I struggle to form that adult relationship between myself and my children.  The youngest of five has been working her first job.  I still tend to give unsolicited safety advice.  My OCD kicks in as I give safety precautions to my children.  My kids range from 32 to 17.  They are old enough to know what is safe and what is not, but I always have in the back of my mind, “What if there is that 0.1% situation where reminding them would help?”  I have to caution them anyway.

Reactions vary with each child.  I have one that nods her head and goes about her business.  I have another that argues with me.

I have two forces that work against me, my OCD and my alcoholism, which are closely related.  As I try to “direct the show,” I notice that I become more agitated.  The child that nods politely agitates me because I don’t really think she’s listening.  The child that argues with me agitates me because I think he ought to be more respectful.  All of the sudden I find that I’ve lost my serenity.

I’m realizing that even if they commit some dangerous act that costs them their life, “it is not my will but thy will be done.”  But it is a matter of trust, trust in a higher power and trust in myself that I taught them everything they would need to know to live life.  To tell you the truth, some days I just don’t trust either.   My higher power seems too distance and I’m just not that reliable.  Most days when I look at my kids I see them through this shroud of images from their youth.  When I force myself to stand back I see that they are 6+ feet tall and I realize that “letting go and letting God” is as much for today as it was for the first day I got sober.

Anytime I’m in a state of agitation or my peace has been compromised, there is some aspect of recovery that I have forgotten to look at.  Alcoholism is the ultimate OCD.  I can tell myself that my OCD is at work, but in reality it’s alcoholism at its best.  I was directing the show, agitated with my children and the world around me, looking at the world as if it weren’t a safe place to live and not trusting my higher power.  When I put it on paper it sounds like a recipe for a drink, but in my head it sounded so sane and almost saintly.  “I’m the saintly mother that spends her days worrying and looking after my children.”

Maybe I should let my children worry about themselves, just for today.