The Main Thing I’ve Learned As An Adult Child of An Alcoholic
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My Mom died 9 years ago this December from alcoholism at the age of 65.
I was 36 (and my brother was 34). I was the same age that my dad was when he lost his Mom, my grandma, to cancer — when I was only 3 years old, so I don’t remember her.
I grew up in a house filled with constant arguing and daily drunkenness. My Mom and dad fought nightly when my Mom was drunk.
Growing up in that space, I learned to avoid conflict at all costs.
It’s probably why I prefer peace and quiet as much as possible and don’t really like loud noises (I have the volume turned off on my smartphone when watching any sort of media (videos/reels etc) — unless it’s something I need to listen to like a podcast or interview. Otherwise it’s silence.
When my husband is away, I never (or at least very rarely) have the TV on, preferring to read books and do silent, quiet, calming hobbies like reading or baking or running (solo, so it’s just me and the great outdoors).
I’ve been reflecting on this lately, for some reason. About being the child, the grown child, of someone who had alcoholism…
