This post began as a reply to this Substack post by Anouk.
Background
Three weeks ago, I was startled into a scream after opening my front door. A seemingly disembodied face was framed by my screen door and earnestly looking up at me. It didn’t take more than a split second to recognize my sister, but the shock remained.
The only time she had ever been to my home has been when I picked her up and brought her to my home. And that was around three times in the last five years of having this property. She’s never simply shown up, let alone waited on the porch for me to open my door.
I told her my doorbell wasn’t working. Asked her how long she had been waiting, then told her next time she can walk around to the side of the house and call my name since I leave a window cracked open. She said she had been waiting about thirty minutes and was writing me a note. She held it up. It said, “Shawnda, I’m here.”
As she held up the note, she said, “I couldn’t remember your number.”
That alarmed me. I’ve kept the same number for over twenty years because she knew it. In recent years, I’ve considered getting a new number out of frustration and a desire to let go of all things Milwaukee. Now I may never change it. Her friends know it.
She continued, “I went to detox. I got out this morning. I begged someone to drive me until I could remember where you live.”
“How did you remember?” Again, she had only ever been when I drove and she was usually asleep.
“God. God got me here. He kept saying, ‘Get to Shawnda!’ I didn’t know what else to do. I knew you’re on a Lane. I got dropped off down there and walked the rest of the way. I didn’t want anyone to know exactly where I was going.”
She really had me at “God.” From the moment she said that, it’s like I received a secret download of instructions on how to proceed with each step. As I hugged her, I said, “You’re here. We’ll figure out the rest together.”
Foreground
Fast forward. We’re three weeks in and we’re both struggling with interacting with each other in close proximity. She has a lot of expectations and judgements. And I have basic understandings and sense.
She wants to be accepted as she is and so do I. She has little to no respect for me as a person. I see this and understand it derives from her lack of or diminished respect for herself. Unfortunately for her, she’s going to hear my mouth everytime she makes me feel disrespected or uneasy in my home.
Last weekend after she had a little tantrum outside, I left her on her own for a few hours. I ran a couple of errands. Went to the gym and laid in the sauna. Some time after I got back, she asked, “Did you clear your head?” A silent chuckle floated in my mind. I returned her question, “Did you clear yours?”
“Yes.”
The next afternoon, when I trusted myself to speak, I told her, “For some reason, you feel comfortable disrespecting me. I’ve cut off ties with family members for their intention to cause me harm. And they weren’t in my house. You’re standing in my house disrepecting me. Enjoying the fruit of my labor. My hospitality. Sleeping in my bed while I can’t sleep (her knees and elbows stay in my back). While continuing to expect more labor from me for your comfort.”
“You’re right. That’s real talk.”
“There’s only so much I can take before I stop taking anything. That’s human nature. I’m not here to be taken advantage of or disrespected. Helping you doesn’t mean I need to neglect myself or disregard my own needs.”
She agreed and had some contrition about her.
The real
From the moment my sister told me she forgot my phone number, I knew she had significant memory loss. Within the first week, I recognized traumatic cognitive decline. By the end of the second week when she had her tantrum outside, I was forced to acknowledge I wasn’t dealing with an adult peer; I was dealing with someone with the cognitive processing of a slow toddler.
By week two, my life was passing before my eyes as a lifelong caretaker for my sister. It’s not a bad future to imagine, but it is daunting. If this is the price for keeping her clean, lucid and safe I will pay it everytime.
We were able to get her into outpatient treatment in week two. She’s waitlisted for in-patient treatment for late January. That’s the goal and target we’re both focusing on to get her the best help and recovery.
To correct or not correct
I’ve shared some extenuating circumstances regarding my sister and her trauma. Much more than anyone would know when responding to strangers online.
I think this is the point and explanation for my position. Everyone wants to be coddled, however the urgency of the moment doesn’t allow for coddling.
My sister is deeply entrenched in her trauma and holding on to me like a lifeline.
It’s easy to say what people should be. It’s harder to simply be what you can be in the moment.
Both my sister and I feel like I’m constantly correcting her. I am. She needs correcting. The other night I was able to follow up on a correction I held on to all day with, “I’m not angry. I’m pointing it out, so you don’t repeat it.”
Week four since her arrival begins tomorrow. We both know she’s struggling, but she has no idea how I’m struggling (albeit on a much smaller scale). I’ve been single and solo living for most of my adult life. I’ve come to enjoy and expect my solitude and peace. I haven’t had a moment alone in three weeks.
A couple of nights ago, she told me she physically holds on to me as much as possible because she doesn’t want me to leave. She has a heavy hand and an aggressive grip. I am very keen on how people interact with my body. Heavy, harsh touching of any nature is never welcome. She’s offended that I’m pushing her away, off me. I’m offended that she’s handling me abrasively and carelessly.
That night I reminded her that I’ve never left her. The story she’s telling herself of abandonment never happened. She’s the one that walked away from family and friends then barred us from her home. Gave fake addresses for meet-ups or bever showed.I
reminded her that she always has a place with me, wherever I am. But I don’t want to be her lifeline. I want her to free herself of thinking she needs a lifeline – me, drugs, alcohol, pills, men, everything. I want her to get to the point of being so sure of her ability to care for herself that the absence of anyone or anything will not destroy her.
I reminded her of all the friends and family who have stood patiently waiting for her to give up the drugs and the men who kept her bound. All of us who never judged her. Never corrected her. Never forceably dragged her away from her downward spiral for fear that she would push us further away or disappear permanently. I explained that is not abandonment. The abandoned can’t show up on door steps like she did three weeks ago for the first time in twenty-two years of addiction.
I reminded her of the times I sent people looking for her (while I lived out of state) because she didn’t do her annual check-in. Her lifelong friends, with families of their own, who drove around neighborhoods to put the word on the street that she needed to call her sister. Proof of life. All I’ve ever asked of her is proof of life. And she has always understood that meant voice-to-voice contact.
When she showed up three weeks ago and told me she was done living the way she had been living and she was ready to work on herself, we both entered a new stage neither of us quite understood. But we’re both committed to her healing.
Healing doesn’t come by joining someone in their misery. Healing comes through confrontation and course correction. Healing is work. No one knows how long anyone can hold on to do what’s required.
One of the last times I saw my sister prior to this stay was at the end of August. She called to say she was ready to leave where she was and wanted to stay with me. I went to pick her up not knowing how I’d care for her at all. Less than ten blocks down the road, she told me to pull over. She had called someone else to come pick her up where we were parked. She told me all she was thinking about was getting high. She had been with me for less than ten minutes.
I’ve regretted pulling over and letting her get out the car. I wondered what would have happened if I had kept driving. Consent is so important to me, I would never choose to violate anyone’s personal autonomy. She judges me for this too. Forgetting I had guardianship of her as a teen after our mom died. She often left the house in the middle of the night with my car, and perhaps some money. She still has the attitude of a rebellious teenager.
In her mind we’re still in this dynamic where I scream in favor of reason and trust and she blows me off in favor of doing what she wants.
In my mind, she’s an adult responsible for her own life choices. She prefers to blame me for not not making better choices.
I don’t know all my next steps with her, but I do know sitting with her where she is mentally and emotionally would leave us both stranded.
Harvest Life 