The thing that matters, now and forever

is that you remember this:

Your only job in life is to take good care of you.

Remembering this as we near the holidays…

Currently: I am setting boundaries with my mother that feel wrong but I know are right. I’m too busy with work (my own fault) and buying my first house (yay).

Anxiety loves to tango with me and I always oblige.

So this year, I’m making an effort to remember

The thing that matters, now and forever.

Take good care of you.

I hope you are well in your journey and that you take good care of you.

In summer 2005, I was a few months into my post-college full-time account coordinator role at a PR firm. I was charged with leading our intern program. I hired Toby, who was six years old than me. He had a fresh degree in hand from Michigan State University and was proudly the first in his family to attend and graduate college. He was very bright with the kind of street smarts that only comes with age and challenging life circumstances. He had big dreams and contagious belief in an amazing future for all of us youngins. He was later promoted to Account Executive and then onto other roles at larger firms. Toby and I lost touch –  save for social media updates. I knew he’d married and had a few children and that he seemed quite happy.

On Friday, October 20, he died from an opiate overdose, leaving his young family behind and a network of shocked friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances.

The news hurts. I prayed for his family, especially his children. I reflected on his interview and how much he inspired me with his determination. He’d worked fulltime doing plumbing and contracted labor work and going to school part-time for several years. I remembered our laughter together over lunch in the conference room. I remembered how he covered his mouth when he laughed, as if embarrassed of his imperfect teeth. I remembered our late nights working for our clients. I remembered his kindness. At that time in my life, my mother’s alcoholism was worsening, and I was spending all my non-working time being a reliable grownup for my sister. How is your sister, he’d ask with genuine concern.

“I can’t believe it,” wrote a colleague in a message to me after learning about his passing. “He was such a good person.”

It sucks, and it saddens and angers me.

In my life, loving several people with substance use disorders and addiction, I can tell you they are ALWAYS good people – in fact, they’ve been the best people in my life.

These days, with the exploding opioid epidemic nationwide, there is at least one story about addiction in every local and national TV news story I watch. If you would have told me this five years ago, I’d never have believed you.

As a girl, I felt I was the only person with a mom and uncles who had “drinking problems” and a homeless uncle who “got mixed up with drugs and the wrong people.” Now addiction being in the media spotlight is exposing how common this is – and how much it sucks.

When I began speaking about my experience having several loved ones with addiction, I recall people asking several questions about the character of my loved ones – as if the stories could be more bearable if they could write off those people with substance use disorders as bad people. This way, they could have reassurance that no one in their own lives would ever fall into that situation. People had very defined ideas of who is a “drunk” or “drug addict.”

Now with addiction killing people more frequently than the deadliest diseases we’ve all long understood, people are painfully discovering that substance use disorders affect people of every socioeconomic background, every race, every community. There is no addiction “type.” A punch in society’s gut, the fact is that substance use disorders are killing good people and nearly killing everyone who loves them.

I have mixed feelings about the dramatic increase in attention on addiction. On one hand, I am glad it is generating awareness and education about what addiction is. This is so long overdue. On the other hand, I know how painful this education process is – how people are recognizing that in the process of trying to “fix” a loved one, you become ill yourself. I am also concerned about misunderstanding and misinformation. I’d love to sit in Al-Anon and Nar-Anon meetings with the author of this article – Why the Codependency Myth of Drug Addiction Needs to Die – and have her listen to story after story of loved ones continually housing their spouses and adult children and giving them money that goes directly to buying substance FOR DECADES. Yes, that is enabling them.

From 1981 to 2004, my mother did not work. My father paid for her alcohol and cigarettes until his death in 2014. More than $250,000 spent on alcohol over the course of their marriage – all the while, Mom’s addiction left wreckage in all directions – it hurt my dad, sister and me to an extreme degree. Codependency is contributing to overdoses. I often wonder if Mom would be in recovery today if my dad (and the rest of us) had been educated enough to break free from codependency and help Mom get the help she needed. Instead, we kept life intact and Mom never had any reason to need help. We were so attached to an extremely unhealthy level, we blocked anything from happening that would have prompted Mom want to want to change. Fortunately, today’s families are better positioned to see clearly than we were back then.

This week, I had the honor of contributing to Workit Health’s online community with this post: 4 Things I’ve Learned From Loving Those Who’ve Struggled with Addiction.

Workit Health is a startup based here in Ann Arbor, Michigan (woo hoo!) and San Francisco. They are the first online addiction program. They also have a program to help employers and a free program for families and friends of those with substance use disorders. Very proud of their program – an engaging and interactive program that helps you cope with a loved one’s opiate (or other) addiction.

I hope you are well in your journey.

Rest in peace, Toby. Thank you for the laughter.

 Related

The pain of loving an addict

Give me predictability. Stability. A beautiful, detailed plan. And I’ll be a content (adult child of an alcoholic) woman.

Yesterday, I spent the day with sister and her boyfriend on the campus of my alma mater, Michigan State University, for a football game. I had planned to be home by a certain time to get a few things done and to make sure Rocco wasn’t alone for an excessive period. But a later-than-expected arrival time on campus and other factors meant we ended up leaving campus three hours later than I expected. I was hungry, tired, dehydrated and worried about Rocco.

When self-care slips, so does the ability to cope with stress.  On top of basic physical needs not being met, I don’t particularly enjoy being in large crowds of people (even though it was exceptionally beautiful in that stadium – look below!).

I was stressed and worried about finding a place for dinner and then driving the long way home in the dark. It was a long walk to the north side of campus for dinner. I was quiet and short as we made our way there. When my sister announced she had planned plans to “say hi” to a few friends, whom we were still waiting for by the time we finished eating dinner, I was quite annoyed. I just wanted to get back on the track of what I thought my night was going to look like. Plus, we had a long ride home and it was getting late by the standard of a 34-year-old woman (not my 20-year-old sister).

My sister detected my mood change and it bothered her.

Why can’t you relax, she asked.

Why can’t you plan better, I asked.

So, the remainder of dinner was uncomfortable and unpleasant. We argued about one another’s unreasonableness and then decided silence was best.

And our terse interaction gave me sadness today.

I wish I didn’t have this kind of annoyed reaction to changed plans. I wish I could roll with all of it, the way my sister wishes I would.

The ACoA Trauma Syndrome

But I know through education that my overreaction to surprises, changes in plans and lack of planning is directly connected to my ACoA Trauma Syndrome. If you haven’t read Dr. Tian Dayton’s The ACoA Trauma Syndrome, you should. I experienced trauma as a child, teenager and adult dealing with our mother’s alcoholism. It was always me saving the day – thrown suddenly into terrible situations. I was always picking up the pieces and cleaning up the messes. When stuff went wrong because of Mom’s drinking, I was there to “fix” it. I craved predictability and stability wherever I could get it because life with Mom was chaotic and it threw me into survival mode constantly.

So, it’s only natural that today, I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, as they say. While I have made progress on this front in my adult child of an alcoholic healing journey, I still don’t like surprises or changes in plans. I want to know what will happen and when and where, so I can be completely mentally prepared and have a solution in hand should this or that go wrong. I feel guilty about this way of thinking because it feels selfish and abnormal. I feel I should be flexible and accommodating and laidback and chill for the benefit of others who live more spontaneously like my sister. Plus, it causes me a lot of anxiety. But my brain is programmed to react to changes negatively.  I am on alert for what will go wrong, and you know, it’s all on me, always, because that’s the way it’s always been.

As Dr. Dayton explains about the ACoA Trauma Syndrome in this HuffPost article:

“Intense feeling states get wired into kids, and rather than absorb skills of emotional calm and regulation from their homes they absorb states of emotional chaos and extremes. (You might say they get skilled at over- or under-reacting.)”

I know I need to work on reacting just right to life. Perhaps I miss out on good times because they weren’t originally part of the plans. There’s a careful balance between rigidity and flexibility – but gosh, it’s hard to change this particular part of me.

Does this resonate with you? In the comments below, would love to know how you’ve learned to change the way you react to changed plans.

I hope you are well in your journey.

My relationship with my alcoholic mother

You know those moving, mom-related Hallmark commercials that tug at the heart strings? There’s always a mature mother with a beautiful smile and an adult kid my age. They are laughing and hugging. The daughter says something like, “My mother is my rock.” Show Mom how much you love and appreciate her with a card…

I have always wondered what it would be like to have this kind of mother-daughter relationship. So many people I know call their mothers their best friend. They describe fun Friday nights at the movies with Mom. Heart-to-heart conversations. Decision-making counsel.

I will never know what this feels like. Full honesty, I’m envious. It hurts that my mother and I do not have this.

Daughter of an alcoholic mother

My father and I were close; he compensated where Mom let us down. He was encouraging and supportive. But in my 20s when I had to step in and basically raise my little sister, I resented Dad and he felt it. I resented that he never went to Al-Anon or read any books to learn about how to help Mom and all of us. I resented that he let Mom’s alcoholism rule our lives. I resented that we were always struggling financially, yet Mom always had her beer and cigarettes. I resented that Mom often became violent in her drunkness and attacked Dad. I resented that they were both so ill and so incapable of getting help. I resented the pain.

The daughter of an alcoholic mother role reversal

I have never doubted that my mom loves my sister and me. Due to her difficult childhood and adolescence, she simply never developed into a grownup with the tools, confidence and mental health to be a mother.  I have early memories of Mom being so loving and supportive but I was quite young when our roles reversed. By age eight 8, I was a mini adult. I have vivid memories of cleaning our house. No one told me to do it. I just knew it had to be done because if I didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done. I woke myself up for school, ate cereal for breakfast, fed my chubby cat, got ready and then spent several minutes begging Mom to get out of bed to drive me to school (we lived outside of the school’s busing limits). I reminded my parents of all parental obligations related to school and followed up to ensure they did it (i.e. required volunteer hours at the fundraisers, donated boxes of tissue, etc.).

My relationship with my alcoholic mother is complicated. Growing up, I always hoped things would change. There is one memory that sticks out: In the seventh grade, I had a complete meltdown. I was so insecure and shy, going to school was brutal for me. I was nervous to the point of nausea and so distracted by my anxieties, I couldn’t think clearly to absorb the lessons during class. One night, I burst into tears about this. I told Mom how hard it was for me at school. I took a chance in opening up and asking for help. I worked hard to prevent anyone from knowing how I really felt so this was a big deal. I distinctly remember sitting on our blue-and-white striped couch and digging my toes into the carpet. My face in my hands, I was crying hard – the kind that hurts your stomach muscles. Mom sat across from me; she looked surprised and perhaps a little pleased that I was confiding in her. She started to say comforting things and though I pretended to ignore them, I was listening – hopeful for reassurance, a plan to me to overcome these challenges. But as I continued describing how things felt, she said she had to “go to the store for just a minute.” I remember how much it hurt that a beer run was more important than being present there in that moment if only to listen. That’s all I really needed and wanted: attention, comfort. But she left and I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.  There was grief in those tears that night. Grief that she couldn’t be the mother I needed her to be.

Alcoholic mother – daughter relationships

As the years went on and I became a grownup, Mom fell further and further into alcoholism. I tried everything to get her to go to AA meetings or go to a recovery center. Looking back, I wonder how I avoided a nervous breakdown during this period. I was working full time in a demanding job during the economic crisis. I was basically Mom to my sister. I helped my parents financially. All the while, I was dying inside. I couldn’t imagine asking Mom for motherly advice about ANYTHING. I felt I was the only adult around and that was a heavy responsibility for a young woman. I felt I was the glue holding everything together. Mom and I hardly spoke. If we did, it ended in me shouting or sternly lecturing and Mom hanging up or stomping away and slamming a door. Then there were the situations involving the police. The humiliating apologies to the neighbors.

I was a twenty-something and Mom was a post-menopausal fifty-something.  I was the mother and she was the daughter.

After Dad died, I had to move my sister out of the house. While we were grieving the sudden loss of Dad, we faced an even more painful situation: we were victim to Mom’s grief-fueled binges and abuse. When I packed up and left Mom there alone, I balled my eyes out. Imagine leaving an ill child behind. That’s exactly what it felt like I was doing. This is so difficult to explain to those who have not experienced anything like this in their lives but fellow adult children of alcoholics, particularly eldest daughters of alcoholics, know well how this goes.

I will always worry about Mom. I will always be her guardian. Our relationship will never resemble what Hallmark depicts in those touching commercials. But fortunately, I’ve mostly let go of expectations about my mother. I ignore the negativity. Most importantly, I forgive her for her substance abuse disorder and the negative impact it has had on my life.

I hope you are well in your journey.

p.s.

• This book – Perfect Daughters by Dr. Robert Ackerman – explores this the complicated topic: daughters of alcoholic mothers. Daughters of alcoholic mothers have particular characteristics and traits.  Highly recommend it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

• Today, I chatted with fellow author and adult child of an alcoholic, Jo Huey. She has an inspiring story and is working to help children and families of alcoholics: JoHuey.co.uk.

Related

Forgiving my alcoholic mother and my co-dependent father

The four statements that inspired the next steps in my adult child of an alcoholic healing journey to create an awesome grownup life:

When I reached the age that made me an adult by legal terms, I’d already been a grownup for a while. Like many kids of alcoholics, I thought and behaved like an adult very early on. But when adulthood officially arrived, I struggled to create the kind of life I deserve. This has been truly a journey with progress made over time – no overnight turnarounds on this one! But there have been a few bold statements that have illuminated a truth that has been impactful in my journey. Here are four things that made me think differently:

1.    “You’ve put the key into the ignition and the wheels are now in motion.”

The first time I went to an Al-Anon meeting, it was out of complete desperation to find a solution to “fix” my mom’s addiction problem. I was incredibly depressed. I believed that my happiness was dependent upon finally doing what I’d spent my whole life trying to do: getting Mom to stop drinking. As I sat there listening to other people’s stories, and as I bravely shared mine, I realized that the only way I’d ever have the grownup freedom I’d dreamed of, I need to “fix” myself. In fact, the hell in which I lived was more to do with my brain than the beer my mother drank every night.

The idea of fixing myself was extremely overwhelming. I didn’t even know how to begin the process. I’ll never forget what the wrinkled man across from me said I finished sharing my story and wiping mascara-blackened tears from my face.

“You put the key in the ignition and the wheels are now in motion,” he said with confidence. People around the table nodded in agreement.

That statement gifted me an unexpected realization that nothing would ever be the same again. I viewed my life and my world entirely differently. I knew the effort to go on that journey would be difficult but realizing that I was ill myself was a turning point (cue upbeat music). I do not want to imagine what would have happened if this realization occurred later (or never….).

2.      “Can’t you just settle and be satisfied?”

While many people are happily making their way through their 20s, my early 20s were miserable.  At 26, I was so depressed, I felt like I didn’t want to go on anymore. Life was one giant unpredictable ball of obligations and chaos. For the first time in my life, I lost my ability to hide my feelings because you know, us adult children of alcoholics are awesome at internalizing everything and painting a picture that everything is A-OK. It became clear to my co-workers and other people around me that I was not happy.

One day, a co-worker asked, “Are you okay?” To my surprise, the honest answer flew out of my mouth.

“I am not,” I said. I detailed how life was supposed to be – how little-kid me had envisioned it when I officially had grownup freedom.

He listened and then with all good intentions, he explained how “everyone” is disappointed in how things are but they learn to accept and be satisfied with how grownup feels.

“I can’t do that,” I said. “I can’t settle for this.”

I didn’t tell him so but inside, I felt that if nothing changed, I would die. Soon.

I realized in that moment that there are people who have the option to give up and those who don’t.

For me, there is no option but this journey.

3.      “What the f$%& is wrong with you?!”

When my father died suddenly, I relapsed in my adult kid of an alcoholic healing journey. I forgot everything I’d learned about being a healthy adult child of an alcoholic. I took my father’s place as my mother’s number 1 enabler. I moved out of my apartment and into my parents’ home within three weeks. I felt I had to be there for my sister who still had a year of high school left. I couldn’t think clearly or rationally. It was such a traumatizing time. In that stressed condition, my brain reverted to the way it was programmed to work when I was a girl. Mom went into a series of binges. I was sure she was going to kill herself intentionally or unintentionally. It was hell. I didn’t sleep or eat. Once again, I was obsessed with Mom’s drinking.

Three months into this life, a friend insisted that I go out to lunch with her. She practically had to knock me out of my chair.

I’ll never forget that lunch in the crowded Coney Island restaurant down the street from our office. As I described how I needed to convince Mom to get help and that was going to try this and that. I shared the tall list everything I had to do to stop everything spiraling out of control – Mom’s alcoholism and my parents’ financial mess. It felt good to say it all aloud.

“What the f#$* is wrong with you?!” my friend asked. She dropped her fork and stared at me with such anger that I thought she might hit me.

“What?” I asked, startled.

“Your mom is a full-grown woman!” she shouted. “Why are you pretending to be her mother? You have to take care of yourself and your sister right now.”

Tears fell fast from my face onto my chicken gyro. The guys in the booth beside us shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

It was EXACTLY what I needed to hear to realize the insanity of what was occurring. The next week, I took my sister and we moved out. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.

4.      “Being a grownup is going to be cool.”

That’s what I wrote in my diary as a fifth grader. I went on to detail about all the extraordinary things I’d do when I officially had my ticket to adulthood in hand, such as I’d start a good-cause organization helping people or animals and I’d do something new every day, “even if I have the flu.”

I re-read that line when I was 26 and in a deep depression. I cried for that little girl because I knew she’d be so disappointed with my adult life and how grownup felt. I began writing again and doing other things I’d loved as a girl. It was the beginning of my journey.

Learning how to think and live differently as I cope and heal in a lifelong journey. Great progress has made over time, mostly unnoticeable until tested. But I believe in the power of words to provide clarity and direction exactly when they’re needed.

Any truth bombs give you an a-ha moment? Would love to hear about it in a comment below.

I hope you are well in your journey.

Related posts

For the little kid on my refrigerator

So, you’re an adult child of an alcoholic. Now what? Here are the 5 things I did to kickstart my ACOA healing journey

If you’re reading this, you’ve likely made a HUGE realization: You’re an adult child of an alcoholic. You’ve acknowledged that growing up with a parent with a substance abuse disorder impacted you…and shaped your grownup life today.

When I was 26, I finally admitted my mother’s alcoholism had caused me to become very ill myself. Until then, life as the kid of an alcoholic was about taking care of everyone except myself. It was about wholeheartedly believing that it was my job to “fix” my mom – and that I should be able to do that.

I’d pushed myself and did EVERYTHING I could think to do to fix Mom and save the family from suffering from their effects of her drinking. And over those 26 years, I’d failed at my only job in life: to take good care of myself.

I’d reached a point where I didn’t even want to live anymore. There was nothing to look forward to. Life was nothing more than a list of obligations. I was exhausted. In complete desperation, I went to an Al-Anon meeting. I needed someone to give me the solution so that I could cure Mom and then we’d all live happily ever after. I knew about the term “adult child of an alcoholic,” as I’d read some books in my early 20s but I’d not recognized how much my mother’s alcoholism really affected me. It was still all about fixing her. Mom’s drinking was the root of all problems, I believed. At that meeting, I realized that my life was completely out of control and that I was an adult child of an alcoholic by clinical terms. I WAS ILL!! I was an adult woman with A LOT of healing to do to create a great grownup life.

I often hear from people with this question: I’m just getting started with this ACOA stuff. How did you know what to do?

First, let me tell you how AWESOME it is to know that people of all ages, of backgrounds, all over the world, are researching about this stuff and starting their own journeys. Cycles of addiction in families are breaking, friends. The world is changing.

Here is what I did to kickstart my ACOA healing journey:

1.    Attended Al-Anon and Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings.

I was a total sponge in those meetings. I listened like I’ve never listened before! I learned so much from other people’s stories of healing. I learned so much from other people’s obvious denial and co-dependency!

I thought about those scenarios and the actions those people took in their lives. I remember driving to work without the radio on for weeks because I was so deep in thought about the words I’d heard.  Soon, some clarity for my own life arrived; it helped me draft the next steps in my path. No one gave me advice. Instead, I created the answers myself.  I’m still forming those answers as I make my way on this journey.

2.    Got educated.

Books helped me understand the science of addiction and substance abuse. I wish I’d known all of this as a girl. It would have helped me see that my mother’s drinking had nothing to do with me. In reading, I recognized that I had textbook symptoms of the Adult Children of Alcoholics Trauma Disorder. It also introduced to me the concepts of codependency and the power of detachment. I understood that my mother’s illness had nothing to do with me and that I had ZERO ability to control her drinking or fix her. Perhaps most impactful: While I felt abnormal my whole life, I had had a totally normal response to a sad – COMMON situation.

3.    Began taking good care of me.

Self-care! Yeah, still working on the right habits for me but made the first effort back then. Most importantly, I started creative writing again, as I’d loved to do as a girl. I read my childhood diaries and journals with renewed hope and determination to create the awesome life that little-kid me dreamed of.

If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have written a novel for children with an alcoholic parent: Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool.

4.    Sat down with the experts.

In that first year of the ACoA journey, I went to two counselors with specialty in ACoA and dysfunctional families. Those conversations reinforced what I’d read in the books: I think and act entirely normally for someone with these experiences and that there is great opportunity to change the way we think and live.

Looking back, I would have benefited from more therapy in those early years if I had taken the time to find the “right” counselor. After a few months, I felt I really was not benefiting from those sessions any longer so I focused again on the books and meetings. I think I simply had not found the right therapist or counselor for me.

Years later, when my father died, I went to a counselor who was an ACoA and alcoholic in recovery himself. He just got me and my brain in a way the other counselors hadn’t. He asked questions that inspired me to look at everything in a new way. He gave me tools I use today. Recently, I’ve been considering starting those sessions up again with him.

5.    Made a commitment to the ACoA journey.

Journey. That’s the keyword here. I knew that I couldn’t start leaning and making plans and wake up the next day free from all the challenges I have (Damn you, anxiety!!). I spent 26 years in one world. I’m re-programming my brain to think and react differently from the way it was programmed as a kid, teen and young adult. That’s a b—- of an endeavor!

I am committed to

• constant learning and discovery
• getting up again when I stumble off the path
• creating my map for the path that is best for me
• being flexible and venturing on new routes as needed (life causes detours, you know?)

It’s been more than eight years since I started this journey. While I have a long way to go, it’s amazing how far I’ve come.

Eight years ago, if you told me that my mother would work fulltime and live on her own without my dad or me DOING EVERYTHING FOR HER, I wouldn’t have believed you.  If you told me that my mother and I would sit together at a family wedding for four hours and have pleasant conversation, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you told me that I wouldn’t go to my mother’s home to make sure she’s alive after hours of binge drinking, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you told me that I enjoyed moments of pure serenity, I wouldn’t have believed you.

The further I go on this journey, the MORE I believe in the power of hope and the source of determination within me. The encouraging milestones boost strength and optimism. This is a lifelong journey.

A free life is possible.

I hope you are well in journey.

Related posts

What “Adult Child of an Alcoholic” means to me