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Addiction is a heavy burden for any family to bear. It has a way of infiltrating every relationship, every conversation—or, in my family’s case, every silence. My sister was a severe addict, and as much as her struggles dominated our lives, we rarely spoke of it openly.
In our immediate family, everything about her addiction was hidden in secrecy. There were whispers behind closed doors, vague allusions to “bad choices,” and an unspoken agreement to never share the full truth. We kept the details locked away, even from one another. It was as if acknowledging it out loud would somehow make it worse—or maybe make it real.
And then there was my grandmother. She loved my sister fiercely, but that love often took the form of quiet complicity. I remember how she would keep secrets from my mom about my sister. This was my grandmother's way of protecting her—keeping her safe from harsher consequences. Looking back, I see how this kind of protection only made space for my sister’s addiction to continue. Unchecked and unchallenged.
At the time, it felt like everyone was operating on their own, making decisions in isolation. My grandmother had her way of handling things, and my mom had hers. And the rest of us—siblings, cousins, extended family—we were left trying to navigate the emotional fallout in silence. No one talked openly about the fear, the frustration, or the heartbreak. We were too busy pretending everything was fine. Trying to not process what was happening within our family.
Nothing was fine. The silence didn’t protect us; it isolated us. It kept us from confronting the addiction head-on and from supporting one another in a meaningful way. It created an environment where shame thrived, where my sister’s addiction became not just her battle, but our family’s heavy secret to carry.
Now, as an adult, I see how toxic this kind of “protection” can be. Families often think they’re shielding someone by hiding the truth, but all they’re doing is building walls—between each other, between themselves and the person struggling, and between their family and the help they desperately need.
I wish we’d talked about it more. I wish we’d been honest with one another, even when it hurt. I wish my grandmother had seen that her secrecy wasn’t protecting my sister—it was keeping her stuck in the cycle. And I wish we’d realized, as a family, that addiction isn’t something you can manage in isolation.
For families who are navigating the complicated, painful dynamics of addiction, my advice is this: Don’t let silence be your legacy. Speak the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Hold each other accountable, even when it’s hard. And most importantly, remember that protecting someone doesn’t mean enabling their behavior or hiding their struggles—it means standing by them as they face the truth, and supporting them as they work toward recovery.
It’s too late to go back and change how my family handled my sister’s addiction, but it’s not too late to share what I’ve learned. And it’s not too late for you to break the cycle in your own family.
Olivia Harrell lives in Baldwin, Maryland, with her husband, two young children, and a Bulldog named Lola. She lost her brother, Griffin, to an accidental overdose from Fentanyl on September 25, 2023. Her monthly blog examines the twists and turns of grief and healing. Olivia loves to spend time with her family, make sourdough from scratch, and exercise. She is also incredibly thankful for the community of LITT and invites others with a similar loss to participate in LITT’s Sibling Support Group. For more information click here.
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