I didn’t think twice when my younger brother, Darren, lost his job.
I sent him about $3,000 to help with groceries and rent, simply to buy him some time to get back on his feet. You do that for your family, don’t you? However, I’ve discovered the hard way that, until it’s too late, enabling someone and assisting them can appear to be very similar.
I noticed Rita, Darren’s girlfriend, tagging herself in hip restaurants and posing with expensive designer handbags two weeks after I paid him the money. I made an effort to justify it by assuming the best about Darren. After that, I arrived home. I had lost my television. In the back of my closet were my emergency cash, a pair of sneakers, and my gaming system. The key was with Darren alone.
I gave him a call. Directly to voicemail. “Did you take my stuff?” I texted. Quiet. Darren had been crashing at our mom’s house, so I headed there the following morning. He was lying on the couch as if nothing had happened. “Where are my belongings?” I inquired. He didn’t recoil. I pawned it. Calm down—I’ll retrieve it once I resume my job. I was taken aback. “You stole from me after spending the money I gave you?”
“You live alone,” he said. No children. You can afford it. Mom attempted to explain that he simply needed some time. At that point, I understood that this was enabling rather than love or compassion. I reported it to the police that afternoon. As I completed the paperwork, my hand shook, but I had to take precautions.
Two days later, a furious Darren called.
“You reported me to the police? That’s chilly. “No,” I replied. “Stealing from your own brother is cold.” The TV was permanently gone, but I was able to retrieve some of my belongings from the pawn shop, replace the locks, and block his number.
A few weeks later, I got a call from a complete stranger named Marissa, who told me that Darren had also defrauded her cousin by taking money and fabricating his success. Then Mom called to say that Darren had been detained for committing internet fraud. He was at last being held responsible. Mom insisted that I go see him since he needed help. However, I informed her that he needed a mirror, not support, just yet.
Darren was given a probationary period and required rehabilitation in January. I saw him at the grocery store a few weeks later. He appeared calmer and more conscious. He gave me a repayment schedule that calls for paying $100 every two weeks. I took it because, for the first time, he was taking responsibility for his acts, not because of the money.
Darren is repaying me, working in a warehouse, going to treatment, and gradually mending our relationship eight months later.
We actually talked when I asked him over for dinner. “Do you still think I’m a screw-up?” he asked. “No, because you stopped blaming everyone else at last,” I said.
The most difficult thing I’ve ever learned is that poor behavior can occasionally be made possible by grace. The most loving thing I could do was to set limits—to report him, to cut him off. For me, not for him. I came to see that love doesn’t need you to give up your calm, and I’m not accountable for someone else’s lowest point. Love can sometimes require taking a step back and allowing someone to ultimately confront themselves.
