I am a mother of two sons and one daughter, and a grandmother to a grandson and granddaughter. I want to share the story of my son, Chance. Chance had a normal childhood. He was active, fun, and kind—but also a bit of a daredevil. He liked to push boundaries, bend the rules, or make up his own. I still remember one moment from his eighth-grade year. I was driving an old car, and while taking him to a school dance, he asked me to open the trunk from inside the car when we arrived so he could hop out and head inside. Watching the other kids’ reactions to his antics made me laugh. At the time, it felt harmless. Just Chance being Chance. Life changed when Chance was ten. His sister, who played competitive soccer, developed an eating disorder—starting with anorexia and progressing to bulimia. By the time she was eighteen, the pain became unbearable, and she took her own life. Chance was only thirteen years old. Our family shattered.
It was after her death that Chance began smoking marijuana and using drugs with his father. The loss, the grief, and the chaos settled into our home. From there, the downward spiral began. Chance continued using marijuana throughout high school. Despite everything, I watched him graduate—but I felt completely powerless. I didn’t know how to help him or where to turn. After years of living in dysfunction, I made the painful decision to divorce my husband, believing—hoping—it might save my son. It didn’t. At twenty-one, Chance had a child with his girlfriend. Over the years, he cycled through rehab twice. He was placed on Methadone, became addicted to heroin, and eventually was prescribed high doses of Suboxone, which he remained on for over fifteen years. Then came another breaking point.
When Chance’s son—my grandson—was sixteen, he removed himself from his father’s life, and from mine as well. Up to that point, I’d had a beautiful, close relationship with him. Losing that connection was devastating. It was, truly, “the straw that broke the camel’s back.” In desperation, I told Chance that until he got his life together, we could not be part of it – it was too painful for us. What followed was a rapid spiral. Chance was taken off Suboxone, entered detox, and then went into a treatment center. While he was there, his father died suddenly in a car accident—an unimaginable loss that complicated everything.
Chance’s recovery has been anything but smooth. He has been in rehab two more times and was arrested once, though not charged. Each setback felt like another emotional freefall—for him, and for me. Somewhere in the midst of all this, I had to face a painful truth: I was doing many things that were not helping or healthy. I didn’t understand addiction. I lacked compassion during Chance’s illness. I was angry. Desperate. Grasping for control. I forced him into treatment instead of allowing him to decide on his own. Nothing I did helped him get well. Everything began to change when I reconnected with someone I had met twelve years earlier. We met for coffee and talked for three hours straight. Before we parted, she invited me to a PAL meeting. Eighteen months later, I can honestly say PAL has been a Godsend. Through PAL, I learned how to care for myself again. I learned new tools, new boundaries, and new ways of thinking. Most importantly, I permanently resigned from my role as my son’s rescuer.
Chance continues to struggle. He has difficulty with consistent work, stable housing, and envisioning a future. At times, he has been homeless and unemployed. One moment that stands out clearly was when he relapsed. I had been riding high on his sobriety, full of hope—but when he fell, I fell a hundred stories behind him. Today, my focus has shifted. Chance is currently back in recovery, and I now choose to focus on the positives in my own life. I chose to stop drinking alcohol as a way of taking better care of my own health and remaining grounded during his recovery. I want to be a positive, loving role model, and waking up each day with a clear head and a healthier body has truly been a gift. PAL helped me understand that I had been treating my son like a child instead of recognizing him as the adult he is. I no longer speak to him as if he were fifteen. I speak to him with respect, acknowledging how incredibly hard his path has been. I have learned compassion—real compassion—while also understanding that it can take years to untangle the damage addiction creates. Watching that process has been deeply painful.
Now, I pause before acting. I don’t rush in. I still have moments of weakness, but I am far stronger and far better at saying no. The principles PAL teaches are powerful. When followed, families truly can recover—even if their loved one is still struggling. PAL gave me support, clarity, and hope when I had none. I am deeply grateful to PAL and for everyone who has come alongside me on this journey.
A Loving PAL Mom
“Resilience is knowing that you are the only one who has the power and the responsibility to pick yourself up.” — Mary Holloway
