Recovery is not weakness: Redefining addiction and courage
Health02.12.2024
The dichotomy of my recovery from alcoholism — being both my greatest accomplishment and a source of stigma that silences me — is deeply confusing. Here’s why.
I am Annie, and I am grateful to be in long-term recovery. More than seven and a half years ago, my relationship with alcohol and prescription drugs brought me to a crossroads: I needed to stop, or I wouldn’t survive. As a mother, daughter, sister, friend, and professional, I knew I had to change, but I couldn’t do it alone. Reaching out for help felt like exposing a crack in my character, a weakness that would define me in the eyes of others. Yet, admitting my struggles was the first courageous step toward healing — a profound act of self-compassion after years of suffering.
Even as society’s understanding of addiction has grown, the stigma associated with the words “addict” or “alcoholic” remains so prevalent. Addiction is often viewed as a moral failing or a lack of willpower rather than what it truly is: a complex illness rooted in pain and trauma. For me, it was a way to dissociate from an abusive marriage and quiet the anxiety. For years, I carried the weight of this in silence, fearing judgment and rejection. The shame kept me from seeking help sooner and reinforced the narrative that addiction is something to hide.
When I finally asked for help, I found support and love in a community that embraced me not as a failure but as someone rebuilding their life; my recovery was celebrated as a testament to resilience. But outside that space, the stigma seemed even harder to overcome, particularly in the legal system.
Facing social stigma
When I separated from my ex-husband to protect myself and my children from an abusive environment, I faced significant challenges. The courts, rather than offering support, often saw my recovery as a liability. Lawyers and mediators seemed more influenced by outdated perceptions than by the realities of addiction and the strength it takes to recover. One lawyer even told me, “Don’t bother fighting for custody of your kids, because judges don’t give them to drunks.”
My journey wasn’t just about staying sober — it was about fighting for my children’s safety and well-being. Yet, I was repeatedly judged through the narrow lens of my past, while my ex-husband’s actions went largely unexamined. The system treated my recovery as a point of suspicion rather than a victory, forcing me to relive painful experiences and prove my worth as a parent. This judgment didn’t just harm me; it affected my family, especially my sons, who became more guarded after witnessing the system’s failure to protect us.
If there’s one misconception I would change, it’s the idea that admitting to powerlessness over alcohol (or drugs, food, or anything for that matter) is a sign of weakness. It’s the opposite: choosing recovery is an act of strength, a decision to fight for a better life. Recovery isn’t about defeat. It’s about courage, self-compassion, and hope. The stigma surrounding addiction discourages people from seeking the help they need, pushing them further into isolation and shame.
I am still hoping the legal system will improve its understanding of the disease of addiction or become more trauma-informed, especially in Family Court cases. I also realize that for real change to happen, people need to be brave again and break their silence.
I am proud to be in recovery. It has given me a life that is no longer about hiding in the shadows. Instead, I get to show up for my recovery, my life, my kids, my husband, my friends, and my job, knowing I’m doing my best one day at a time.
