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!).

Michigan State University’s Spartan Stadium – Homecoming October 21, 2017

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.

Jody Lamb is an author, blogger and adult child of an alcoholic on a journey to create an awesome grownup life. Visit JodyLamb.com. Twitter and Instagram: @JodyMLamb. YouTube: /JodyLamb. Facebook.com/JodyLambAuthor.

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.

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Forgiving my alcoholic mother and my co-dependent father

Jody Lamb is an author, blogger and adult child of an alcoholic on a journey to create an awesome grownup life. Visit JodyLamb.com. Twitter and Instagram: @JodyMLamb. YouTube: /JodyLamb. Facebook.com/JodyLambAuthor.

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.

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Jody Lamb is an author, blogger and adult child of an alcoholic on a journey to create an awesome grownup life. Visit JodyLamb.com. Twitter and Instagram: @JodyMLamb. YouTube: /JodyLamb. Facebook.com/JodyLambAuthor.

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.

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Jody Lamb is an author, blogger and adult child of an alcoholic on a journey to create an awesome grownup life. Visit JodyLamb.com. Twitter and Instagram: @JodyMLamb. YouTube: /JodyLamb. Facebook.com/JodyLambAuthor.

Last week, I spent two days in Columbus, Ohio with 1,000 people from around the world. The Summit of Greatness was my first vacation in more than six years. Attending this event was outside of my comfort zone. I went by myself and as usual, part of me felt not good enough to join them. The excuses came. I can’t afford it. I shouldn’t take time off from work. I’ll probably be sitting by myself the whole time and feel like a weirdo.  I bought the non-refundable ticket on a sunny morning over the summer before I could convince myself that I shouldn’t go.

The Summit of Greatness is put on by author and podcast host Lewis Howes, creator of the School of Greatness – a series of courses that help people unlock their human potential and create the awesome grownup life they want.

It was an incredible experience. The speakers (the likes of Mel Robbins, Chris Guillebeau and Esther Perel) were awesome but I was most moved and inspired by my fellow event go-ers. As I spoke with people from all over North America and Europe, I wished I could record every story, every conversation and share it with every child and adult child of an alcoholic.

I listened as they described challenges and obstacles: trauma, abuse, loss, poverty, illness, oppression, bullying, disabilities, substance abuse and addiction and others. I also met people who’ve had seemingly idyllic upbringings and grownup lives but are called to help people, to create and do extraordinary things. They spoke of their drive and their motivation. What struck me most was how much they were believers in the power of hope – believers that the answers and direction they seek are already within themselves. But above all, what inspired me most is their sharp understanding that they are givers. In giving, we receive. They are called to help people. They learn more from the raggedy guy on the corner than the guy in the office next to them. They know that the more good you do, the more good will come to you but no matter what, they’d rather go to bed at night knowing they helped someone that day than earn more money or material goods. Those are all bonuses that sometimes tag along with the experience. They want to change the world, those crazy people. They were fully present. Fully aware. Empathetic. Sympathetic. And bold enough to act.

There was an event at a park. There was a guy sitting alone. He wasn’t alone for long. Multiple people invited him to join their groups. Others sat down and chatted for a while.

They encouraged one another in a way I have never experienced.

These are the people whose voices should be amplified. On the ride home, I thought about the power of those voices.

Most of the people in my life don’t really get into healing and personal development and growth stuff. They don’t really understand why I spend the time I do improving myself and why I share with you. They’re not interested or not motivated. They accept their lives, even if they are not content. They don’t listen to podcasts or read books. That’s for broken people, they think.

I remember telling my mother years ago that I was trying to learn more about Catholicism, the faith I’d been raised in, by going to Mass twice per week.

“That’s a waste,” she replied. “You only have to go on Sunday.”

Eight years ago, I told her I was writing a book.

“What for?” she asked with annoyance in her voice. “That’s unrealistic.”

I don’t blame her. In the world she’s known and being controlled by a substance abuse disorder, dreams are for fools.

Imagine if I’d listened to her. There’d be no Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool and I wouldn’t have met the thousands of incredible children of alcoholics and other people of dysfunctional environments who’ve touched my soul.

As the kid of an alcoholic, I was confused by Mom’s unpredictable abundance and then lack of encouragement and support. Her words were loudest, figuratively and literally, among all of the voices around me.

I wonder sometimes how life would be different if I hadn’t absorbed her words. How I would view everything differently. How clear the path would have been if in my younger years, there had been more of the words, the smiles, the voices and the hugs I enjoyed at the Summit of Greatness. I wish I could travel back in time and tell young Jody (and all the kids around me) to amplify the encouragement and to ignore the negativity that makes you doubt what you know in your heart.

I’m turning the volume up on these voices. I’m surrounding myself with these people who push and inspire me.

I hope you do the same.

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Jody Lamb is an author, blogger and adult child of an alcoholic on a journey to create an awesome grownup life. Motivated by her experience with a mother who has a substance abuse disorder,  Jody has volunteered at recovery centers’ children’s programs and served as a pro bono PR consultant for related causes. Visit JodyLamb.com. Twitter and Instagram: @JodyMLamb. YouTube: /JodyMLamb. Facebook.com/JodyLambAuthor.

Late 2000s. The basement floor was cold against my feet.

I sat at my father’s desk and scrolled through my Facebook feed.

It was 6:30 pm or so and I’d just dropped off my sister at sports or theater practice at school. Dad was at work. Mom was MIA. At that point in our lives, I was the adult of the house and the primary parental figure in my sister’s life.

Mom had left in her car about mid-day, Dad said.

I wasn’t exceptionally worried. Mom had done this before, especially recently, showing up at family members’ and old neighbors’ homes to “talk.”

When the house phone rang, I saw Grandma’s name flash across the caller ID. Grandma’s “Oh hello, darling!” was comforting, as it always was.

I ignored my cell ringing upstairs, as I didn’t want to interrupt Grandma’s update. Then on the house line, Dad beeped in. I’d call him back.

But then he immediately called again. Something was wrong. Extra wrong.

Ripped out of normalcy

Immediately, I shifted into survival mode, as I had hundreds (thousands?) of times before because of Mom’s drinking. I always had a physical response to this stress – a special, familiar kind of nausea and tightened muscles in my neck.

My heart began beating fast.

“Grandma?” I interrupted. “Dad’s trying to reach me. Can you hang on a minute?”

I clicked over as Grandma replied, “Of course.”

“Hello?”

“Gigi, you need to go get Mom right now.”

There was panic in his voice – something that rarely occurred with his laidback, everything-will-be-OK personality.

“What?” I asked. “Where is she?”

“At a park – drunk. She was passed out in her car and someone called the police. They are going to arrest her if someone doesn’t pick up her now. She’s at —— Park.”

“Oh my God, I’ll call you from the car,” I said. The chair rolled across the floor as I jumped up.

I slammed the phone down, forgetting about Grandma.

As I drove to the park, I thought about what would happen if Mom killed someone while drinking and driving. She’d killed herself, surely. The guilt would be too powerful. And how I could I ever forgive myself for not being able to fix her? It would be my fault.

I’d feel better if I threw up but there was no time. I needed to be back in town in 45 minutes to pick my sister up from the school. What if I was late? Of course, years later, I wish I’d reached out to neighbors and community members to be a support system. But I was so, so ashamed. And I was tough. And I was going to fix everything.

I imagined Mom being arrested. I wondered if it would “wake” her up. I struggled with knowing that getting arrested was probably best for my mom but I simply couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t defy my father’s approach. I didn’t have the education, knowledge or courage to NOT enable her. And so I rescued.

When I pulled into the gravel parking lot, there were two police SUVs – one beside Mom’s car, one directly behind it. The officers were standing beside Mom’s car; they watched as I pulled into a spot.

Shame. Humiliation. Fear.

Worse, I felt so not in control. So helpless. I loathe this feeling more than anything else.

I got out of my car and shut my door carefully.

“I’m Jody Lamb,” I said with as much confidence as I could. “That’s my mother.” I pointed to Mom, who was in her car, staring straight ahead at nothing with the windows rolled up. I knew she saw me arrive but she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Hi, Jody,” they said simultaneously. They were studying me and my reaction to fully understand the situation.

“My mother is an alcoholic,” I said. “She has a lot of problems.”

“Yes, we spoke with your father on the phone,” one officer said. “Another park visitor saw her sleeping and then wake up. It was clear she’d been drinking so when your mom attempted to drive away, the other person blocked her in until we arrived. The keys were not in the ignition when we arrived and she is cooperating and after speaking with your father, we decided to handle like this, if someone was available to pick her up.”

“Thank you,” I said and stared at my sandals.

Then the pity looks.

“It’s so hard on the family,” one officer said.

“Yes, it is,” I said.

They stared at me like they wanted more of the story, like they wanted to know if there was something they could do to help.

But I didn’t need help. Mom did.

“She’s a good person when she’s not drinking,” I said. “If she injured someone because of her drinking, she wouldn’t be able to live.”

I walked away toward Mom’s vehicle. She’d been watching from the rear-view mirror.

“Let’s go, Mom,” I said with sadness and exhaustion as I opened Mom’s door. I reached over her and grabbed the keys from the passenger seat.

20 minutes seemed to pass as she unfolded herself from the driver’s seat and stood. She didn’t look at me. The officers watched as I led her to my car, holding her right arm so she wouldn’t stumble. I opened the door and Mom slowly got in, silently. I waved to the officers as I held her keys out and pressed the lock-doors button. The officer nodded and waved back. I think one of them shouted, “Good luck.”

As I got into the car, I wanted to burst into a hysterical cry. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to scream, “YOU COULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE!!!” I really needed to vomit.

I ignored Dad’s calls. I felt angry with him. Why were we interfering like this? We should have let the officers do their job and arrest Mom for committing a crime. Maybe then she’d wake up and get the treatment she’d needed for more than 20 years.

I knew better and yet I made the wrong decision because it was easier to protect Mom. This memory stings, though I know I simply was incapable of doing anything other than what I did. A few years later, I made a similar decision again. 

“Assholes,” Mom whispered as we drove from the parking lot.

“Don’t talk,” I said.

And so we drove home in silence.

I dropped Mom off at home and hurried to my sister’s school, arriving exactly on time. I pulled up behind mini vans with moms and dads. And Brooke came out amid happy, smiley kids. I put on my best “Hey!” face as she got in and pretended nothing upsetting had occurred.

The next day, I was exhausted at work. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t shake guilt for “rescuing” Mom, for preventing her “fall.” I didn’t tell anyone at work what had happened. I suffered alone, as I had my whole child of an alcoholic life.

That night, I had the same conversation with Dad as I’d had a million times before. Then I said something that shocked me.

“That was traumatic,” I said. “All of this causes me extreme stress.”

Until that moment, I didn’t realize that the fallout from my mother’s drinking and substance abuse disorder was causing me TRAUMA.

All those hundreds of dangerous situations with Mom caused me harm. Following my father’s co-dependent, enabling behavior was also causing me harm.

Recognizing this is powerful. As someone who’s extraordinary hard on myself, this empowered me to cut myself some deserved slack.

I. Experienced. Trauma. As a kid, teenager and adult.

This was the beginning of my realization that my life was completely out of control. It led to my own rock bottom point that prompted me to get educated through books and to attend meetings – all actions that led me to start my ACoA healing journey.

I hope you are well.

Take good care.

Related posts

Forgiving my alcoholic mother and my co-dependent father
Recognizing and letting go of guilt 

Jody Lamb is an author, blogger and adult child of an alcoholic on a journey to create an awesome grownup life. Visit JodyLamb.com. Twitter and Instagram: @JodyMLamb. YouTube: /JodyLamb. Facebook.com/JodyLambAuthor.