When You Become the Alcoholic Child of an Alcoholic
I didn’t always know I am the child of an alcoholic. I just knew I lived in a house with a parent who displayed erratic behavior and at the ripe age of six I was explained the frightening word “alcoholic.” This is what one of my parents is. At six years old, I really had no clue how to grasp this concept and what it would mean to me. I just knew there was an explanation for the weird behavior I saw, the slurred words, the falling down steps, the reason they were “working” late every night; the reason they had to go in the hospital because they were “sick.” I knew other kids didn’t have a parent that acted this way.
When I started having sleepovers with my friends in middle school, I would pray that this parent wouldn’t stumble down into the basement where I was hosting, or do something to embarrass me like knock over a lamp, or say an undecipherable sentence. I didn’t understand much, but the unusual behavior scared me. It scared me enough that I started to lock my bedroom door on some nights to make sure they didn’t mistakenly enter after arriving home from the bar.
I’m not sure when the anger started. Maybe it was when I saw how hurt my other parent was, or maybe it was the lack of connection I had with my sick parent. I knew the way they were acting wasn’t ok and alcohol was to blame.
I had seen the pain they had caused our family and as a young girl full of disgust, I vowed never to be that way. Little did I know that vow would be in vain. I started out being against drugs and alcohol in high school. I was curious about alcohol, but marijuana made me sick. I was so against it, a teenage boyfriend of mine used to hide it from me and I would get mad at him for smoking. But little by little, I changed my tune.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised knowing that children of alcoholics are at a greater risk of becoming one themselves. Other ACA’s (Adult Children of Alcoholics) exhibit characteristics like perfectionism, fear of abandonment, an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, and the rescuer trait. But for some reason I was convinced the anger I held towards my alcoholic parent would be enough to carry me through and not allow me to turn out the same way.
But like most alcoholics, I never planned to become one.
It just happened.
I didn’t know that picking up, becoming a social butterfly, and a self-proclaimed party girl, would lead me on a downward spiral to self-loathing and my eventual sobriety. I didn’t think the things I hated so much about my parent would become the very things I did myself.
Denial kept me drinking for many years. I was convinced I was a fun, care-free party girl and nothing worse. I surrounded myself with others who drank like me and never once suspected that I might have a serious issue with alcohol. I would never entertain the word “alcoholic.”
The stigma attached to that word for me, included an absent parent, erratic behavior, and pain for my entire family. I had no clue there were people who got sober and actually loved their lives. I had no idea there were people who actually felt grateful to call themselves alcoholics. I didn’t know communities existed where pain is shared and alcoholics listen, relate, and build each other up. To me being an alcoholic was the end of the world.
It meant defeat.
It was like my parent and I were in some kind of contest, and I had lost. That was a big part of my shame and guilt around getting sober. I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted to be better. I wanted to miss that alcoholism thing. I had convinced myself I would never be like my parent and I turned out just like them.
So what happens when you become the alcoholic child of an alcoholic?
You swallow your pride and accept what is. I have become more compassionate towards my alcoholic parent who suffered for so many years. I am finally able to view them as a sick person, not a bad person. That doesn’t mean it’s easy or that our relationship is now perfect. My alcoholic parent has been alcohol-free for 14 years, but there is still a lot I don’t know about their drinking past, why they chose to stop drinking, and how they got there.
I have been faced with seeing my parent in myself and my actions. As much as I didn’t want to call myself an alcoholic, here I am, 3 years sober attending 12 step meetings, waking up every day with immense gratitude for being able to say those words. I spent my whole life not understanding my alcoholic parent, being angry and disappointed.
Sobriety has allowed me to finally release that anger.
It has finally given me the opportunity to understand what my parent had been going through during my childhood. I finally understand what they must have felt like. I’m sure they felt the same guilt, shame, remorse, and regret I felt after years of drinking.
I also think of my addiction as a gift.
A gift that makes me feel more grateful every day for the amazing life I live. I was a woman who could not experience enough of the highest highs and the lowest lows. Today I’ve found balance. I am no longer on an endless search for “more” or to avoid the dreaded term “alcoholic.” Let’s be serious, there are much worse things I could be called.
My parent often says they feel responsible for what I’ve gone through. If that’s the case, then they should feel responsible for this too: the wonderful life in sobriety I possess today. There is no doubt in my mind that I would not be the person I am today, had addiction not touched my life in the way it did. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
