Coming home...
He came home Thursday. After 30 days I brought him back to our life. Our children. Our home. He went to a meeting Thursday night. He was a ray of sunshine, happy to be back with his family. To be really WITH his family. He went to an NA meeting that night, and began outpatient treatment Friday.
Saturday was a struggle. The real world was hitting him hard. By this point he realized the distrust that I truly had for him and it was a hard pill to swallow. He doesn't have his phone right now because it had been given to a....resource...for investigative purposes. He said he feels caged and like he's still in inpatient except he has the keys to his truck.
I know that his recovery and his sobriety are just that....HIS. I can't build a bubble to stick him in. He has to make his own decisions, good or bad. He said "I wish you and everyone else realized that if I wanted to use I would. But I don't. Period. I don't ever want to be back in that place." While I've known that all along, it was hard to hear those words come from his mouth.
How do you step back and let go of the reigns? I feel as if I'm going to make him resentful if I make suggestions. I openly tell him what does and doesn't make me comfortable and I have set VERY CLEAR boundaries for myself and the children. But I also catch myself saying "you can't..." or "you shouldn't..." in regaurds to his own being.
I guess I'm just having a hard time giving him any wiggle room whatsoever. I feel like I'm mothering him rather than standing by and being supportive while he makes his own decisions for his own recovery.
What a terrifying place to be in. It's like giving them a remote detonator, walking away, and hoping they don't decide to push the button and blow themselves all to hell.