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Addiction is a family disease, everyone playing a part. The energy required to sustain the denial and lies sucks the life from all who share a space with the addict, creating anxiety that in turn feeds this disease. Chaos is the fuel on which addicted minds thrive, allowing them to establish confused, codependent relationships with great enabling qualities. This creates a spiritual bankruptcy so pervasive that the addicted mind takes whatever it wants, whenever it needs. The disease progresses, sneaky and spellbinding in its force. In these homes, no one thrives. No one grows. People die – spiritually, emotionally, physically. They die.

Coming from a third-generation family of addicts, I have a different story to tell. My eyes have always been incredibly wide open, and by the grace of God, my heart has remained true to the gifts I am here to fulfill – not loyalty to a family that only ever knew dysfunction as its legacy. Going against my DNA to create a home of balance, love, space, creativity, and openness, allows me to have clarity in the face of a disease that blinds and wounds. By retaining a vigilant manner, one can become victor and not victim.

My grandfather is The Man in the Room. My mother's father, he is the shadow in my story. Even though he passed a decade ago, he remains as the source of our family's emotional corruption.

When my sister struggled with her own mental wellbeing, dragging her son through the unstable life she had created, he became available for adoption. I was the one to step into this life choice, with the purest of intentions: a deep love for this little boy. I truly believed that all the time, consistency, and effort of a stay-at-home mom, living with everything she has day after day, treating her children with love, joy, grace and hope, would be enough. I thought that if I protected my nephew over the course of his negative behavioural tendencies, we would overcome his natural inclination towards an addict mind. Toth’s biological father is an addict, and his biological mother struggles with her own mental wellness, so I knew his predisposition was high. I thought that through my love and by doing all I could, I would be able to protect my adopted son from the disease that threatened to be his fate.

Then I woke up. A beautiful summer holiday morning, Toth walked into the room and the air stood still. The light had gone from his eyes, replaced with anger. A darkness so ugly, so deep. His only release would be substance abuse, fits of rage, and a vehement hatred for his once beloved family. When my heart resumed its necessary function, I realized we had not escaped the Man in the Room. My grandfather was sitting across from me, quickly manifesting his injured being on the people I loved and cherished most.

Read on as I fight using all that I am and all that I must learn to be in order to release my boy, who had become the man in my room.