Episode 38
Loving Them Without Losing Yourself
In this episode, Joseph shares the powerful story of Melissa, a devoted wife and mother navigating the emotional toll of loving someone in active addiction. Through Melissa’s experience with her husband, we explore the subtle but profound ways families can begin to reclaim their emotional, spiritual, and mental well-being—without abandoning the person they love.
You’ll hear how Melissa moved from exhaustion and heartbreak to clarity and quiet strength by making gentle shifts in how she showed up for herself and for her family. From a birthday party betrayal to morning rituals of self-care, this episode offers tangible, hope-filled examples of what it looks like to draw healthy boundaries and reconnect with your inner life.
This episode is a compassionate invitation to stay grounded in your truth, even while holding space for someone you love who's still struggling. If you're tired of feeling like you're losing yourself in someone else's battle, this conversation is for you.
Transcript
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Hello and welcome to family sobriety. Now I am your host, Joseph Devlin, and I'm so glad you've joined me today. If you've ever felt like you're giving everything you have to someone struggling with addiction, but you're running on empty, you're in the right place this podcast is for the quiet warriors, the spouses, the parents, the siblings, the friends who love deeply but live in the shadows of
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addictions, ripple effects.
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If you found yourself asking, How do I keep loving them without completely losing myself? This episode is especially for you, so let's get at it. I want to talk to you about Melissa. Now, names and details are changed, as always to protect privacy, but Melissa's story is all too real, deeply real. Melissa had been married to Brandon for 11 years. When they met, he was the life of the party, charming, funny, magnetic. Over time, that charm faded behind the haze of alcohol. He wasn't falling down drunk. He kept a job. He coached their son's little league team. Sometimes he still showed up to church on Sundays, usually late and sometimes hungover, but Melissa's heart broke in little slow motion pieces. There was one day she shared with me a story that still echoed in her soul. Their daughter, Ava, had just turned nine, Melissa had poured her whole heart into planning a backyard birthday party, streamers in pastel colors, cupcakes with glittery sprinkles, a hand painted sign that said Ava's big day, Brandon had promised he'd help set up the games and fire up the grill
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instead.
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15 minutes before guests arrive, Melissa noticed the back gate swinging shut and Brandon was gone, no note, no call, just gone.
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He didn't come home until the next morning.
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The smell of whiskey walked through the door before he did,
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Melissa told me later,
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I didn't even yell. I just stood in the hallway holding one of Ava's balloons and felt like my body wasn't mine anymore. And here's the thing, she didn't stop loving him. That's what hurt the most. She still loved him, but somewhere along the way, she had stopped loving herself. The breaking point didn't come in a dramatic fight or some big intervention moment. It came one quiet Wednesday afternoon while folding towels Melissa told me, I looked at a pile of clean laundry and realized I haven't laughed in months. I haven't slept a full night. I don't even know what I want anymore. That's when the shift began, not in Brandon, but in her she decided she couldn't keep walking on emotional eggshells just to keep the house from falling apart. She couldn't keep giving CPR to a relationship that kept gasping through relapse after relapse, so she did something small, something gentle, something sacred. She started waking up 20 minutes before the kids just 20 minutes
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she'd wrap herself in her grandmother's Shaw,
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pour a mug of tea with honey and sit on the porch in silence, no phone, no thinking,
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just breathe,
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just being.
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She bought herself a soft leather. Journal, the kind that feels like you're holding something ancient and private.
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And she started writing letters
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not to Brandon
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to herself,
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letters like,
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dear Melissa, I'm proud of you for staying tender, or you're not weak for being tired. You're strong for standing still, or you are allowed to feel joy even in chaos this small daily ritual became her anchor. Spiritually, Melissa had long stopped begging God to change Brandon that prayer felt hollow. Now, instead, her prayer became simpler, quieter. God show me what's mine to carry and help me let go of the rest.
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She meditated on that verse from Psalm 34
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the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. It became her whispered mantra, her lighthouse in the fog.
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Instead of pleading,
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she started listening, really listening, to the spirit within her. She wasn't abandoning Brandon. She was reclaiming the parts of herself she'd handed over one piece at a time in the name of love. She started attending a local support group. She called it her peace hour, and it was during one of those gatherings that she heard someone say, their healing isn't your homework, it's theirs. That sentence cracks something open inside her. She wept in the parking lot afterward, but it wasn't grief, it was release. Melissa began to form quiet, firm, emotional boundaries, not as punishment, but as protection for herself and eventually her kids. When Brandon came home, buzzed. She didn't wait up anymore. She'd gently say, I'm not going to have this conversation tonight. And she'd walk away, not in anger, but in peace. She stopped checking his phone, she stopped analyzing every word for signs of change. She stopped trying to manage his moods so that the household would feel less tense.
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And something interesting happened.
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Her kids started relaxing more. The house began to breathe again, even Brandon at first annoyed, eventually noticed something was different. He wasn't sure what it was, but he could feel it. Melissa was no longer carrying his shame. Eventually, Brandon did reach out for help, not because Melissa begged, not because she threatened, but because her presence had become so steady, so clear, so grounded that he had to take a look at himself in the mirror. Her peace created a space for his self awareness. And while Melissa rejoiced in that step, her identity no longer hinged on his drinking, she had built a foundation of care that included her own needs, spiritually, emotionally and mentally. Loving him didn't mean losing herself anymore. It meant showing up with tenderness and truth if you're walking a similar load road, I want you to know something deeply. You're not alone.
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Your heart is not too sensitive.
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You are not selfish for needing rest, boundaries or joy. You. Can love someone and still honor yourself. You can believe in their healing and still protect your peace, and you can hope deeply hope without burning yourself out. If today's episode resonated with you. I'd love to hear from you. If you want to know how Melissa was able to attain keep and maintain this piece. Reach out to me through family sobriety now.com whether you're looking for support, a safe space to be heard, or guidance on how to apply these truths in your home. I'm here. Please share this episode with someone who may need it. Subscribe, rate or leave a review. If it helped you, it will help spread this message of healing and hope to others thank you for being here today and until our next episode. Always remember sobriety is a family affair.
