Growing up with an alcoholic parent
I was one of billions of kids who grew up with an alcoholic parent.
My mother and father were extraordinarily kind-hearted, compassionate people. But my mother, who had a traumatic childhood, was an alcoholic before I was born. I love my mother deeply. She is a wonderful person. Every day, I wish I could do something to take away the hundreds of pounds of sadness she carries every day. But the effects of her alcoholism affected my sister and me terribly.
I was born in 1982 and grew up in Dearborn, Michigan. The first 10 years or so of my life, I don’t remember my father being home very much. He worked in the evenings, mostly, and this left me with my mom as the primary parent.
My mother drank at night and into the early morning hours several times a week.
I was four or five years old in my earliest memories. I clearly remember sitting by myself on a Saturday. I watched hours of cartoons by myself and when they were over, I sat playing by myself for hours. I was hungry but my mom was still asleep. I think she didn’t wake until well into the afternoon. I remember watching the kid across the street playing. I wished that my mom would wake up so I could go outside, too. When one of the kids saw me in the window, he waved. I was so humiliated, I dropped down to the floor. I wondered if he knew how much I wanted to go outside and I wondered if he thought it was weird that my mom and I were never outside, especially on such a beautiful day. I was only 4 or 5, yet I already recognized that Mom’s behavior didn’t match that of other families.
Around that same age, I remember apple juice being my favorite drink. One day, I asked my mom why her apple juice always had foam on top of it. It took a few years after that to make the connection between my mom’s dramatic mood changes and her consuming the foamy apple juice. After a while, she drank directly from beer cans. She hid these cans and bottles all over the house.
By 8 or 9 years old, I regularly went looking through the closets and cabinets and poured out the beer and returned the empty cans and bottles to their spots. I also often organized the cabinets and closets because it made me feel there was kind of order to the house, even though my mom’s behavior made everything unpredictable, chaotic and messy.
I went to a small Catholic school about a 15-minute drive away from our house. We lived too far from the busing system limits so my mom had to drive me every morning. Sometimes – quite often, actually – she wouldn’t get out of bed. I got up myself, made my own breakfast, got ready and prayed she’d get out of bed. Sometimes, I’d have to plead and beg her to get out of bed for 20 minutes. By the time I made it to school, I’d be crying. I’d make it to the school as the last bell rang or minutes too late. I felt ashamed about my tardiness and hated the attention on me as I entered the classroom after my classmates were already seated. I’d be stressed, exhausted and nauseous before the day even began. The teachers at the school had zero clue. In fact, I was probably the last student they’d suspect to be dealing with an alcoholic parent at home. I was always super well behaved and got good grades. In the fifth grade, my teacher said, “Jody, you are so lucky to have a perfect mother.”
My mother was a good mother…when she wasn’t drinking.
I knew my mother’s behavior due to drinking wasn’t good. I knew her health was at risk and I knew the way she screamed at me and my dad and stumbled around wasn’t good. But like most kids of alcoholics, I was used to it and as a mini adult, I was really good at hiding any evidence of trouble at home. I saw my cousins often but besides that, we lived a very isolated life. When family and people at school saw us, everything seemed fine. My mother and father’s family knew she drank but I don’t think they really had any idea that it kept me up at night, that I was neglected in so many ways, that I went to school without enough sleep and that I was constantly – and I mean constantly – worried. I worried her cigarettes would burn the house down because she dropped burning cigarettes on the couch, the car, everywhere and she left stuff cooking on the stove and passed out and didn’t even wake up to the smoke detectors going off. Worse, I was perpetually confused by my mother’s behavior. One minute she was showering me with compliments, the next minute she was screaming, swearing and throwing things at me. I felt I couldn’t do anything right and that I was never good enough. Now, I knew my mother loved me but on some level, I felt I caused her drinking.
In every way, it was the family secret. To some degree, I don’t think my dad even knew in those early years, how much my mother’s drinking affected me but we had conversations about it. He called it a Jekyll and Hyde situation. If you met my mother, you’d only see an extremely sweet and kind person. This is the person she truly is. However, when she drinks, she becomes an entirely different person – completely unrecognizable. She transforms into a loud, angry, aggressive, violent, abusive and destructive person. My mother would scream at the top of her lungs about ridiculous things or things that had nothing to do with me or my dad. She’d throw things across the room. She’d hit my father. She’d take off for hours or a day. I’d fear she was dead. She’d drive drunk. I’d fear that she’d kill someone. And most memorable, she’d say the cruelest, hurtful things. As a young person, it was impossible to separate those mean words from the kind words she spoke when sober. The hurtful words were far more impactful. She doesn’t mean what she says when she’s drunk, my dad would explain. But that didn’t matter. The words echoed in my mind and scarred me.
Usually, my mom woke up the next day, all sweet acting, as if nothing happened. Sometimes it was easier to pretend the drunken behavior didn’t happen. Other times, I was so hurt and angry such as when she’d disappear for hours, I couldn’t even speak to her. Many times, she didn’t even remember what happened and definitely didn’t remember the things she said. Average days were nightmares. I also have horrible memories of ruined holidays and family weddings. I have zero good birthday memories.
But I was really, really good at covering up the messes – figuratively and literally. I tried to be a perfect kid. On some level, I think I thought my mom drank because of me and maybe if I could just be better, she wouldn’t have any reason to drink. Or, that if she really loved me, that would be enough to make her stop drinking. Through tears, I begged and pleaded that she stop drinking. She probably promised that she’d never drink again about 1,000 times throughout my childhood. I also wrote lengthy, heartfelt letters and slipped them under her bedroom door. She’d throw them away without a response.
I was sure that I could “fix” her if only I tried a little harder.
I had the same conversations about it with my dad over and over. He’d acknowledge the problems but then offer no solutions. He believed she’d just get better – that it was a rough patch. He always say, “Things have a way of working out.”
But she didn’t get better. She got worse. My late father, wonderful man he was, was totally trapped by codependency and paralyzed with fear that Mom would die if they divorced or some other action was taken. In fact, he told this to my sister and me on several occasions. He just always acted like it would get better on its own. He didn’t see clearly that my mother’s alcoholism was destroying all of our lives and that allowing life to go on the way it was actually enabling my mother’s alcoholism to go on and worsen. My dear father was a talented athlete and coach who had a positive impact on thousands of lives throughout his life. But he was made ill by alcoholism in our house. He simply tried to be the best dad and husband he knew how to be. But not a day goes by that I don’t wish he would have gone to Al-Anon meetings, gotten educated about what the hell was going on with his wife and taken action that would have pushed Mom to hit rock bottom and perhaps then, at the prospect of losing her life, finally get help. Maybe my father would be alive today if he had.
It was a lonely childhood. I always wanted brothers and sisters. My mom had a few miscarriages. Every time she lost a baby, I cried. I wanted a sibling to experience life with; I may have hoped another child would give Mom purpose and happiness in the way I could not.
I was 14 when my sister, Brooke, was born.
Though I was a bit old to care about having a sibling at that point, I felt blessed to have her in my life. Complications during delivery almost killed Mom and Brooke.
I was the first person to hold Brooke, which I always think completely foreshadowed my role in her life.
My sister’s arrival did not snap Mom out of her drinking problem, though she drank less in my sister’s toddler years than she had before the pregnancy. Still, I could never have friends over to visit at the house. I have horrible memories from high school when friends dropped by unannounced and my mother’s drunken, aggressive and abusive behavior humiliated me. Another dominant memory is when I invited my first serious boyfriend over to the house and begged my mom not to drink and she promised that she wouldn’t. Of course, she got drunk and the evening ended with me humiliated and fighting back tears and a very uncomfortable boyfriend who departed early.
In those teen years, I was completely obsessed with my mom’s drinking.
Every day, I searched the house for her hidden bottles and cans and poured them out – which of course, only completely perpetuated the problem because she just then went out to the store and bought replacement supplies. I could determine, with spot-on accuracy, how many beers she’d consumed just by looking at her face or hearing her speak one or words. I could also predict if she planned on drinking that night or not. If she had supplies, she’d act happy, even giddy, that day. I’d get instantly sick to my stomach. If she couldn’t drink for some reason, she’d be terribly irritable – snapping at me over trivial matters, even becoming as evil tongued as she did while drunk.
During those teen years, I grew closer with my father. He was super supportive and encouraging about my cross-country and track running and involvement in school extracurricular activities. I began to understand him better. In the process, I began to resent my mother for what I perceived as a conscious decision not to get better. I believed she didn’t care enough about her family to get help. I was angry at her but I went off to college with a pit in my stomach. I worried about the well-being of my sister, though my dad assured me things would be OK and insisted that I would regret not focusing on myself for once.
After years of being the perfect, rule-following kid, I went a bit wild and did the common party thing in college. I liked the way alcohol erased my insecurities. By my second year, I recognized my relationship with alcohol was mirroring that of my mom and alcohol. I started feeling like I needed to drink in order to go to social events where I didn’t know many people. I felt I wasn’t drinking socially anymore; I was totally emotionally dependent on alcohol for a sense of confidence. I felt I was standing atop a very slippery slope. After that year, I stopped drinking heavily and focused my efforts on my education and building a foundation for a career.
That’s when I discovered that things were not good for my sister. My dad was working at night a lot again. My sister was being neglected by our mother and endangered. Mom would lock herself in her room for two days, leaving Brooke to care for herself. I spent my senior year of college basically commuting back and forth from class and work to home. My sister needed me. That year, I even sometimes brought Brooke to stay for the weekend at my college apartment. When a Big 10 college apartment is safer for a seven-year-old girl than her home, the home is an extreme problem. My father’s family urged my father to take action to get me and my sister out of the situation. He recognized the worsening problems but he was so trapped by a mix of denial, codependency and laidback, everything-will-work-out personality that prevented him from believing he had the ability to make things better. He really believed that Mom was a hopeless cause and that if he left her, she’d die.
After graduation, I took a full-time job. I considered trying to get custody of my sister but I had only just graduated from college and I feared “the system” would place her elsewhere because I was so young. Also, I didn’t want to hurt my dad. So, I split my time between work and being the stable person my sister needed. After a few years, I moved out of my apartment and back home. We all lived together in chaos again for about five years. But even after I moved out again, I still spent nearly all of my free time with Brooke and at school and sport events. I was the primary parent for my sister…and my parents. Complete role swapping. I cleaned the house. I reminded my dad about bills. I helped with the science projects. Mom continued to worsen with DUIs and run ins with the police. Though I knew the police officers had good intentions and had perhaps seen far worse situations, I was always blanketed in extreme shame when they gave me those looks of pity.
At 26, I was exhausted and depressed – like I didn’t want to go on anymore yet I felt I had to. There were so many people depending on me. That’s when I finally got educated about alcoholism and addiction and its impact on kids and families. I better understood my mother and her disease. I let go of a lot of expectations. I learned about the effects of growing up as a child of an alcoholic. I discovered that many things I felt – extreme anxiety, low self-confidence, problems trusting people, lack of satisfaction with anything – were directly tied to the destruction my mom’s alcoholism caused. I began taking better care of myself. I went to Al-Anon meetings. I met other adult children of alcoholics. I began reading and writing more often, as I’d done as a child. This prompted me to write a middle-grade novel for tweens that was published in 2012.
Because I was focused on taking better care of me, this helped the whole family.
Then in 2014, Dad died from a heart attack.
My first thought was: My dad is gone. My second thought: Oh my God, now I am 100% responsible for Mom.
My sister was 17 and ending her junior year of high school.
So I did what most first-born children of alcoholics would do: I assumed my dad’s role. I moved out of my place and back into my parents’ home. I promptly forgot everything I’d learned about co-dependency and self-care.
My mother, overwhelmed with intense grief, plummeted. Every day, for months, I feared I’d come home and find her lifeless body. Once again, I became obsessed with her drinking. She binged for days on end. Again, I was determined to “fix” her. At one point, I convinced her to see a psychologist and I sure it the turning point – the road to recovery. It wasn’t.
After three months of sleepless nights, my sister said she couldn’t bear to stay there and watch Mom slowly kill herself so we moved out. I sobbed the day we moved. It felt like I was abandoning a sick child.
But then as the weeks passed, I get healthier. My sister got healthier. Our minds cleared as time passed being away from the chaos and the abuse. I detached, slowly.
My departure from the environment and my father’s death forced Mom to be more of an adult than she ever had in her life. While her alcoholism is still destructive, my sister and I are much better today.
Update – July 2022:
- Mom is doing better than I ever could have imagined!
- Brooke is a happy, healthy person and we’re very close.
- Life is great for me! I’m engaged to an extraordinary guy who makes me laugh and laughs at all my jokes.
I believe sharing these personal stories is tremendously powerful. If you are an ACoA (adult child of an alcoholic) or grew up in a dysfunctional/abusive situation, I hope you’re well on your healing journey, too. Glad you’re here.
Take good care of yourself.
Natalia
I love you so much.
VT
As a heavy drinker (1.5 bottle a day on average, down from 3 bottles five years ago) here some piece of advise from “the other side”, mostly for alcoholics.
1. It is not necessarily hopeless. First thing, the alcoholic must recognize he has a problem. I did, everyone knows me as an alcoholic, but I hope to stop for good.
2. Don’t lie to your wife or kids. I never did. I drink in the main room in my home so everyone knows when I drink, and how much. No hidden bottles either. It used to be every day, now it is every other day on average. Yet recently my wife told me to drink “secretly”, with no one seeing me drinking. I am complying most of the time, and it is not increasing my consumption. I still want to stop.
3. My wife regrets the time I was drinking every day because it was more predictable for her. Now I can go four days with no drink, but it makes her sad because she sees more the good side of me being sober and has more home. But the moment I resume, her hopes vanishes. Before she did not have any hope. Nevertheless I know 10 bottles a week is better than 20, and I can not go back to the worse times.
4. Find a few restaurants where you use to drink, and go there and don’t drink. That way, when you are ready to stop for good, you can go to these places without having a trigger. Otherwise, you can’t go anymore to any restaurant once sober for good, which could make you angry when recovered. Prepare yourself little by little for the day you will stop for good. It’s about changing bad habits, one at a time.
5. I thought some days I needed a bottle to be OK to get rid of the shakes. I discovered it was not wine but food I needed. Sure wine would cure the shakes, but so did eating food. Try and see if this trick works for you.
Good luck! Relapses are expected and not a failure as long as you see the light at the end of the tunnel. Think about seeing your grandchildren when they will be born. Stop drinking to make that happen before it is too late.
Jody Lamb
Thank you for sharing your perspective. Best wishes to you and your family. It sounds like you are determined to create a system to stop for good and are on your way to making that happen. Wishing you hope and great success.
Jahmila
Thank you for this. I’m 32 and had my son when I was 15. I grew up in a dysfunctional home where my mum was addicted to crack and alcohol. She is no longer in the crack but she is still drinking everyday (unless she hasn’t got any money). I can relate to so much of what you said, especially knowing how many drinks she’s had even over the phone. I really appreciate you sharing your testimony. Yesterday I had to block my mums calls again as she became abusive because I wouldn’t go and see her with my son. I can hardly stand to be around her when she’s drunk. But she’s blaming me for the fact she doesn’t see me or her grandchild. It feels so terrible and brings me back to being a child again.
Aoife
Thank you for publishing your journey, my own father has issues with alcoholism and a lot of what you have written is very recognisable to me. It’s nice to know I was not alone with my feelings.
We can’t fix everybody only try and look after ourselves.
Nathalie DArcangelo
Telling your story is courageous! I am so proud of you . I, too am an adult child,
although much older than you. Growing up with “alcoholism” leaves many
scars, but with the help of people like yourself , ACOA groups, Alanon and
written information about the effects of Alcoholism , many lives can be changed
and even saved. Many blessings to you and your sister. Nathalie
Anon
I read all of your story and it resonated with me. I grew up with an alcoholic mother too. It was a terribly sad upbringing and it still affects me to this day (I am 42). My mum and dad split up when i was 14 and mum found a new boyfriend who was was an alcoholic also and used to beat her up. So many ruined birthdays and chirstmas’s throughout all of my childhood. Eventually she moved to Spain and tried to murder her boyfriend in a drunken arguement. I had to fly out there and go to a Spanish prison, negotiate the Spanish law system, get a lawyer etc. She got two years in the end. Eventually she died at aged 63. What a waste. My father was pretty useless as well and is very cold emotionally. Luckily i found a wonderful woman whom I have been married to for 16 years and have a wonderful son so I am out of that life now but it has left deep scars. My sister has become a cocaine addict as well and I dont contact her anymore as she lies and steals. The only advice I can give anyone is to get away from it as soon as you can. You cannot help an alcoholic and they will drag you down with them. I speak from experience.
Robert
Jody, thank you for sharing your story, something just like this is happening now, and I’d love to get your advice if willing. My Sister-in-law, displays many of the traits here – always has a full glass of wine at night, rarely leaves the house, wakes up at noon, regularly not getting the kids to appointments. My niece and nephew are 9yo (boy) and 10yo (girl), and live a very isolated life and don’t have many friends. My niece’s 10 year birthday was only family and no friends from school. My brother works all the time, but his life outside work is his children… so he does make up for a lot of misses of my sister-in-law (but demands on him are higher than i’ve ever seen in someone)
I’ve tried to help, for about a year going over there every night to help with kids, but I also noticed her drinking got worse… like i was there helping, so she could take less responsibilities and drink more… and for that year I was thinking – just keep blinders on, Robert, keep a good relationship with her so you can keep coming over… I kept telling myself these are the crucial development years for them and you’ve got to be like water and work with the constraints we have.
My sister in law is honestly one of the most fun people to be around – she’s so funny, and off the cuff with responses, and engaging in conversation. Which makes it easier for her to mask these things to our family or at any social events she goes to. She rarely goes to a day function. It’s always night functions, and she’ll spend the whole day relaxing stress free waking up at noon, getting her hair done, getting to looking immaculate, and then when she shows up at the social event, it even makes me questions whether i’m right in my assumptions of her – she looks beautiful, healthy, she’s engaging with everyone, she’s laughing, she’s not too dunk, she’s self depreciating, focusing on the children in those little ways, etc. But after a while, you start to see the routine.
And overtime i’ve built resentment towards her, and it’s not healthy and that’s my own issue I have to work through… But i have made a decision to address the issue with my brother (although i haven’t yet and i’m getting as educated as much as I can).
I know their is most definitely an element of codependency with my brother and sister-in-law… and his worry for her, but also likely his worry for doing anything that might rock the boat and make things even more unpredictable than they are currently.
So, my question to you is… if you’d had an uncle like me, when you were growing up, who saw and understood what was happening – what would your older wiser self encourage/plead him to do? Because eventually this will be the situation my niece and nephew will be in… 30 years from now…asking me, “if you knew, Robert, why didn’t you xyz?”
Should I be hammering my brother to go to A-A events and get more information? What sort of urgency should I be acting with? they are 9 and 10 years old. Are there other people in the family I should be including in my knowledge of all this? What if my brother says it will work itself out or it’s just the way she is and I’ve found ways around it (brushes it off like your father)? Should it be my responsibility to escalate, etc? For starters, I want the best shot of getting my brother’s buy in. Also, if you have someone in your network that you think I should reach out to… please advise, I’m happy to pay someone a consultation fee, etc. I’ll continue to get more information and seek out resources, but any thoughts you might share would be greatly appreciated.
Robert
Jody, I noticed the books you recommended in one of your comments. I’m going to start with one of those. Thanks and please let me know if you do have some other specific thoughts on my previous comment.
Tammy
Omg I thought I was reading my own life story. Everything you wrote I have gone threw . I have ywo younger siblings that I took care of because are mom was always drunk..I was 14 when my dad died . My sister was 10 and my grother was 7yr old. When he passed it made it worst on all of us.so every word you care saying I have lived it.
Nicole
You’re story is my story except I was the youngest in the family so I was mostly neglected and forgotten. My mother was the alcoholic and dad the enabler just like in your family. Fighting was constant. As soon as I could get out of that house I did and right into a marriage with an addicted man. It took me 12 years to realize I had a problem as an enabler. Today I have a new husband and a different life but the scars of all those years past still are with me. I have tons of anxiety issues. I see a therapist. I am trying to find out who I am after a lifetime of being a shell of a person. Thank you for your story. It helped me realize my story could be anyones story.
Jody Lamb
Best wishes to you on your journey, Nicole. Some people never attempt to find healing; you’re well on your way!
Shahzad
Thank you for sharing your deeply personal and powerful journey of growing up with an alcoholic parent. Your story reflects resilience, strength, and the transformative power of healing. Your courage in sharing this can provide solace and encouragement to others who have faced similar challenges.
AE
Thank you for sharing your story. I relate to almost everything you wrote although the roles were reversed. The alcoholic dad and the co-dependent mother. I am 63 and still reeling in the pain of it all. I have gone through one failed marriage and my second marriage is on the verge of breaking apart. I am learning now of the impact of being an adult child of an alcoholic. It’s never too late, right? I am in search of the hope, joy and peace that can be achieved by facing these childhood nightmares. I am so thankful that the Lord led me to your website. I am thankful to have found this community. Peace to you all.
Jody Lamb
It is definitely always the right time to heal, no matter your age. Best wishes to you on your healing journey!
mark
Thank you. I feel inspired.