Navigating Family Dynamics in Recovery: What No One Says Out Loud

Recovery isn't about hiding from life, it’s about learning how to live in it. Fully. Bravely. Even when it's messy. Even when it hurts.

It’s a beautiful myth, the idea that once we stop drinking or using or running, the hard parts will simply fade. That healing is a kind of bubble wrap that keeps us safe from discomfort. But the truth is, real recovery invites us back into the very rooms, conversations, and dynamics that once made us reach for something to take the edge off, especially when those dynamics are tied to family. Because few things challenge us quite like family dynamics in recovery!

It asks us to stay present in situations that used to make us disappear. It asks us to hold our centre while the world keeps spinning exactly as it was. And sometimes, it asks us to sit at tables we used to belong to… and realise we no longer fit. Have you ever sat at a table where the glasses clink, the laughter rises just a little too loudly, and yet… you feel like the outsider in a place you used to belong?

That was me last Sunday, it was a living, breathing example of what it means to navigate family dynamics in recovery, where love and history intertwine with unspoken expectations and old roles that no longer fit.

The London branch of the family were visiting. There was the usual, slow-cooked roast, desserts that deserve their own round of applause, and bottles of wine opened long before the food made an entrance.

As the fizz flowed and my brother-in-law’s glass was filled, my dad looked over and said, “Oh… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I replied, honestly. “It doesn’t bother me.”

And it doesn’t, not anymore. Not drinking isn’t a punishment. It’s not deprivation. It’s a decision. One I make every day to stay clear, calm, and deeply rooted in who I am.

But what came next… that’s what stayed with me.

They offered my 16-year-old daughter a glass. She declined, gracefully, gently. And yet, something in that moment caught in my chest. Back in October, on her birthday, there was a moment around this very thing that left its mark on both of us. I didn’t guide her or shape her response, I simply witnessed her find her own footing. So seeing her calmly say no this time felt like both a win and a wound. A quiet triumph and a quiet ache. (That birthday moment deserves a story of its own, one I might share with you soon.)

Then, without warning, the table transformed into a kind of informal TED Talk on alcohol:

• Why they drink

• How much is “normal”

• How tolerance builds

• How it’s just “one glass”

• How “everyone drinks on occasions like this”

• How “it helps me unwind”

• How “it’s just part of who I am”

I gently offered, “It’s interesting how everyone feels the need to justify their drinking.”

The room shifted. Silence moved in. The comment didn’t land as softly as the Cava.

When you observe others justifying their drinking habits, what emotions or thoughts arise within you?

And yet, it’s that moment that stayed with me, the discomfort beneath the laughter. The shift in energy as the bottles opened. The unspoken belief that drinking made the afternoon more bearable, more sociable, more fun. The way my choice not to drink, an empowered, peaceful decision, somehow made me the odd one out. As if I was missing something. As if I wasn’t quite part of it.

That’s what lingered.

Not the smell of the wine or the clink of the glasses, but the ache of being surrounded by people I love who still feel they need something outside themselves to enjoy each other.

That’s what I took home with me.

Because recovery, real recovery, gives you something far richer than abstinence.

It gives you presence. It gives you discernment. It gives you the ability to stay with what’s real, especially when it’s uncomfortable. It teaches you to feel what’s yours, and gently hand back what isn’t.

How do your family’s attitudes toward alcohol influence your recovery journey?

What was difficult wasn’t turning down a drink. It was being in a space where masks were firmly in place. It was hearing defensiveness dressed up as humour. It was being told what I must be thinking or feeling, instead of being asked. It was the fakeness of people pretending, dancing carefully around everything real. It was watching people I love stay stuck in stories I’ve had the privilege of rewriting.

Later that evening, my dad’s wife messaged me to say she was proud of me for “getting through” the meal without drinking or smoking.

And I smiled, not because I needed the praise, but because it missed the real point.

Proud of me for not drinking?

That wasn’t the mountain.

The mountain was staying present, staying calm or even staying true in a room thick with emotional static. The mountain was choosing not to shrink, not to explain, not to fix. The mountain was holding my centre without needing anyone else to change.

What strategies help you stay grounded when you feel the pressure to conform?

In a culture where alcohol is more than normal, it’s expected, stepping away from the glass can feel like stepping out of the group.

And the numbers back it up:

• 84.9% of U.S. adults have consumed alcohol at some point in their lives (NIAAA)

• In the UK, alcohol consumption peaked in 2004 at 9.5 litres of pure alcohol per person annually—and yet, alcohol-related deaths reached a record high in 2022 (The Guardian)

• Over 400 million people worldwide live with alcohol use disorders (WHO)

Have you noticed societal cues that normalise excessive drinking? How do they affect your sense of self?

Recovery invites us to sit with discomfort instead of masking it. To risk being the one who doesn’t join in. To risk being misunderstood. To grieve what isn’t working without losing who we’re becoming.

But it also gives us back our power.

It teaches us that peace doesn’t always look peaceful. That clarity doesn’t always feel easy. That wholeness sometimes comes wrapped in solitude.

What does choosing yourself look like, even when others don’t know what to do with that?

If this spoke to something inside you, please share it. With a friend. A sibling. A partner. Anyone navigating this same tender terrain.

And if you’ve lived a moment like this, where you stayed true to yourself in a space that felt misaligned, I’d love to hear from you. Your words might be the thread that helps someone else feel a little less alone.

Drop a comment. Start a conversation. Let’s name what’s real, together.

And if you’re craving a place to land, where these conversations aren’t awkward, but welcomed, come explore the Empowered Recovery Hub, a space where we make sense of the mess, the growth, the joy, and the complexity of family dynamics in recovery together, (and a whole lot of other stuff we were never taught too).

Because recovery isn’t just about what you leave behind.

It’s about what you’re standing for.

Even, especially, when the Cava’s flowing and the comments start flying.