There is a pain that runs deeper than I could ever put into words knowing I have to protect my son from someone that was my safe space growing up, my mother. Addiction is a thief. It steals moments, memories, and trust. It takes a person you once knew and replaces her with someone who lives in shadows. She is constantly chasing her medication now, chasing anything other than actual healing.

For years now, I have tried to overlook it and fix it. I have hoped that if I prayed hard enough and constantly told her my fears it would fix her. I thought she would wake up and choose her family again. Addiction does not answer to love though. It only answers to the disease inside it.

The Breaking Point

The day I decided to cut off contact between my mom and my son was one of the hardest days of my life. I wanted my little boy to know the mom I had when I was little. I always imaged my mom being able to take my kids for the weekend. That is the kind of relationship I dreamed about for him. Each interaction with her though carried chaos and manipulation though.

I realized while trying to protect her feelings I was exposing him to the chaos as well, and that was not something I wanted for my son. My first job is not to save her, it is to protect him.

That means setting a boundary that felt like it was tearing my heart into two.

Boundaries are not Cruel

People who have never loved an addict do not always understand this kind of pain. They will say “She is still your mom.” She is but she also isn’t. The mom I grew up with is gone. She is now sick. Boundaries are not a punishment, they are a form of love. They protect both sides from deeper destruction.

For me, that boundary looks like no visits, no phone calls for my son, and no longer allowing drop ins. It looks like tears on my pillow at night and prayers. It is a choice that I truly have to remake every single day: to protect my son, even when my heart begs for me to let her back in.

The Grief of Still Having a Living Parent

One of the strangest griefs is mourning someone who is still alive. I miss the mom I had before she took her first Xanax. I miss her laugh and the conversations we had. Those moments now feel like they belong in another lifetime now.

When she calls now, I hesitate. Not because I do not love her, I do love her. It is because I have learned that love without boundaries destroys everyone involved. I have learned that sometimes, loving from a distance is the only way to keep hope alive.

Faith in the Waiting

There are nights after I lay my son down I just pray for God to heal her. I believe in redemption, even when I cannot see it. I do believe God is still working on her heart, even though I have had to step back.

I also believe He is teaching me something too, forgiveness does not always mean reconciliation, that strength can coexist with heartbreak, and that choosing peace does not make me cold hearted. It makes me a protector.

Sometimes faith looks like waiting, not attempting to fix the problem. Sometimes it looks like releasing the problem and trusting that God can reach where I no longer can.

Finding Peace in the Pain

If you have ever had to set a boundary with someone you love who is battling addiction, you are not alone. It is okay to feel broken, guilty, or angry. It is okay to grieve the version of them that existed before addiction.

It is also okay to protect your peace. You can love someone fiercely and still choose distance. You can forgive without reopening the door. You can pray for them everyday while keeping your child’s world safe and steady.

Healing does not come from pretending it is all okay. It comes from facing the truth, even when it hurts. In that truth, God will bring freedom.

Closing Thoughts

Limiting contact with my mom was not about hate. It was about love. Love for my son, love for myself, and even love for her. Sometimes the most merciful thing we can do for the people we love is step out of the way and let God do what only He can.