ACOA

“Adult child of an alcoholic,” also known as ACOA, ACA, COA, is in my social media bios because 1) being the kid of an alcoholic had a HUGE impact on me and 2) if I am comfortable sharing this with the world, then I should remind other children of alcoholics, children of adults with addiction and substance abuse disorders of all kinds and children of all dysfunctional environments that they are so far from alone.

Back in the 1980s, a few clinical pioneers made “adult child of an alcoholic” a mainstream term. Janet Woititz’s Adult Children of Alcoholics was rejected by publishers before it was finally published without any marketing support. Within two years, it was flying off bookstore shelves by word of mouth only.

In my early years as an adult child of an alcoholic, I did not understand what this term meant. I’d heard it in stories about highly troubled people – those who’d experienced horrific abuse in childhood and who’d grown up with parents with extreme cases of alcoholism. I thought the ACoA term was seemed reserved for people who had been severely affected. Though I recognized that I am the daughter of an alcoholic, I felt the clinical ACoA label did not fit me. After all, I was fine! It was my alcoholic mother with the problems! That’s how I viewed it. She needed to be fixed. Not me!! I was so uneducated about the effects of alcoholism and dysfunctional environments on children. Sadly, I was SO in denial about my health. When I finally picked up books about the ACoA syndrome, I could finally, accurately answer the “what is an adult child of an alcoholic?” question. In those books, I read about the traits of adult children of alcoholics. It was shocking! There are many varied but common traits of adult children of alcoholics. I quickly identified ACoA traits in myself. It felt as if the books had been written with me as the case study!! I read those books with lightning speed. I learned I was a classic, living definition of an ACoA. An adult child of an alcoholic is a grownup who was impacted during childhood, adolescence, young adult years and/or as an adult living with or being around one or more adults who abuse alcohol.

The books explained the clinical reasons that many ACoAs grow up and have all sorts of personal struggles including the following that exist in my ACoA life:

• Constantly searching for a sense of normalcy and struggle to understand what normal is 
• Have unrealistic expectations for themselves and never feel satisfaction 
• Can’t easily relax or have fun
• Have anxiety disorders
• Constantly seek approval and validation

For me, recognizing that I’m an adult child of an alcoholic means that I’m acknowledging past experiences have programmed my brain to make me react and act in unhealthy ways. I’ve embraced the ACoA healing journey. Being part of a global adult child of an alcoholic community has been extremely cathartic and inspiring for me. I can change the way I live and create the awesome grownup life I dreamed of as a girl.

I hope you are well in your journey.

Take good care.

Last night, I sat beside Mom at my cousin’s wedding reception.

We talked like a healthy mom and grownup daughter do.

How’s work? How’s So-and-So? We laughed as we shared stories with my sister’s boyfriend.

It was pleasant, warm and comfortable there with sweet Mom. Real Mom. Sober Mom.

For those few hours, I could pretend that is the only version of Mom I’ve ever known. The kind of BFF detailed on Mother’s Day greeting cards.

But at around 7:30 pm, I anticipated the change and it came right on schedule. Like Cinderella’s midnight, at that hour, Mom’s “normal” turned to uncomfortable eagerness to go home that I could sense instantly. Fellow adult children of alcoholics know all about this hyper-awareness of their alcoholic parent’s behavior. Mom needed (physically, mentally) to start her nightly drinking routine. She became quiet, antsy and irritable. And instantly, I was on edge – distracted from the celebration and thinking about Mom’s behavior. I worried she’d give off a vibe to our family that she wasn’t having a good time and hurt their feelings. Also, part of me feared she’d decide to drink, though it’s been 20 years since she last drank at a family gathering or event. When I share this fact with people, they are surprised. She only drinks at home? Alone? Yes.

For most of my life, the hurt of being mentally separated from the celebration and dealing with the behavior/mood switch would make me angry and frustrated. Why does my mom have to go away like this??!! Why can’t we consistently have this version of Mom? It isn’t fair. It hurts.

Last night, I felt sadness and acceptance. Sadness that a drug has control over her body and mind. Sadness that my mom has addiction, alcoholism, a substance abuse disorder, significant unresolved pain inside that she self-medicates using alcohol.

This is the kind of intense sadness I’d imagine people feeling when their parents have any destructive disease or health problem. And then I reminded myself, like any kid powerless against what afflicts their parents:

This is Mom. She will always be shared. Half ours. Half controlled by a powerful substance.

In accepting this, I am free to appreciate and celebrate the moments in which we have Real Mom all to ourselves.

Growing up with an alcoholic mother, we had an isolated life. Mom made it that way to accommodate her drinking. I spent a lot of time alone – reading and writing. I loved writing because it enabled me to create stories and characters I could control. There was beautiful predictability and stability that didn’t exist in my real life.

Most of my classmates were into other things – video games, sports and even back then, I remember feeling weird. Different. Not normal. So, I never spoke about how much I loved writing and reading…and being alone. I was embarrassed to share that.

In high school, I stopped writing and reading – the two activities that gave me so much joy. Instead, I tried hard to be normal. Elusive normal! I spent my time doing normal teenager stuff. This continued into college and as a young adult. I was too busy balancing everything, including practically raising my little sister after Mom’s alcoholism dramatically worsened. But I felt extreme pressure to do common grownup stuff in the little bit of free time that I had.

I remember being about 25 and my friend kept inviting me to get togethers with her friends. You need to be more social, she’d say. Bless her heart for being such a great friend. And so, I would go and sit around a bonfire for hours while her friends got drunk or I’d sit in a bowling alley making conversation about the traffic or that yes, I really ought to try that new restaurant in town. But all the while, I’d think, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??!!” I’d go home and then think about what a weirdo I am. I should want to relax with fellow human beings. This is what grownups do. I’m going to end up an old hermit cat lady.

When I was 26, at my rock bottom, I started writing again. I joined local writers’ groups, went to writing workshops and joined organizations. Around this time, I also got active in learning about alcoholism. I went to Al-Anon meetings. I met so many inspiring and amazing people. I was SOCIAL! They inspired me, they encouraged me, they made me feel more normal. People in my family and at work would ask about weekend plans, I’d feel embarrassed to admit that I was attending a writer’s workshop, doing volunteer work or doing some other uncommon activity. They always seemed slightly concerned that I wasn’t doing what they considered normal R & R. I always felt they wanted me to say I planned to sit around on a boat with people or lounge by a bonfire for half the weekend. 34 years of feeling so weird!!!!

Recently, something happened to change my perspective. A TRUE ACoA journey milestone. My friend invited me to a day at her lake house. They had a house full of friends and I really need to get out and about. I abandoned my plans for that Saturday and I drove an hour to her cottage and arrived in the backyard and introduced myself to everyone and learned the rules of their lawn game and made conversation for 45 minutes and then heard this in my mind: I’d rather be writing or reading or hiking.

So, I told my friend: I must go. I’m sorry.

I have different interests and am free to spend my time how I want it.

HOW FLIPPING FREEING THIS IS!

I want to spend my time around people who inspire me, who want to do more and who are called to do great things. All the times I’ve given time to what I want to do, I’ve jumped out of my comfort zone and attended events and joined groups in which I met amazing people.

I’ve spent all these years feeling weird and anti-social when it’s simply that I’m not around the people I want to be social with and I been forcing myself to do things I don’t want to do.

I’M DONE FEELING GUILTY FOR LIVING HOW I WANT TO LIVE.

I don’t have to sit at the lake house and I don’t have to take a pottery class and I don’t have to worry about my ovaries aging – I don’t want to have my own babies anyway!

Today, I wrote all day. By myself. I didn’t feel guilty about it.

I hope you trust yourself and your intuition about how to spend your time and live your life.

Related video

Like many adult children of alcoholics and other people who’ve grown up in chaotic, dysfunctional environments, I’ve landed in grownup land in a helper role. I am the go-to person when there’s a problem.

It’s super difficult for me to recognize when doing or not doing something is TERRIBLE for me because it’s usually wonderful for other people. I don’t think of the impact on me, organically. I’ve had to train my brain to consider me in the decision making. In my ACoA healing journey, I’ve recognized that the best decisions I’ve made in my life felt wrong – really selfish and against my sense of duty to save the day for everyone.

Since I know that my only responsibility in life is to take good care of me, I think of this simple decision question to help me make decisions:

Is this good for me?

If yes, do it.

If no, don’t it.

No matter how it feels.

I hope you are well. As always, take good care.

In 2009, I needed an escape from my out-of-control life. I didn’t see a way out of the gripping sense of responsibility over my alcoholic mother, my co-dependent father and my young sister. I had to keep going. But I couldn’t smile anymore. For the first time in my 26 years, I finally realized that I couldn’t fix Mom and I couldn’t cover up my sadness or disappointment in how grownup felt. It was my rock bottom. Only then did I start my healing journey.

As a girl, I loved writing stories. So from that rock-bottom point, I enrolled in a community college creative writing course for fun. Out quickly came a story of a girl named Easter Ann with an alcoholic mother. Writing the story was cathartic. I felt more hopeful and more like the grownup me I hoped to become. I felt free-er.

My instructor Jane Ratcliffe said, “Keep going. You really must keep going.” She asked me to read the first chapter aloud to my classmates. A young man, dressed all in black and seemingly angry at the world (and having to go to class) said: “I totally connect with that character. Brings me back to what I had to go through with my dad. This story must be told. That’s a book there.” If not for their encouragement, this story may have been a forgotten homework assignment.

Before long, I had written the full Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool manuscript – the kind of story I wish someone had written and given to little-kid me. I discovered very few books for kids that included anything about parental alcoholism. Alcoholism and addiction in families affects several children in every classroom, in every city, in every country. How could there be so few books about it?

For that reason, I felt Easter’s story had to be a real, live book. I joined local writers’ groups and national associations for children’s book writers. I edited and attended workshops. The story was rejected by dozens of publishers. The NYC-based agents and editors said the topic was “too niche” and suggested that I downplay the parental alcoholism element and focus more on the bullying and friendship themes.

They didn’t believe in the message or the mission. I almost gave up but my sister encouraged me. I wanted to set a good example for her so I kept trying. Finally, in 2012, a small publishing company just got it. Scribe Publishing Company published Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool, a middle-grade novel for ages 8-13. I am forever grateful for their belief in the message and in me.

Various news outlets and bloggers kindly spread the news. I heard from people around the world who shared their personal stories and gifted me encouragement to continue writing about my experience as an ACoA. “It’s so needed,” they said.

Over the last five years, I’ve met thousands of young and adult children of alcoholics around the world. In school visits, I’ve spoken with kids about writing, my book and my experience growing up with an alcoholic mother. All those kids were inspiring but one visit left a mark on my soul. I went to a school for kids who’d experienced trauma; “emotional challenges,” the principal said. A bright, bubbly 9-year-old girl told me all about her love of writing, reading and her plans for grownup life. She was the most mature and enthusiastic 9-year-old girl I had ever met. Then she leaned in and said, “I never want to leave school, Miss Lamb. Every day, when I get off the bus, my stomach hurts. I don’t know how my mom and her boyfriend are going to be. Because before when they were not good, they hit me. But when I get older, I don’t have to worry about that because I’ll have my own house and life.” She said it with the kind of confidence, determination and hope that I know with certainty she’ll make a great life. I think of this girl every time I think I’ve had a bad day.

When there are people like her in the world, how can you ever lose faith in the power of hope? I am so grateful for the people connections that have come from this book.

After five years, Scribe Publishing Company decided to focus on their non-fiction titles and graciously returned the rights to the book to me. This week, I’m celebrating the re-release of Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool through my own publishing company. I am so excited.

After a difficult few years after my loss of my father, I’m thrilled to be actively contributing to this cause again and making strides in my ACoA journey. I’m currently writing the first of several non-fiction books that I intend to make available for free to my fellow ACoAs.

Thank you so much for your inspiration on this journey.

Take good care.