ACOA

January.

The get-my-sh%%-together, resolutions month.

Last weekend, in a caffeine-fueled haze, I created a vision board on my bedroom door. I’d just completed another self-help, motivational bestseller. The author strongly recommended a vision board to stay focused on goals. So the vision board was made with a visual collage of all of the ways I want to contribute to the world – all the things I want to do, all the things I want to be. Epic. All epic. I felt accomplished and determined and clear on my priorities and accountability to see to it that I achieve ALL of these things. Like, stat.

Naturally, I woke up on Monday morning with my longtime soulmate at my side: Anxiety.

By 9 am, I was sitting in my office – disgusted with myself. Defeated before I even started.

I am so not good enough. I can’t do anything I want to do. I’m basic and boring and not capable of achieving anything on the vision board. I am already failing and will always fail because I am me.

And then recognizing my anxiety compounded my sense of defeat.

See, typical me. Freaked out by my own doing. My own worst enemy.

I really don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with myself and my life – no matter what.

My theme song:

Ever feel like that?

I know this is a common challenge for adult children of alcoholics, especially the eldest child.

How freaking sad!

We kids of alcoholics grow up to be adults and proceed with our lives in tireless pursuit of perfection and with it, a glorious holy grail of satisfaction.  Yet it never arrives and we never discover it, no matter how hard we try.

Our family and friends may shake their heads and list all the reasons why we’re ridiculous for our lack of satisfaction.

You nod because you know but there’s no changing how you feel about yourself.

A long-term effect of the unsteady environments caused by parental alcoholism.

I could give you 50 specific memories of mother’s wish-washy, on-and-off, utterly confusing pattern of loving reassurance (“I’m proud of you!”) and lack of reassurance (ignoring me – disconnecting for days, ignoring achievements). This situation programmed my brain this way.

So after nearly one week of staring at my vision board and swimming in internal disgust/panic/disappointment today I realized:

Desire for extreme epic-ness is paralyzing. Maybe our overachiever ACOA goals do more harm than good in our lives? Super ambition is supposed to be a very good thing but it’s only given me a bunch of half-done projects and list of unmet goals because I couldn’t make them perfect. It’s not a perhaps – it’s a fact. When I think about doing something, it must be epic or nothing at all.

This kind of thing occurs to a lesser extent with most people, I suppose. One month into the new year, I’m already hearing people’s complaints of their new-year resolution struggles. They’re always talking about their gym memberships that go to waste and the hour-long yoga classes that they never get to because they can’t fit into their schedules. Then they feel guilty for the broken plans. Mind, body and spirit takes a hit and they feel disappointed in themselves. But they seem to get over it quickly. I can’t get over it.

Maybe the only choices for us perfectionist ACOAs are:

1. Pursue an endless list of goals and just deal with the lack of satisfaction for the rest of our lives
2. Decide to just to do small, un-epic but meaningful things.

I can’t do everything epic. I hate this! Yet another thing I’ve long wanted to control but cannot.

Something is better than nothing. Start somewhere.

I’m not sure I’ll ever feel truly satisfied with myself and how I’m living this life but escaping the paralyzing grips of perfectionism sure sounds epic.

This is among the tallest hurdles in my journey.

Take good care of yourself.

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 police officers were standing in the living room. They had pity on their faces – my worst nightmare. I wiped away tears as I described my mother’s patterns of drinking binges. Fear and shame enveloped me. I’d been on the verge of vomiting for hours – just as I had hundreds of times before because of Mom’s drinking. But that day had topped them all. 16 hours earlier, Mom had taken off and left my kid sister home alone. My dad had driven all over town searching for her. We all feared the worst. That’s when Mom stumbled into the house, right past the police officers and cursed at me for alerting the police. My fear morphed into relief and then quickly, 100% shame.

I couldn’t look at the sympathetic police officers as she stood across the room, calling me terrible names. I just stared at Mom as she hurled those sharp words at me. I was so humiliated that they had front row seats to our reality…to see what we endured…that I couldn’t fix my mom. I felt responsible for my mother’s behavior, for the worry and hurt my family felt, the work she caused the police officers. The shame was due because I felt Mom was an extension of me, a reflection of our family. 11 years since that moment, I still feel ashamed when I replay that vivid memory in my mind. Unfortunately, I’ve had a few more experiences with the police because of my mother’s actions while drinking.

Interestingly, every time, I feel a little bit less shame. It’s still there – strong, but nothing like the shame I felt that terrible day in my parents’ living room.

Why? Because I’ve come to acknowledge the fact that my mother’s alcoholism has nothing to do with me. We are two entirely separate people. She is ill and does not want help.

Shame causes unnecessary weight. We’re a whole lot freer when we learn to lose it.

Cheers to the journey in this new year.

Take good care of yourself.

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.

Seven days ago, my 84-year-old grandma left this world for a better one after eight long years battling Alzheimer’s Disease. It was so painful to watch her fade away over the years. She lived the last three of them completely unaware of who she was, where she was, who her loved ones were and why she was here in the world.

She had many challenges in this life. As a child, her beloved sister fell ill to an incurable disease and passed away. Fearful of losing their two remaining daughters, Grandma’s parents were understandably overly protective. Then she brought eight children into the world and then lost her beloved husband at an extremely young age to alcoholism. My mother was only 11 years old when she watched her father die on the living room floor due to a brain aneurysm and complications related to his addiction.

My grandmother cared for ailing, elderly family members until their fading moments. She cared for all us kids, grandkids and great-grandkids – through the good times and the bad – with extraordinary love. She was among the sweetest and kindest little ladies ever, despite a heap of challenges including being the wife and mother of alcoholics.

What I found the most remarkable about Grandma was her dedication to self-improvement. This lady who had so many tough times could have easily giving up and been satisfied with her contributions to the world. After all, raising eight kids as a widow is a huge job. But my grandmother never, ever stopped looking for ways to be a better person, even as an old lady. She put in the time, energy and belief in the power of learning – even when it was entirely not convenient to do so. For years, she took buses across town and arranged rides with friends to attend Al-Anon meetings because she never learned how to drive a car. She read hundreds of books about self-improvement and spirituality. She prayed every day, sometimes for hours, for herself, for all of us and for those who suffered. She believed in her ability to impact the world and her ability to heal from painful things. She gave so much for those who needed it. She never passed a Salvation Army red kettle without giving what she could, even though didn’t have much money at all. She never gave up her responsibility to strive to be a better person and to heal from the pain caused by grief and loving people with addictions.

About 10 years ago, I told Grandma that the cycle of addiction in our family would stop with me and my cousins.

She said, “I pray you are right.”

My grandma, a devote Catholic lady, attended Mass almost every week throughout her life.

“I don’t understand why people leave Mass before the final blessing,” she said once.

“There are only a few minutes left anyway,” I said.

“No, it’s the most important part,” she said. “The priest blesses you and reminds to go forth and do good.”

For Grandma, attending Mass was how she renewed her energy and dedication to being a better person.  She believed in each person’s ability to shape their futures – no matter their age.

One memory replayed several times this week as I thought of my early days with Grandma. I was about nine years old or so and I had just read The Diary of Anne Frank. I was recreating Anne Frank’s world with my cousin. On the front porch, we built a tiny house with makeshift resources to protect us from the war. It was elaborate. Grandma watched quietly and then said, “Jody, why don’t you pretend to have a castle and be a princess and have a happy world?” I said, “That’s totally unrealistic.” She said, “No, it’s not. You can create whatever world you want.”

Those words stuck with me – some of the many things from Grandma I carry with me, among them this lesson by her example: No matter your age. You can – and should – keep trying to be a happier person and create a better life, no matter what challenges you meet in the journey.

My grandma never gave up on herself.

I won’t, either. I promise, Grandma.

I hope the same for you, my friends.

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.

One of the things I struggle most with is acknowledging that I am responsible only for myself in life.

That’s it. Only me.

In fact, that’s my only job in life: to take good care of myself and make sure I am safe and healthy.

I’ve failed to do this for most of my life.

I am not good at it because I’ve never done it.

As the child of alcoholic, I switched roles with my mother very early on. I’ve been in more of a mother role and my mother, the child. I felt I had to watch out for her, clean up her messes and be super vigilant about her life, preventing as much bad from happening to her as possible.

I can’t call up my mother and ask her for advice. I can’t even call her up for a favor. Last week, I had to take my car into the shop and needed a ride and she was the only one in the area I could call. So I took a chance and called her. Several times. Of course, she didn’t answer.

As much as I’ve let go of expectations about my mother being the kind of mother I wish she could be, these moments when you really need a mom but you don’t have one, it stings a little.

It’s really messed up. It’s really sad.

From listening to other adult children of alcoholics, I know I am far from alone in this behavior.

They say the oldest children of alcoholics most often take on this flipped parent-child role.

Just as I’m about to do something, I ask myself if doing it helps me take good care of myself.

About 99.9% of the time, doing it is not good for me.

Full disclosure, I don’t always make the right choice.

But sometimes I do.

I thought a great deal about this the last few days.

My grandmother is dying. Yesterday, I held her hands and thought about how she spent her entire life as a caregiver to addicts in my family – first to her alcoholic husband and to her eight children, some of whom are addicts, including my mother. I almost burst into tears, thinking about how much addiction in our family caused her pain and preventing her from ever really taking good care of herself.

Life is really, really short.

Your job in life is to take good care of yourself.

Take good care of yourself.

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.