Have you ever watched the television show Scandal?
The show is about a dynamic woman named Olivia Pope, who works as a crisis manager specializing in political situations, making her a perfect fit for the show’s Washington, DC setting.
But on the show, no one calls her a crisis manager; Olivia is really known as a fixer. When major political or legal crises happen, Olivia gets called in to fix the situation. And let me tell you—she’s good at it. She covers all the bases, never misses an angle, and there is rarely a problem she can’t fix (minus the whole dramatic presidential affair that seems to be a never-ending plot line).
When Olivia Pope sees a problem, her first instinct is to fix it.
Many parents, spouses, and family members of addicts think exactly the same way. They see a problem and they want to fix it! They want to call in Olivia Pope! Or worse yet: they think they are Olivia Pope!
Many family members—parents, especially—truly believe that if the person they love has a problem, then they’ve got the solution.
But the problem is, Olivia Pope is not real. She’s based on a real person, yes, but ultimately, she’s a written character on a TV show whom always comes out on top in the end.
You are not Olivia Pope. You cannot fix every situation, and it’s this crazy analogy that has led me to write this book (finally, all my binge-watching is paying off for the good of others!).
So that’s the bad news: you’re not Olivia Pope.
But let me tell you some good news: you are naturally programmed to think of yourself as Olivia Pope. For you moms and dads out there, you’ve been playing the fixer role since your little one was born. If there was a diaper blowout, you fixed it. If there was a problem at school, you fixed it. When dinner needed to be made, you fixed it. For your child’s entire existence, you’ve probably been there to fix them.
I get it, really I do. I’ve had two children myself. Neither of them are teenagers at the time of this writing, but I can recall many times already that I’ve gone into fixer mode.
One night specifically comes to mind.
My son Ben was about five and somehow made his way into my bed in the middle of one night, arranging himself between me and the night stand. He was right on the edge when I suddenly felt him slide off the bed. Before I knew it, he hit the ground with a loud crash and started screaming. Loudly.
My mind immediately woke up and recalled the glass of water I’d left on that nightstand. Over the next few milliseconds, I thought, Oh no, he’s cut his head open or a shard of glass has pierced his body. He’ll never look the same again, he’s going to be disfigured, and he’ll never be invited to prom! Oh my what am I going to do? It’s crazy how quickly our minds can jump to the worst possible outcomes—like not going to prom.
Anyway back to the story: I sprang into action, flipping on the light switch, scooping Ben up, and rushing him to the bathroom.
There was blood. It was everywhere.
I freaked out. Scoured his body for the wound. I found it on his right leg, where I also found a huge gash and chunk of muscle staring back at me. I instantly went into MacGyver mode: I ripped off my shirt, tore it in half, and tied a tourniquet around the wound.
Two minutes later, we were in my truck and headed to the hospital.
It’s these types of moments that train our brain to think that when someone we love is hurting or wounded, we have the power to heal them, help them, or make it all go away.
It’s not easy to accept the reality that this is nowhere near the truth.
For the past few years, God has changed my scenery somewhat. Not my physical surroundings—I still live and work with recovering men as I have for several years—but my emotional surroundings have changed.
My deep desires, the passions that keep me up at night, the thoughts that consume my rarely settled mind… God has been tugging on my heart for not only the men or women struggling or in early sobriety, but their parents and spouses. My heart hurts for them.
For you.
I’ve heard your stories of heartache;
I’ve listened as you’ve begged and pleaded with me to help your spouses.
I’ve witnessed you grieve the loss of your children.
I’ve observed you from afar, watching this vicious disease seep from your son or daughter to your entire family. Slowly impacting every relationship and skewing the dynamic completely.
I’ve watched siblings dismiss themselves from families altogether. I’ve watched couples get divorced.
I’ve watch as addiction destroyed your family and left you hopeless.
It’s too much.
It’s from this impression that God has made on my heart, that I have chosen to write this book.
I’m not the kind of person who sits on the sidelines and watches as people suffer. I can’t stand it and I won’t allow myself to selfishly hold on to what I believe God has called me to give away. The hope I’ve been given wasn’t given to just set me free—it was gifted to be given away.
Now, I don’t claim to have the perfect solution to knit every family back together, but I do believe I have some experience, some resources, and some hope to give that can help you navigate the painful path of addiction.
You can’t fix this problem, but that doesn’t mean all is lost. You may not be Olivia Pope, but you can be living in hope.
(This is an excerpt from Finding Hope, the new book by Lance. Pick it up here.)
