Helping vs. Enabling: The Lies I Told Myself

I used to believe everything was fine in moderation. A little indulgence here and there—what’s the harm? Drugs, alcohol, vices of any kind—if you kept them within limits, you were in control. I lived by the 80/20 rule: if you did the right things 80% of the time, the other 20% was yours to indulge. I thought that was balance. I thought that was freedom.

But now I see how easily "just once in a while" turns into "all the time." And worse, I see how I let it happen.

California Sober and the Slippery Slope

Before being with Sam, I had a more loose perspective on sobriety. The idea of "California sober"—allowing some substances while avoiding others—seemed like the more realistic and sustainable approach to recovery. I thought full abstinence was rigid, even unnecessary. But as I got closer to addiction through Sam, I started questioning how much flexibility was actually safe.

At first, I took his lead. I remember asking, "When should I be concerned?" and he told me, "When it's an everyday thing." That answer felt reasonable. Addiction, to me, meant constant use, no breaks, total dependency. But what I didn’t realize was that the shift doesn’t happen overnight. It’s not a dramatic event—it’s a quiet slide.

One day, indulging was a rare treat. Then, it was every weekend. Then, just a little during the week. And before either of us knew it, it had become normal. The vices would change—one thing replaced another—but the cycle was the same. I justified it because at least it wasn’t the last thing. But the behavior never changed. The need for escape never changed.

When Support Becomes Permission

I thought I was helping by giving space for indulgence, by proving that life didn’t have to be about strict rules and self-denial. I thought if I took the pressure off, if I made sobriety feel less like a prison, it would make recovery easier. But I wasn’t helping.

I was giving permission.

I told myself that vices weren’t inherently bad, that coping mechanisms could be harmless. And maybe, for some people, they can be. But for an addict, a vice isn’t just a pastime—it’s a trapdoor. And I stood there holding it open while convincing myself I was being supportive.

The worst part? I indulged too. I let myself get drawn into it, safely at a distance, thinking I could dip a toe into that world without consequences. And for a while, it worked. But even in my own experience, I saw how easily indulgence could turn into something more.

Drawing the Line- For Both of Us

I used to think addiction was an on/off switch—either you were in control, or you weren’t. Now, I understand it’s more like a scale, constantly shifting. And the best way to keep from sliding down? Boundaries.

For Sam. And for me.

I’ve had to ask myself: Do those lines have to be “all or nothing” for a recovering addict? And if the answer is yes, can I sacrifice my own 20% to support the man I love?

The answer is also yes. But that decision comes with grief, too. There was something alluring about stepping into the darker, grittier parts of the world—something the media has romanticized and desensitized me to. But real life isn’t a movie. Addiction isn’t a plot device. And my role in this relationship isn’t to be a passive observer.

So, moving forward, I’ll be louder earlier on. I won’t let my silence be mistaken for acceptance. Because while we are strong together, we could follow each other down to hell if we allowed ourselves to. And that’s not the kind of love I want to build.