Why Some People Overcome Addiction and Others Don't

Why some people stay in recovery

Viacheslav warns from the start: there will be no magical change after a single meeting. The group is about practicing new habits and personal qualities that allow relatives, at some stage, to go through separation. The meetings are deliberately provocative: if something triggers resistance, it means it has hit the mark.

His main argument is the experience of families who have attended the groups for years. According to him, their children, who had no motivation whatsoever, went through rehab and stayed in recovery for many years. This calls into question the common belief that a person will only get better once they are “ready on their own.” The foundation of recovery, Viacheslav believes, is laid in the family: relatives do care about their loved one, but most often they simply do not know how to act correctly.

Codependency is the same as addiction

The meeting was prompted by feedback from one of the participants. Her point: almost everything that is said about the personality structure of a person with addiction is also true of a codependent person. One needs a substance to escape reality and avoid dealing with their own tasks. The other needs a person — and the role of rescuer, which gives a sense of importance and meaning. The only difference is that substance use is condemned, while rescuing often looks like a virtue.

Viacheslav agrees and puts it more bluntly: without noticing it, parents “use” their children. To help a loved one, you first need to see what function you serve in their life.

Crutches, money and guilt

Using a poll in the chat, Viacheslav lays out a situation everyone recognizes: a loved one comes with yet another request, common sense says “don't,” but the urge to help is so strong that you give in again — you give money, let them move in, postpone a divorce. He makes the example sharper: “if you don't give me money, they'll kill me.” Most participants honestly admitted that they would give it.

Then comes the metaphor. After an injury, a person walks on crutches, and the doctor says it is time to go without them, and it will hurt. He falls, cries and asks for the crutches back. Giving them back means leaving him disabled. And if instead of crutches he asks for “a little heroin so I can walk,” it turns out there is almost no difference: any help that relieves a person of the need to learn for themselves works for the illness.

The key conclusion: under pressure, reproaches and manipulation, a relative gives in not for the sake of the person with addiction, but to relieve their own tension and return to their comfort zone. It is temporary peace, bought at the cost of a risk to their loved one's life. And the person with addiction has known since childhood which “sore spots” to press — and will press them again, including after rehab.

What separation is

Separation, in Viacheslav's words, is a state in which a demanding phone call simply cannot plunge you into guilt and anxiety. It does not mean giving up on your child: you can keep the relationship, but without emotional entanglement. Then you calmly say “sort out your own problems” — and do not hand over yet another “crutch.”

A test question: would you give money to a stranger on the street who asks in the same words? Almost everyone answered “no.” So the issue is not the request, but the emotional bond with your loved one's illness. The toughest exercise of the meeting is the “cliff”: you are hanging on a rope, your loved one is pulling you down, and only one of you can climb out. Viacheslav stresses that this is not about a literal choice, but about being ready to separate from the sick part of the person. Those who are not ready for this keep repeating the same mistakes.

Relationships built on “chocolates” and attention for the sake of gain

Two graduates of the program who are now in recovery spoke at the meeting. Both admitted honestly: while they were using, they called their families mostly when they needed something, while also keeping up an “emotional bridge” in case they needed help. One of them said that even now he is not entirely sure how selfless his calls are.

Viacheslav links this to how relationships were built in childhood: “here's a chocolate, just be quiet,” “here's a computer, just leave me alone.” If, from childhood, the relationship rested on exchange rather than on care, time and safety, the parent later feels guilty, and the child knows how to use that guilt. But if a parent knows they did everything they could, there is no ground for that guilt.

Rehab is possible — but it starts with the family

The bottom line of the meeting: rehab is possible and can be successful — not for everyone, but for many — when the loved one understands that there will be no more “crutches” and starts taking responsibility for their own life. This is hard for relatives: what has been built up over decades does not change in one or two group sessions; it takes work over six months or longer. In Viacheslav's experience, a constructive relationship with a person in recovery becomes possible after years of recovery, once the person has built themselves up in work and in life.

He also speaks separately about dual diagnosis: psychiatric diagnoses made while a person was under the influence of substances often need to be re-examined. It is important to have the person fully assessed while sober — sometimes the diagnosis is not confirmed, but treatment may still be needed.

At the end, one participant who has been in the program for several years described how someone close to her tried to pull her back into the old pattern: caring phone calls, unexpected parcels, an invitation to drop by for a holiday. She calmly returned the parcel and suggested meeting only on neutral ground — and that is separation in action.