Holding Steady

His big brown eyes get watery. On demand? He clasps his hands and holds them to his chest. “How am I supposed to buy them? I don’t have any money. I would buy them if I could. It will help with the cravings. If I don’t get any, it will be too much and I’ll use or drink. I just want to find a job. I’ll go to my meeting.”

I know he is genuine in that moment. He forgets the awful things he has said in the recent past.  I see the spark of him, the potential. I worry if I don’t, this could tip the scales. Should I, if it means he goes to a meeting and he starts being consistent? Everyone smokes at the meeting. But I had set this boundary. I can’t afford his habit. It’s his habit. He is 21 and needs to start looking after his own stuff. I am doing what I am supposed to right? I am the parent. He is taking advantage. He shouldn’t smoke anyway. 

I explain calmly that I will not buy him cigarettes. He needs to figure it out. His humble plea becomes obsolete, and he tramples my carefully chosen words. He throws his hands down, his round eyes narrow to slits as he breathes through is flared nostrils and spits out that he is done with everything. “I might as well kill myself! I’ve got nothing!” 

Here I am, setting a boundary for myself but immediately start to question my decision. It had been well thought out. What am I supposed to do here? What is the right thing to do? I truly do not know. I’ve heard this before. Many times. This isn’t new. Is this time different? I hold to my boundary and he goes off the rails doing something this moment could have prevented. Or, he takes off and returns as his alter ego on crack (possibly literally or alcohol or something else) and rages to the point we have to call the police. His relapses have escalated. At the end of it all, will I be told I could’ve just bought him some cigarettes?

 I didn’t create this situation. He did. But here I might go fixing it again. And yet again, my boundaries will shift. Do they exist any longer? 

When I shift the boundaries, I am removing consequences. For him. My actions take control, and maneouvre my child out of harm’s way, or dampen the severity of those consequences. I think of it like a hot stove and a toddler situation. How long do I sit by the stove and remove my toddler’s hand from the hot element? What if it is the experience of the heat, the potential injury (burns are categorized in degrees) that is removed? That toddler is not permitted to even venture near the risk or often enough to train the nervous system in response to pain or even simply feeling the intense heat near the element. What do I expect?  Knowledge and logic to kick in? From what experience?

It’s not about the cigarettes. I need to remember to stick with the plan. I need to give myself credit that I’ve read thousands of pages, watched more videos than I care to admit. Counseling, therapy, support groups, I’ve even met with a well-known interventionist. All of these continue to inform my next move. It is time to no longer hesitate or question myself. I need to move forward. Wallowing in the quagmire of ‘what ifs’ is draining me. I know why I started setting boundaries. For myself. For my other son. For my husband. For my mother.

In one moment, I can explain how this situation is supportive. I can then turn around and very clearly see how it is completely enabling his current and future behaviour. I’ve seen my decisions dependent on the day I am having. 

At the end of the day, if I am fixing something that he can and should be expected to fix himself, then I am enabling. Within this, I am ust also determine the boundaries that need to be in place to preserve my inner peace and those around me, my health, and my well-being. 

I have done my due diligence and have kept him as safe as I possibly can. I cannot protect him from the dangerous decisions that he is now choosing for himself. He has to recognize those and make his own choices. This is not my place. His choices are not my place. My boundaries in my home, for myself, are my priorities.