The Hardest Thing
Step One was the hardest thing for me to accept.
Yesterday my daughter called me crying. She’s been drinking again and her roommate is threatening to move out. My first instinct was to call the roommate, to smooth things over, to fix it. I know I’m powerless over her drinking—I’ve said those words a hundred times in meetings. But powerlessness doesn’t stop the panic.
What if she can’t afford rent alone? What if she gets evicted? What if this spirals into something worse and I just stood by and did nothing? The fear makes acceptance feel impossible. My mind races through scenarios: I could offer to help with rent, I could talk to the roommate, I could drive up there this weekend. Each idea feels urgent, necessary, like love in action.
But I’ve been here before. Every time I’ve intervened, I’ve only delayed the consequences while exhausting myself. The fear insists that accepting powerlessness means abandoning her. Al-Anon is teaching me something different: my fear-driven rescuing doesn’t actually keep her safe. It keeps me trapped in a cycle where her crisis becomes my crisis, and neither of us learns anything.
Today, when the urge to rescue hits, I will call my sponsor instead of calling the person I want to fix. I’ll speak the fear out loud to someone who understands before I take any action.
