where you least expect it, and love you never thought was possible.

You might even find out that there is no use crying over spilled creamer.

Sweet Surrender

I have some close friends who play in a rock & roll band on the club circuit. They were performing at a club in my town that I choose not to frequent because it’s a favorite hang-out of my first husband.  We’ve been divorced 13 years and I’ve been re-married for 12. Whatever animosity there may have been between us; I’m over it. He isn’t. There is inevitably drama if we’re in the same place and alcohol is served. So, I choose not to play.

One of the band wives shared with me the day after my friends had played this particular club, that she had met a woman named Donna and I quote, “She says you hate her.”  Now, interestingly enough, Donna and I have never met. Not once. Donna is my ex-husband’s present girlfriend.  I am aware of her only because I have a 20 year old daughter from my first marriage who has mentioned her dad’s girlfriend in passing.  Needless to say, I was completely taken aback.  How could someone with whom I have never exchanged a single word believe I hate them? Anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t hate anyone. That’s just not who I am. Sure, there are people of whom I’m not particularly fond, but hate is just not something that is on my radar.

The term “hate” conjures up all sorts of emotion. It’s much more than dislike. It’s dislike charged with anger and frustration and, very often, fear. It’s a tidy little bundle of negative emotions packaged together. I must tell you that having this bundle mistakenly attached to me by someone I don’t even know left me both dismayed and enormously pissed off. I’m a fairly grounded and centered person most of the time and I can typically shake things like this off in a few moments. But this one bugged me; and the fact that I was allowing it to bug me, bugged me even more. Probably because it portrayed me as the exact opposite of who and what I am. I am a person who promotes love in the world, not hate. I am someone who strives to heal, never to harm. How could anyone, particularly someone who doesn’t know me say otherwise?

It occurred to me as I was working through releasing all this, that it; like many other frustrating situations I’ve encountered, comes down to control.  It bugged me so much because I couldn’t control it.  I couldn’t run interference with everyone Donna may have told her story to. I couldn’t convince Donna that I don’t hate her if she chose to believe otherwise. I had to give up trying to control the situation. I had to trust that the people that know me, know better and the people who don’t know me don’t matter. When I found that place, I was able to let it go.

It’s all about the surrender. When I surrendered to the fact that I couldn’t control any aspect of the situation, peace returned to me. It’s such a simple process and almost always the most difficult for us to do. We’re taught growing up that surrender is a sign of weakness, when in fact, it can be our greatest strength.  There is enormous power in choosing surrender over struggle. Usually, we’re so busy struggling that we can’t see a pathway out.  Upon surrendering, the doorways appear and the paths are illuminated.

It’s no different than the process we went through as our addicted loved-ones entered the process of treatment and recovery. They had to surrender to the fact that they were addicted before the healing could start. We had to surrender to the fact that they were addicted and that we couldn’t heal them before our healing could begin. It’s times like these that my present husband will usually remind me that it’s not an accident that the 12 step programs used in AA & NA; which include a process of daily surrender, are referred to as “A Design for Living”—and I have to surrender to the fact that he’s right.

Don’t you just hate when that happens?   *wink*

Minivans & Melted Ice Cream

I had just left the grocery store this afternoon and was putting the bags in my car when I heard a child crying. I looked around and realized the crying was coming from the minivan parked next to me.  The rear window was cracked about an inch, and inside the van were two small children in car seats without a parent in sight.

The younger one (less than two) was strapped into his seat crying. The older child, a girl who couldn’t possibly have been more than four or five, was attempting to console her brother.  Surely, I thought, the parent has just gone to return the shopping cart and will materialize momentarily.  I waited outside my car a few moments, but no parent came. I got in the car and put the key in the ignition, but I couldn’t turn the key.  Maybe because I’m a mother or maybe because I remember so clearly what it was like to feel small and alone; I couldn’t leave. This is silly, I thought.  I can’t really do anything. The kids are locked in the van; it will only scare them if I try to talk to them. But I had an overpowering feeling that I needed to stay. I resolved in that moment to stay there until the parent appeared or I had to call the cops or whatever.

I sat in my car and played on my smartphone, stealing glances at the children and hoping they wouldn’t be freaked out by the strange lady in the big sunglasses who kept looking at them. About five minutes into what felt like the longest 15 minutes of my life, I realized the little girl was watching me.  She had her face pressed against the van window. I took off my sunglasses and smiled and waved at her.  She smiled and waved back. Then she called to her brother to look my way and said, “Look, there’s a mom.” The little boy looked and his sister waved to me, and I waved back. In that moment, the little boy stopped crying, smiled and waved. Evidently, when your own mom is MIA, anybody’s will do to make you feel better.  I was alone with my groceries, so I don’t know how the little girl knew I was “a mom”; maybe I just put off that vibe.  Anyway, we smiled and waved at each other and the kids giggled and I realized why I had stayed.

The simple act of staying there with those kids had made all the difference in the world to them.  Just by staying put a few minutes, those children felt like they were not alone.  That’s what we all want, isn’t it? We all want to know that there is someone close by who cares about us.

When I made the decision to stay with my then actively addicted husband, it was a lot like my experience with those kids. I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.  I didn’t know if it would even make any difference that I was there.  I wondered if I was just doing something that was going to cause me grief and aggravation in the long run. I thought that it might be easier to simply get in the car and drive away.  But the person next to me was hurting, and I had that same overpowering feeling that I needed to be there.  So, I stayed.

As those of you who have stayed with your own addicted loved ones know, it wasn’t as simple as evoking smiles and giggles on the journey through addiction and recovery. But I find that the emotions are the same.  We reached out to those people close to us who were feeling helpless, scared and alone; and we discovered that by doing so we helped to heal not only them, but ourselves as well.

P.S. The kid’s mom appeared with her recycled grocery bags after 15 minutes and all was once again right with the universe. I went home and made a milkshake out the ice cream that had melted while I stayed. So, it was a win-win.

Silent Sheens

Like many of you, for the past few weeks I’ve been watching the media circus surrounding actor Charlie Sheen’s gradual implosion from drugs and alcohol. The thing that has struck me most strongly hasn’t been Charlie’s rambling diatribes, his penchant for twenty-something porn stars, or his “tiger blood”; it’s been the silence of those closest to him.

His father, actor Martin Sheen and brother, actor/director Emilio Estevez, have issued only two brief statements: one in which they compare addiction to a cancer and one in which they asked the public to  “pray for him”.  The media has since blasted them for “not taking action” and “deserting Charlie in his darkest hour”.  What the media fails to acknowledge is the fact that Charlie’s family has been on this roller coaster ride with him for the past 25 years.  In that time, Martin Sheen, who is himself a recovering alcoholic, has turned Charlie in for drug related probation violations, held an intervention, ushered Charlie into numerous rehab programs, even cared for his infant grandchildren when Charlie’s home was too volatile a place for them.  The media makes only passing, if any, reference to these facts.

I get it. I’m guessing those of you who share your world with an addict do too.  Like Martin and Emilio, I’ve been on that roller coaster ride that seems to have no end.  Those of us who have stayed on the journey with our addicts can relate to the silence.  What is there to say, really? It’s all been said-most often numerous times. 

Silence becomes our refuge and the need for refuge is great.  When you stay in the trenches and fight the good fight in the battle to save the life of someone you love, you have to allow yourself a place to rest and recharge. As I’ve said in the past, making the decision to stay in the life of an addict is not for the meek or faint-hearted.  Keeping the strength to love an addict through their struggles requires self-love and self-preservation.  If you don’t take care of yourself, you have nothing to give them.  Love yourself enough to choose silence.  Not always, not forever; but when you feel you have come to that place of inner exhaustion, find solace in the silence. For it is in that silent place inside yourself that you connect to your own inner flame—that pilot light within you that fuels your strength.  Allowing yourself to go that place of peace within doesn’t mean you are turning your back.  It means you’re refueling to have the strength to get up and go another round in the fight.

It would be very easy for Martin & Emilio to jump on the media soap-box and cast aspersions against Charlie or issue pleas that he will, while immersed in his disease, ignore. Remaining silent, while supporting Charlie behind the scenes, is the much more difficult choice.  They have my applause.

Dirty Words

Understand that the “rest of the world” doesn’t understand

After years of working in recovery circles, the terms “alcoholic” and “addict” are no longer dirty words to me.  They’re simply terms that describe variations on a disease.  But I’m fully cognizant of the fact that those words, when used with the general public, evoke the sort of recoil that “leper” or “sex offender” do.   So, if you’ve decided to stick around you’re going to have to move past considering the opinion of the masses. This is especially true when “the masses” include your own extended family and friends.

I have a close friend whose partner is an active alcoholic.  We shared an email exchange in which he apologized to me for his partner’s drunken behavior at a party. I responded with, “Buddy, there is no need to apologize.  Believe me, I get it.  No one understands what it’s like to love a person with alcoholic tendencies more than I do.”  Now, mind you, the response I was expecting was something along the lines of, “Thanks. It’s nice to know that someone really understands.”  Instead, what I received was, “To be clear, Kelly is NOT alcoholic.  She simply doesn’t know when to stop drinking once she starts, and I have to babysit her.” Oh, okay dude, whatever. I had used the dreaded “A” word and he was not going to sit still for that, regardless of the support being offered.  He wasn’t going to have his lady branded with the “Scarlet Letter” of our time. These are people who are very dear to me, people I would very much like to help guide toward a solution to their misery.  But, they can’t hear me. The “words” get in the way.

Because addiction is most often treated as some sort of personality shortcoming by the mainstream media and in the court of public opinion, those outside the world of recovery seldom grasp the true nature of the disease.  For your own sanity, you have to get to the place where you’re okay with that.   This can be a tough one for us. As we become more educated about addiction and treatment, it becomes blatantly obvious that the largest hurdle in treating the disease is the misconception that it is not one.  We want to scream the truth from the mountain-top and make the rest of the world understand.  The thing is; the rest of the world won’t hear us. They are too immersed in their own fear.

The reason these words create such recoil is completely fear-based.  When you recognize that, it becomes much easier to feel compassion rather than contempt for this sort of response.  They’re afraid.

The general public is afraid of what they do not understand. They are also afraid of not knowing how to behave when the topic comes up.  Comedian Jim Gaffigan sums the reaction up succinctly.  He says,

“When you don't drink, people always need to know why. They're like, 'You don't drink? Why?' This never happens with anything else. 'You don't use mayonnaise? Why? Are you addicted to mayonnaise? Is it OK if I use mayonnaise? I could go outside.’”

Jim illustrates the general public’s reaction perfectly.  They are afraid of their own embarrassment at not knowing what to do or how to act.

The addicted person is afraid of the label not only because of the social stigma, but because it makes the problem “real”.  Before the label comes into play they can continue to use and believe they are fooling everyone.  Once the “words” are used the game changes-for everyone. 

The loved ones are afraid for a multitude of reasons.  Most are afraid that, in some form or another, they are to blame; and with THAT we can certainly identify—because we’ve been there.  Remember that paralyzing fear that you had been contributing to your person’s problem?  Remember the anger at yourself and stupidity that you felt when you realized that you hadn’t seen the problem for what it actually was? Remember knowing within yourself that your person probably had a problem and being terrified that someone would point it out? Remember having to analyze your own behavior and question whether you, yourself had a problem? Remember the fear that if you used the “words” with your person that they would abandon your relationship?  Of course you do.  We all do.

So, when these situations arise where you find yourself on the receiving end of the “dirty word” recoil; remember the fear that you had. Your knee-jerk anger will melt into understanding, and the need to convince the “rest of world” for that moment will leave you.  You might even find that remembering where you used to be will remind you of how far you have come. And, at the risk of being horribly cliché, “You’ve come a long way, baby.”