My younger brother means the world to me. He’s always been the homie, clowning and swapping movie lines together.
Although he is two years younger than I, Fatboy (as I affectionately call him) is a pretty big guy. So much so that people usually think he is my big brother.
I have so much hope for my brother’s future because I truly see all his potential. He is smart, works well with computers, and puts together sentimental words in ways that I don’t think he even recognizes. So, like any big sister, I want him to use his gifts to be successful and happy.
Yet, as the years have gone by and my brother has gotten older, I have struggled to come to terms with the fact that my hopes and his reality do not align.
Moment of transparency: My sweet, fun-loving baby brother is battling an alcohol addiction.
I honestly cannot remember when it began, but one day I realized that something was different about my homie.
His speech would slur more. His eyes weren’t so clear. And the constant disappearances coupled with him being passed out in his bed were telltale signs.
Still, and even more so, I have high hopes (and prayers) for his future. And every time we talk, I make a point to encourage him.
I believe in you.
You can do it.
You still have time.
And I try my hardest to remind him that Jesus is right there waiting and willing, if he will just turn to Him.
Now, on the outside looking in this all seems helpful for my brother, right? But what if my uplifting words aren’t the type of medicine that he truly needs?
This thought suddenly hit me in April 2019 after I flew to Phoenix to help host a graduation party for my mom (shout out to her receiving a doctoral degree).
I had the whole event planned, complete with a special moment where our family would honor our graduate. It was a busy day of greeting and mingling with guests, and at one point I realized that amid all the smiling faces, one was absent—my brother’s.
Just minutes before our special family tribute, my sister informed me that he was passed out in the bedroom. Disappointment wasn’t even close to how I’d felt. Still, I set my feelings aside as the remainder of us honored my mother and the party wrapped up successfully.
About an hour later, I am exhausted cleaning the kitchen and in walks my brother. He makes himself a plate, and when he grabs something out of the sink, he spills water all over the floor. I’m not sure why seeing that water triggered me, but I raise my voice and tell him to be more careful since I am cleaning. He raises his back. And before I know it, my 5’5 frame is yelling into his towering 6ft.+ chest.
Remember when I said my brother is a big guy? Just imagine as I push him, but my body is the one that jerks back. Tears blur my vision but not before I see my uncles grab my brother to take him outside. He’s cursing and yelling at me while I am crying and yelling back at him.
Now, I have disrespected my mother and family, and more important, provoked my brother who is already failing to battle and control what’s going on inside him.
Disappointment was much closer to how I felt this time around, only it was in my actions.
After a short while, I decided to go outside and saw my brother talking with my aunt. I knew that liquor wasn’t the only thing trying to escape his slurred speech and red eyes. He didn’t even look at me as I sat down but proceeded to keep telling my aunt how he felt. Though he had clearly been intoxicated, I knew his next few words came from a sober heart.
“They think they’re better than me,” he said, referring to me and my older sister. “They look down on me, telling me to fix my hair and change my clothes. They think they’re better.”
His words whirled through my mind as I sat there and really looked at my brother. Not what I so desperately hoped he would be and knew he could be, but who he was.
I realized I had never really seen him before.
“I’m sorry Fatboy,” I apologized. Thankfully, we were eventually able to hug it out, but that night taught me a big lesson.
My I-want-to-help approach of always encouraging my brother and “showing him the right way” when it comes to things like a professional appearance or setting goals became hurtful because that wasn’t the type of support he needed at that time. Although my mouth (and heart) spoke encouragements, all my brother could hear was, “You need to change.”
I believe our prayers, hopes, and encouraging words for our family members, especially those struggling with addictions, come from a pure place. And I truly believe that they are necessary for our loved ones, but timing is everything. I have to trust that God hears my prayers and will one day deliver my brother. I know God loves him much more than I do.
But perhaps the best way I can truly help my brother is by taking the time to remove my hopes and desires for him, truly see and accept him for who he is and where he’s at in that moment, and choose to wrap all my normal encouragements into one and simply say, “I am here for you, and I love you.”
To this day, my brother and I still clown and finish each other’s movie lines, but our conversations are a little different.
I never expected him to encourage me, but I am so grateful for the lesson.