Growing Up With Alcoholic Parent(s)

For a long time, I’ve been wanting to blog about growing up with a raging alcoholic father and I’ve. finally gathered the courage. But please don’t feel sorry for me or pity me, that’s not what I want. I want the other children of alcoholic (or addicts or mental illness) to know, I got your back and you’re not alone and you’re not weird and you’re not crazy. This stuff affects you way into your life even if you do get help, therapy, etc.

One of the most frustrating things about growing up this way and being in mid-life is that your coping behaviors still exist on some level. Maybe there is that random person out there that has conquered them all but they are so engrained in you just to survive, that occasionally or frequently they pop up in situations where you don’t need them especially if you have created a good, positive life for yourself. These old mechanisms, these protective coping behaviors are no longer needed but they can create havoc in your life.

As a child, I knew we weren’t a normal family and my father’s alcoholism was always center stage. You were told not to feel things, say things, to hide the fact that your life was a crazy mess. So you go to school, never invite friends over and you end up creating this persona that provides an iron clad (you hope) curtain around your actual life. You lie, you fudge, you lie some more. It becomes a habit, you create your own alter ego to present to the rest of the world where you’re A-ok and your family isn’t a crazy mess. You live in a constant shroud of shame, some because you hide this from the world and mostly because you’re most likely abused. For me it was emotional, verbal and physical abuse. You never knew what you would get when you came home. Would you get back-handed for being happy and smiling? Who the hell ever knew. The key element is that you, as a child, was not important, your feelings were wrong, etc.

When I got older, I sought out therapy and self-help books. I married young, I had three daughters. I dedicated myself to giving them a much better life than I had. I went through two marriages until I found someone who really loved me. We’ve been together almost ten years but yet I struggle with being honest with him. Not about most things, just about how I feel, what I struggle with, and hiding my coping behaviors because I’m ashamed they are still there. So now I’m working on that.

I’m adverse to change. When you get to a point in your life where your life is steady and more certain, getting you to move from that comfort zone is likely to take a stick of dynamite. The older I get the more difficult change gets in general. Honestly, this is frustrating as fuck. I don’t want to be this way. I miss out on things in life when I fight change or hide at home. When my husband thought it would be a good thing for us to move out of the house I lived in for 15 years after my mom died because I couldn’t work in the yard without crying and other reasons, he hit a wall. But he was right, it was a positive move. I unintentionally fight good things. I stay with things that aren’t working just because they are familiar.

Deep down you have a fear of not being good enough, not deserving even the things you may have hard-earned. Sometimes you feel like an imposter in your own life because you weren’t allowed any self-worth growing up. Or even for a good part of your adult life. You seek out people who will treat you poorly because it feels familiar. You will create self-defeating scenarios just because of the fear or deep belief that you aren’t worthy. Logically, you know it’s stupid and a whole lot crazy. But this happens so quietly, sneaks up on you so stealthily that by the time you realize what bullshit you are doing, you’ve already created an issue. Maybe it’s a small fixable issue or it’s a huge issue that hurts someone else. And it always hurts you because you are set on punishing yourself for being alive.

My mother, rest her soul, would tell me as a kid, “Your father didn’t drink until we had kids” as if to blame me. I don’t think she realized that to my tiny ears, that it sounded like she blamed me. I think it was more a statement of fact. As if my presence was the cause of his bullshit. The cause of his alcoholism was probably a mental illness left undiagnosed and treated. Not me. But I have walked around on this earth for 48 years feeling like I wasn’t worthy, deserving and that I was the root cause of my family’s problems even when my brain tells me it isn’t.

It’s exhausting fighting all this deeply engrained crap. It hurts you and others. My cousin and I lament on how we are so tired of this shit still leaking into our lives, affecting us. We’ve come a really huge way but still, we struggle. And it pisses us off. I think the anger is the key to exorcising these old demons. Using the anger to get that next bit of really tough therapy or making up my mind to just short circuit the behavior by really being cognizant of my cues and feelings that precede or accompany the self-defeating mechanisms. I’m so done with this stuff. I’m tired of it affecting my life. It feels as if my father or whatever craziness from my youth is still controlling me and I have had enough. Enough is enough is enough.

I’ve never used my past as an excuse but I’m tired of my past hurting me. Sick of it. So sick of it. I’m done. Completely done with this stuff. I’ve come a long way but it’s time to finish off the last bits of it. To really focus on when I’m doing things to hurt myself or others even if it’s always unintentional. To stop the self-sabotage because I have a deep seated fear that I’m not deserving or not good enough. I’m just so done.

The bottom line is that I didn’t cause my father to drink, I didn’t ruin their life, I made a lot of mistakes, I did a lot of stupid stuff in my life, I allowed people into my life that definitely did not have my best interests at heart. No more. I’m done.

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