How My Daughter and I Found Each Other Again in Her Sobriety

I thought her getting pregnant again was that turning point. I was not happy, but if carrying a child jolted her into getting clean, I was ready to welcome my new grandchild with open arms.

It didn’t.

She continued to use and eventually lost her child to foster care.

And as they say — she hit rock bottom. She used pandemic money to check in to a decent rehab center. She fought to get her daughter back. But it was too late. 

I thought it was too late for us, too. At this point, she hated me. Her best friend became her emergency contact.

The upside of those months was knowing she was safe. And for the first time in five years, I didn’t wake up with a clenched jaw or dread running through my veins.

While she was in rehab, I attended Al-Anon meetings via Zoom. I’m not too ashamed to admit, I often drank wine from a coffee mug to get through that hour. Everyone’s story was similar to mine. We were all enablers and needed to change our behavior toward our loved one in recovery.

After a few months, the stories became too depressing, and I stopped going.

What helped me the most was seeing a therapist who specialized in substance abuse. From her I learned the biological aspects of drug addiction and how it affects the brain. No matter how much my daughter wanted to quit, and professed she would, she couldn’t do it on her own. Her brain craved meth the way our bodies crave water.

This therapist also gave me the best advice I have ever received. She told me my daughter was never going to be who she was before using drugs. She’s not going to be the person she was while using. She’s going to be a different person entirely. And I would have to learn how to relate to this “new” daughter.

In the early days of her sobriety, we had a hard time relating during her visits home.

Triggers existed everywhere setting her off: the room where she got high, the window her boyfriend climbed through, my cheerful “good morning.” I walked around on eggshells in my own home. To help get through these visits, we went to therapy together.

The takeaway from those sessions was monumental. We realized that I do not speak AA lingo. I learned to listen as her mother and to not give advice unless she asked for it.

She learned not to call me when she was spinning out of control.

The biggest challenge was stepping back from my older grandchildren and reverting to a traditional grandmother role. For five years I was a mother to them. Making lunches, going to doctor appointments and drying their tears when their mom’s behavior scared them.

I remember walking through Target with my granddaughter when she was 12 and her saying, “I’m sorry you have to be a mother to me.”

Tears rolled down my cheek. I told her I wasn’t. Instead, I was sorry for what she was going through. I did what I had to and would do it again.

It was painful for me to relinquish that role when my daughter stepped back into being a mom. 

Logically, I knew it was a good thing. But jealousy is rarely based on logic. My heart felt the loss. And I didn’t want my grandchildren to get hurt again. When my daughter went behind a closed door to talk to her children, I’d busy myself with cleaning an already clean countertop. I wanted to eavesdrop, and often I did.

As of this writing, my daughter is three years clean and has a thriving breathworks/yoga business working as a facilitator in treatment centers. I’m proud of her for beating the odds, and I tell her that every day.

But most importantly, I’m back to being her mother, the person she needed all along.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.