The words families need when they're learning a new language.
So, recovery has a vocabulary, and it can feel like everyone got a copy of the dictionary except you. This is a starter glossary — short definitions in plain words, with the Core Values terms families ask about most. Use it when something doesn't make sense, or when you want to talk about a feeling you don't have a name for yet.
Addiction as a family disease. The idea that addiction shapes the whole family — the roles people fall into, the patterns they repeat, the trauma they carry — not only the person using.
Amends. Owning the harm you caused, taking responsibility, and changing your behavior over time. The word shares a root with "mend."
Apology. A spoken acknowledgment of harm. An apology without changed behavior is words. An amend is the change.
Attachment to outcome. Trying to control how someone else's choices turn out. Almost always feeds anxiety and resentment.
Boundary. A clear statement of what you'll allow and what you'll do if it happens. Not a punishment. A line you draw to stay yourself.
Codependency. Not knowing where you end and another person begins. Over-functioning, fixing, and absorbing — usually driven by fear, guilt, or the need to be needed.
Committee thinking. A Core Values idea: you have a committee of voices in your head — the worrier, the fixer, the cynic, the people-pleaser, others. You're the chair. Your job is to listen, then choose which one gets the floor.
Core values. The handful of things you actually care about most. When you live from them, decisions get clearer.
Crisis response plan. What you'll do, who you'll call, and how you'll stay grounded if things blow up. Better written down before you need it.
Detachment with love. Staying connected to your loved one without getting tangled up in their behavior. Letting go of control, not of love.
Emotional sobriety. Feeling what you feel, and not needing the outside world to be perfect for you to be okay. The inside-the-house version of sobriety.
Enmeshment. Where the lines between people blur. Often dressed up as care or loyalty.
Family roles. The shapes families take in addiction — the Hero, the Scapegoat, the Lost Child, the Caretaker. These start as survival strategies. They can also become traps.
Fixing. Taking on someone else's discomfort to avoid your own. Often dressed up as love.
Forgiveness. Releasing your end of the resentment. It doesn't excuse harm, doesn't require reconciliation. It says: I won't let this keep poisoning me.
Grasping. Holding tight to control, outcomes, or expectations. Usually fear in disguise.
Infinite game. The view that recovery isn't a finish line — it's something you keep showing up for. The point is to keep playing well.
Listening. Paying attention without interrupting, fixing, or defending. In recovery, listening is one of the most loving things you can do.
Living amends. A life that reflects what you said you were sorry for. Not a sentence — a pattern.
Prime. Your steady, values-driven self. The voice in your committee that keeps the long view. Your job is to make space for the prime to lead.
Recovery. The lifelong practice of getting back to your values, your meaning, and your people — usually after addiction took something from you or your family.
Relapse. A return to using or to old patterns after a stretch of recovery. Often part of someone's path. Not the end of it.
Resentment. Old hurt that keeps renting space in your head. Many recovery texts call it the number-one offender.
Ritual. A small, repeatable practice that keeps your values close. Coffee with the same friend on Tuesdays. Ten minutes of reading at night. Anchors.
Spiritual intimacy. Closeness built through honesty, presence, and shared values. Not earned by force.
Spirituality. Living close to what matters most — courage, kindness, honesty, compassion. You don't have to call it anything in particular.
Staying in your lane. Carrying what's actually yours. Letting other people carry theirs.
Values vs. comfort. The trade-off underneath most decisions. Comfort feels good now. Values feel right later.
Your story. The narrative you tell yourself about your family, your loved one, and you. It can be edited. The facts are the facts; the meaning is up to you.