04/10/2022
Dear Mom. I Didnât Mean To Hurt You.
We were driving down a windy road to visit my grandmother, who was in the hospital. Mom thinking I looked thin and trying to help, bought pizza for our short road trip. The air inside the vehicle was ripe with tomato sauce and asiago cheese. My stomach churned as I fought the urge to vomit. My head pounded, nose dripped, and legs hurt; withdrawal was setting in.
Mom looked over at me and asked, âAre you okay?â
I snapped, âI'm fine!â My cutting tone was one Mom knew well. It said, stop asking questions!
Dear Mom. My addiction was never your fault.
Whenever I screwed up, I'd blame Mom. If only Mom were a better mother. If Mom would have loved me more. If, if, if! My poor Mom. Every single wrong thing I did was always her fault. At least thatâs what I used to tell myself and her too.
Mom took a lot of abuse from me. I was a difficult child. I was an angry and defiant teenager. I was an emotionally cold and distant daughter and I was not easy to love. But she loved me anyway.
Mom was there for me in a quiet behind-the-scenes kind of way. She should have called CPS on me, but never did. Instead, Mom spent a lot of time âvisitingâ with my kids. (Funny how I'd bash her Mom skills but avoid looking at my own) In hindsight, I realize Mom's visits were about protecting my kids the best way she knew how. Mom showed her support through unconditional love.
Thinking about how deeply I must have hurt Mom brings tears. I love this woman like crazy. But when I was fiending for my next fix, I was vicious. I walked all over her, confident my ugliness would not push her away. The nicer Mom was to me, the nastier I was in return. I took Mom's love for granted. I was hurting on such a deep level I wanted Mom to share my pain.
Dear Mom. I donât know why I was so mean to you, and Iâm sorry.
Mom never whined. She didnât beg, and she didnât coddle me, either. Mom stood her ground and let me figure it out. There were times I said I loved her (usually when I wanted something), but my love was sick and empty. My attack on Mom was never personal. And as it turns out, it wasnât even about her.
Dear Mom. You did not ruin my life. That was all on me.
In treatment, I learned to get honest and take responsibility for my choices. I also learned I wasnât a victim, but I was behaving like one. It wasnât all bad, though. I found out I was intelligent, driven, and capable. I was worthy of love and becoming well. Strangely, the good stuff about me was harder to accept than the nasty bits.
Dear Mom. I didnât mean to hurt you.
I was never comfortable in my skin, and I took it out on you. My soul cried every time I hurt you. I couldnât tell you the truth, but I needed you to see it. I really couldnât stop the downward spiral I was on. I wanted you to save me â but then screamed at you for trying.
Only you could never save me.
As long as I had you (or anyone else) to blame. I would never have to change. And honestly, I liked not changing. It gave me the freedom to use ALL DAY LONG.
But then, one day, YOU changed.
You said you would only talk to me if I were willing to help myself. You told me I needed treatment and that you would support my recovery, but you wouldnât put up with my abuse anymore. I didnât believe you. You would never leave me. So I yelled at you, called you names and ... you hung up on me.
That was the start of my endâŚ
The end of my addiction, that is.
When I had no one to blame for the mess Iâd made of my life, and there was no one left to pick up my pieces, I was forced to look in the mirror. My problems were never mine if I had you or others to take responsibility for them. But when everyone stopped enabling, it was all on me. My eyes were finally open, and I didn't like what I saw.
Dear Mom. Thank you for being strong.
You are and always have been my biggest fan. You loved me when I was unlovable. You did the most challenging thing a Mom will ever doâyou said no to my addictionâand yes to my life. Now that Iâm no longer killing myself with alcohol and drugs, we've worked through our issues and healed our past. Recovery has given you your daughter back, and we've made some beautiful memories together.
Dear Mom⌠I love our life together today.
Lorelie Rozzano
www.jaggedlittleedges.com
Internationally recognized author, Lorelie Rozzano, is a writer, blogger, and recovery advocate who works in mental health and addiction, helping individuals and their families recover from substance use disorder. As a daughter, mother, wife, and survivor, she offers insight into the world of chemical dependency. Lorelie has given thousands the glasses they need to see addiction from every angle. She has written several books on the topic, including Gracieâs Secret, Jagged Little Edges, Jagged Little Lies, and Jagged No More. Lorelie hopes the honesty found in her books will inspire addicted persons and their families to reach out for help. To learn more about the Jagged series, click on the link https://tinyurl.com/ybhjf7ut
