When Loving Someone With Addiction Makes You Lose Yourself

If you’re struggling with an addicted loved one right now, I see you. It can feel impossible to stop thinking about them.

Will they be okay tonight? How are they feeling? What if I said something that triggers a relapse? Is it my fault? Are they going to make me angry? What if they die? How guilty should I feel? Am I asking for too much? Am I really as big of a jerk as they think I am?

If you’ve ever asked yourself these questions, you’re not alone. Family addiction is wildly confusing because you can’t fix it by collecting more information. It’s one of those problems that doesn’t make logical sense, and sometimes learning more becomes a way to avoid doing the harder thing—setting boundaries.

And by “harder,” I don’t mean it takes more energy. I mean it takes more effort. It’s emotionally harder because it asks us to tolerate discomfort instead of trying to control chaos.

When Boundaries Feel Impossible

This week, I had an argument with my loved one about finances. They said no to something I wanted, and I felt enraged. How dare they make a decision I thought should’ve been a team decision?

My mind started spiraling. I connected it to the larger pattern of injustice toward women. I felt ashamed that I was even close to someone who thought they could tell me what to do. I felt hopeless that society had put me in this situation. Then I felt depressed that my loved one didn’t notice—or understand—why I was so upset.

And beneath all of that, I felt ashamed that I was holding it in while feeling so much unbridled anger.

Truth be told, I grew up with family addiction. So, in order to manage my anxiety of never knowing what the tenor of the household would be, I became a Grade A People Pleaser. I became a “doormat” in a lot of my relationships just to “keep the peace.” I was exhausted, always trying to prove I was good enough. The truth was, I was used to things being hard. I didn’t realize there was an easier way—one that was still challenging and interesting, but also peaceful and life-affirming.

When You’re Doing Everything Alone

Let me give another example — your husband sleeps all day because he’s hungover. Normally, you seethe. You pick up the slack with the kids. You try to make their lives perfect and fill the role of two parents. You want to explode on him, but then you feel guilty.

You wonder if what he said—you’re the reason he uses—is really true. You think you’re defective because this dysfunction is also how your parents handled conflict. You feel immense shame and think you’ll never stop the generational cycle. You know this is “trauma bonding”. Then you feel shame again—afraid you’re going to pass these same patterns to your kids.

Then you get angry again that your partner doesn’t seem to care about healing cycles. Then back to shame—ashamed that you had a child with the wrong person and terrified you’ve ruined your kids for life.

Pause for a second.

What if you just tried functioning as one parent? He’s made a decision—or his addiction has impacted him to the point where his body needs to sleep all day. Knowing that, what are you able to do? What do you want to say that’s honest, self-respecting, and still compassionate toward the person you’ve loved?

Can you tell him calmly how you feel? Let him know that if he doesn’t wake up, you can only do the minimum, and you can’t keep everything in the household running? Can you tell him you’re feeling sad and hurt, that you still see the good dad in him, but you’re struggling to hold your temper?

Can you let him know you’re working on managing your own anxiety—but you’re unsure where that leaves the relationship? Not from a place of punishment or blame, but from honesty and patience toward someone you’ve loved deeply. This is behavior you can be proud of. And at least, doesn’t add fuel to dysfunctional fire.

The Truth About Healing in Addicted Families

Addiction is so crazy-making for families that we often become too anxious to try just one thing at a time. We feel completely overwhelmed and frustrated. But what if we just took one small step—and left room for people to surprise us?

You have to learn where bending becomes breaking.

You can say, “This doesn’t work for me.”
You can ask what they want to do if you can’t go along with their plan.
You can calmly share how you want to do it—without commanding.
You can decide what you’ll do if someone doesn’t want to meet you halfway.

You’re allowed to have needs no one else understands.

You’re allowed to not always explain yourself.

Once we remember that it’s okay to pause, breathe, and not react from a place of explosive anger—and that life will still be okay even if we can’t make people do what we want—we start to heal. Not just ourselves, but our relationships.

We can’t control whether others change. We can’t stop ourselves from getting to our breaking point. We can’t guarantee that people don’t do many, many things to harm themselves. And we can’t guarantee that a relationship will be life-long.

But we also can’t predict what might happen next if we change ourselves.

Let’s try living in the moment and leaving room for people to surprise us.

Healing starts when we remember we can love others without losing ourselves.

Your call to action

If you’re unsure how to start, contact me today for a free therapy consultation. I know how overwhelming it can feel because I’ve been through it—and I came out the other side.

You can do this—whether you decide to stay or go, and whether they decide to get sober or not.

Schedule your FREE consultation here → my calendar