For the Loved Ones of Addicts and the Abused

When something awful happens—especially early in life—and you never deal with it in a healthy way, it doesn’t go away. It festers. It finds cracks. And eventually, it breaks through.

I was 12 when my life split.

I experienced abuse. I got bullied. I had no friends. I was terrified I was going to lose my mom.

So I shut down. Stayed silent. Distracted myself with homework and grades—anything I could control.

I didn’t know how to cope.

I couldn’t sleep. I’d lie in bed for hours, too scared of school, of people, of everything.

And I’d pray—not in a way I’d call healthy. I wasn’t talking to God as much as I was begging Him. Pleading with Him:

“Please send me back in time. Let me undo it. Let me change it. Let me fix it before it breaks.”

I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. That I’d handle it. That I’d stay quiet if I could just… go back.

I thought that was my only hope.

A miracle.

But what I couldn’t see then—and what so many people in pain can’t see—is that maybe the miracle wasn’t erasing the past.

Maybe the miracle was the opportunity to become strong enough to survive it.

The way I handled trauma at 12 shaped how I handled trauma for years.

I shut down. I escaped. I numbed out.

And that’s what most victims do.

Because the inside of our minds feel like a tornado.

Fight or flight, on a loop.

Always on edge.

Always assuming the worst is about to happen.

So when something finally shows up that numbs the chaos?

We latch onto it.

That’s how vices take root.

Not because people want to self-destruct.

But because they’re trying to stop the mental bleeding.

Sometimes it’s a surgery. Sometimes a bad moment. Sometimes just one impulsive escape.

But once you feel the edge soften—you chase that relief.

Even if it hurts everyone around you.

I saw a post on Reddit the other day. Someone was ready to give up on their sibling.

They asked: “Does he even care about what he’s doing to us?”

I can’t speak for everyone.

But I know this:

Many addicts care so much—it’s unbearable.

They know they’re hurting people.

They know they’re not who they used to be.

They know they’re lost.

But they don’t know how to say it.

So every time you try to confront them, it feels like war.

Because your words echo everything they already scream at themselves in silence.

They’re not arguing with you. They’re arguing with the shame.

They’ve made their life—and their mind—so small, it revolves around one thing:

How do I stop this pain?

That’s the only lens they’re living through.

It doesn’t mean they don’t love you.

It means they don’t love themselves enough to believe they can change.

But I’m here to say they can.

They can be rehabilitated.

They can rewire their brain.

They can develop the coping skills that trauma stole from them.

They can learn to live again.

But they need help. They need grace. And they need a clear path forward.

If you’re someone who loves an addict, please hear this:

The person you love is still in there.

Their full potential is still inside them.

And while they may not see it now—

They’re not too far gone.

They just need to be shown the way.

And they need someone—just one person—who refuses to believe that this is where their story ends.

If that person is you, then thank you.

You’re doing sacred work.

But you most likely can’t do it alone either. You’ll need help, guidance, and support.

Because choosing to try and help someone causes you an immense amount of pain too. And this is why a lot of people give up. I get it. You can’t try and help someone forever.

And if you’re the one in the storm, you need to know:

There’s a way out.

There’s a path back.

There’s a life waiting that’s better than anything you can imagine right now.

You just have to believe it exists—and start walking.