Strength in the Storm: For Families Touched by Addiction
- Aser Ones, LCSW
- Mar 26
- 3 min read
By: Aser Ones
It’s not fear I feel in the moment addiction crashes into my home like a hurricane, tearing through my family and my peace—it’s a pain that burns, a knot tightening in my chest until it hurts. One afternoon, while the sun was still out, my phone rang with my son’s trembling voice: ‘I relapsed again, Dad, I need help—I’m feeling the withdrawal kicking in, hurry!’
His mind was so clouded he couldn’t tell me where he was. In my desperate struggle to find him, he finally managed to send me his location by text. I got there and saw him—soaked in sweat, vomiting in a corner, his face drained of color, as if life were slipping through his pores. I didn’t quite know what to do. I could’ve called 911, waited for an ambulance, but my instinct whispered one thing: get him to the nearest hospital fast. I clung to that whisper—a risky step, sure, but without overthinking it, I got him in the car and took off.
His screams echoed in the tight space—gut-wrenching, like something inside him was burning. He thrashed, kicking the doors, lost in spasms he couldn’t control. For fleeting seconds he’d calm down, his voice quivering with a ‘sorry, Dad,’ only to turn back into a stranger, an unrecognizable monster trying to fling himself out of the car at full speed on the highway.
One hand steady on the wheel, the other pressed against his chest to keep him from jumping—I acted, my mind clear in the crisis, but inside, everything shook. Fear didn’t grip me then; it came later, cold and heavy, when the silence settled and doubts crushed me like stones. If this scene feels familiar to you in any way, you likely carry scars from deep wounds left by a loved one’s addiction—you do what you have to, but you don’t come out unscathed.
Finding the courage and strength to do what needs doing doesn’t mean stopping the pain or fear—it’s gritting your teeth and pushing forward though the pain sears your soul, then standing tall like a soldier when fear wraps around you like fog. As a therapist and a father, I’ve learned to walk through the darkness of uncertainty. In the moment, I find what to do: stay calm when the air feels thin, seek help though my legs feel heavy, or drop a hard word that lands like lead but clears a path.
But don’t fool yourself—the pain doesn’t leave, and the fear that hits me afterward doesn’t vanish with a magic wand. I’ve seen families in similar straits—with sweaty palms, lost stares, and racing hearts, feeling helpless against these moments. I’ve also seen families step into support groups for the first time, letting tears fall as they say ‘no’ to the one they love most. That takes strength: there’s no beauty in these acts, but there’s a real toughness in them.
My story isn’t a tale with a happy ending—they treated my son at the hospital that afternoon, but it was just another chapter in a story that’s still unfolding, a road full of uncertain and dangerous turns. I’m not here because I’m immune to pain or unmoved by the paralyzing chill fear brings—I’m here because I’m not alone. My faith, my family, and professional help keep me standing firm like a soldier in the heart of a battle.
If you feel that knot squeezing your chest as you read, or the weight of uncertainty when everything goes still, you’re not alone either. Strength lies in knowing how to get back up, in having something to lean on, even when the ground shakes. Let’s talk if you want—together, we can figure out how to keep being strong and continuing building resilience.
Aser Ones, LCSW
561-421-4132
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