My grown son and I were driving home from his appointment with a counselor. Youngest (of three sons) had expressed his frustration at feeling “stuck”—that is, in the five plus years since he’d moved back home, he hadn’t really changed his drinking habits or his motivation to get a life.

I reassured him every day that any small thing he could do was harm reduction. We spent hours talking about both his challenges and our shared interests. I caught him doing good and praised him. Seeking help from a counselor was a giant first step for him to break out of the prison that kept him stuck.

Except that his anxiety only would allow him to visit a counselor if he was primed with alcohol. By the time the session was over, a familiar switch tripped and turned my beautiful and polite son into a grinder of grudges and a bitter victim.

He compared himself to his brother (who also lives with us), complaining that his bro’s problems weren’t as bad as his own. He raved about old wrongs done to him and how “nobody did anything” about it. When I asked him what he’d like me to do, he said he didn’t know. I got the feeling he’d welcome some sort of violence against his own brother.

As he went on, I went silent. I’ve learned that sometimes my sons just need to vent safely—to control those urges to start a schoolyard fight. So, I listened, letting him air out all the injustices he felt were plaguing him.

Why did I tolerate such whining? After all, he’s a grown man. I lean into these kinds of confessions because I’ve let go of the need to be right. I don’t need to lecture him or point out the flaws in his arguments. I’ve learned how to say “I love you” anyway.

This is how I’m trying to build trust.

Please don’t misunderstand—later on, when Youngest’s growing inebriation turned to shouted insults, I stood my ground (for once!) They know my boundary is no violence or the law gets involved. I’ve had to go through with my consequence more than once, so they know I’ll follow up. I may suck at other boundaries and enabling, but on this I’m steadfast.

Youngest got the message and went to bed.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve been working toward a better relationship with my grown sons. Even as we’re all grieving due to my husband’s recent death, I want to encourage my two live-in sons to try their wings as independently as possible. As with any relationship, trust is an important part of feeling safe and heard. Instead of eyerolls and smirks, sighs or lectures, I work hard everyday to find something good in their lives.

I must keep perspective: He trusted me enough to ask me to sit in on the first counseling session. He trusts me enough to yell at me about all his troubles, knowing I won’t turn on him.

And I totally rely on my faith in God to keep me from dwelling on the hurts I feel when he turns on me like he did that day. Suddenly, everything was against him and the world was out to get him. He can never catch a break. At one point, he slammed a fist on the counter and said, “I was all set to start doing xyz, and then my dad had to die.”

Today, all I can say about those outbursts, those places where I was hurt due to his unfair accusations, is he’s scared. Scared to change. Scared to even imagine a better life for himself. Terrified of even more rejection, of being unable to stop drinking.

That’s why trust-building is so important for us as we support our kids with substance use problems. They constantly doubt their own abilities and they believe they’re helpless to change anything.

The closest analogy I can think of is that when I gained a little weight after my twins’ birth, I couldn’t control my appetite. It took a whole shift in my mindset (and a bunch of hormone wrangling) to even see a way forward.

My sons must always know that I’m a safe place to vent or try out a new behavior without judgment. Whatever it takes and however long it takes, I’ll be there, trusting in their basic goodness and resting in the goodness of God’s love toward us all. Trust in the Lord, yes. But also work to build trust with your loved ones. It just might mean everything.