What I Wish My Family Had Said to Me During My Addiction

By Mark Aiston — Former Channel 10 & ABC Presenter, Recovery Advocate

For years, I was the person in your family.

The one everyone was worried about but nobody knew how to reach. The one who smiled at the right moments, said the right things, and kept the mask firmly in place — while quietly falling apart behind it.

I know what it's like to be loved by people who don't know what to say. And I know — from the inside — what made the difference between the conversations that pushed me further away, and the one that finally opened a door.

This is what I wish someone had said sooner.

The conversations that didn't work — and why

Let me start with the hard truth.

The people who loved me tried everything. Lectures. Ultimatums. Tearful pleas. Silence. Anger. Research printed off the internet. None of it worked — not because they didn't love me, but because nobody had given them a roadmap.

The lecture — "Do you know what this is doing to your body?" — felt like an attack, even when it came from love. I already knew what it was doing to my body. I lived in it. What the lecture triggered wasn't insight. It was shame. And shame, for someone struggling with addiction, doesn't motivate change. It drives people deeper.

The ultimatum — "If you don't get help, I'm done" — felt like rejection. And the thing I was using to cope with the pain of feeling unworthy and unloved? It was the very thing being threatened with removal. Ultimatums can push people further in, not out.

The silence — the conversation that never happened, the concern that was swallowed to keep the peace — felt, to me, like nobody cared enough to say anything. I know that wasn't true. But that's how it landed.

None of these approaches are wrong because they come from a bad place. They're wrong because they don't work. And there's a difference.

The night everything changed

On a quiet evening in Glenelg, my sister Kathy and my best mate Brad did something different.

They didn't lecture me. They didn't give me an ultimatum. They didn't print off a list of rehab centres and slide it across the table.

They just sat with me. And they said something I hadn't heard in a long time.

They told me they loved me. Not "I love you, but..." Not "I love you, if..." Just — I love you. And I'm not going anywhere.

They told me they were scared. Not angry. Not disappointed. Scared. Because they loved me and they could see what was happening.

They told me they'd noticed some things. Clearly and calmly, without drama or accusation. Not "you've been drinking too much" — but "I've noticed you seem to be struggling, and I'm worried."

And then they said the thing that changed everything.

"Whatever happens next — we'll figure it out together."

Within 24 hours, I was in a car on the way to the Hader Clinic in Geelong. That conversation — that specific, careful, loving conversation — is the reason I'm here today.

What actually works — and why

I've spent the seven years since that dinner trying to understand exactly what Kathy and Brad did that nobody else had managed to do.

Here's what I've worked out.

They made me feel worthy, not broken.

Every conversation before that night — however loving — had left me feeling like a problem to be solved. A burden. A disappointment. Even when that wasn't the intention, that was the effect.

Kathy and Brad made me feel like someone worth fighting for. And that is an entirely different thing.

When you feel like a problem, the instinct is to hide. When you feel worth fighting for, something shifts.

They came from love, not fear.

There's a difference between a conversation driven by love and one driven by fear or frustration — and the person on the receiving end can feel it. Fear-driven conversations, however well-intentioned, tend to feel like attacks. Love-driven conversations feel like invitations.

They didn't try to fix everything in one conversation.

They weren't trying to solve my addiction that night. They were trying to open a door. Just one step. And that's all any conversation needs to do.

What you can try today

If you're reading this because someone you love is struggling — here is the simplest thing I can offer you.

Don't try to fix them. Don't try to explain the problem to them. They already know the problem.

Instead, try this:

"I'm not here to tell you what to do. I just want you to know I love you, I've noticed you're struggling, and I'm not going anywhere."

That's it. No agenda. No ultimatum. No research. Just love, honesty, and presence.

It might not work the first time. It might not work the second. But it plants a seed. And seeds matter.

One more thing

I built a course called The Conversation for exactly this reason — to give families the roadmap that nobody gave mine.

It's six modules of practical, honest guidance on how to have this conversation — built from lived experience, on both sides. Along with four AI tools that let you practice the conversation before it happens, build a personalised plan for your situation, and get support in the moments you need it most.

If this post has resonated with you, you can find out more here.

You don't have to figure this out alone.

Mark Aiston is a former Channel 10 and ABC presenter based in Adelaide, South Australia. After seven years in recovery from addiction, he now helps families navigate the conversations that matter most. He is not a psychologist, counsellor or doctor — he is someone who was on the other side of this conversation, and who finally was reached.