An Addictive Cycle
The lasting impacts of being raised by an alcoholic parent
Story by Anonymous
I remember my first drink, a Heineken my roommate bought me on my 21st birthday. I have always been afraid of alcohol, but that night I did not want fear to rule anymore. Yet, as I took my first sip, I wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
I am what people refer to as an “adult child of an alcoholic”, a fancy term meaning that my dad drank — a ton. I am talking bottles of Jameson Whiskey in less than a day, and even more on holidays. He drank it like it was juice. “Juice” actually became his pet name for it.
Because of my father’s addiction, I have always been hyperaware and afraid of what alcohol might do to me. How it could change me, how it could turn me into a monster, how it could destroy my entire life. Irrational? Possibly. Realistic? Also, possibly.
According to the American Addiction Center, an estimated 40% to 60% of a person’s predisposition to alcohol abuse is genetic. Further, male children of male alcoholics are nine times more likely than normal to abuse alcohol. As it turns out, I faced an uphill battle regardless of my drinking habits.
As a child I knew my dad was drinking, and where he hid his bottles. I knew what was happening, I thought I knew everything. Yet, I didn’t know the effects his drinking would have on me. Everyone always tells you how bad it is to be an addict, but no one ever tells you how bad it is to be raised by one.
Once labeled as the “silent victims” of alcoholism, children of alcoholic parents are often psychologically unable to process the chaos and instability they experience, according to the American Addiction Center. This causes their brain to develop differently from those who grew up in a structured household. Instability can cause a series of health issues, including mental disorders, trust issues, an inability to maintain close relationships, codependency, and a “pathological need for perfection and control.”
This instability often starts early. I remember my father’s alcohol-induced rages as young as seven or eight years old. His outbursts ranged, sometimes he would slam doors, other times he would scream at whoever was closest. Sometimes glasses were smashed, or sometimes he went from yelling to inconsolable sobbing in an instant. Afterward, he’d black out, wake up sober, and forget everything, facing me in the morning like nothing happened. These outbursts happened almost every night.
My father was high-functioning, he held a good job, people liked him, to the outside world we were a normal family. I rarely brought up my father’s alcoholism to anyone. When I brought it up with my “friends,” few took it seriously. I cannot tell you the number of “Everyone’s parents drinks and/or gets angry” speeches I got. Eventually, I convinced myself I was not experiencing abuse.
As I got older, my father’s drinking became harder to ignore. As a junior in high school, my dad’s “high-functioning” status was in question. He drank so much he lost his job. After a year of not really looking, he got another one, which he quit six months later. He spent the next two years unemployed, blowing through my parents’ savings. My mom had to pick up a second job.
I also got a job, as a cashier at Dicks Sporting Goods, which is where I had my first panic attack. When I first started having them, I was unaware of what was happening. People would yell at me for things like coupons not working, or prices being too high — and every time they did, I felt like I was having a heart attack. I started a mental list of things I did at work to make people angry and stopped doing them. I was not as good at my job, but I would do whatever I could to not feel like dying.
I started googling, and learned what I was experiencing was called a panic attack. My searches led me to, The Laundry List — the 14 traits of adult children of alcoholics. From there I picked up a book: “Adult Children of Alcoholics.” These were the first resources I had found that discussed what I was experiencing. Knowing this information, I still thought my adolescence had no lingering impacts.
After the conclusion of my first year of college, I moved back home for the summer. My dad had spent three months at a rehabilitation center in California, set to come back in July. My relationship with my father was basically nonexistent at that point. I was not optimistic he would change, but I was a little hopeful.
Upon returning home, he relapsed within hours and his drinking returned to its previous state. A month later, when my family was home, he attempted suicide.
Everyone always tells you how bad it is to be an addict, but no one ever tells you how bad it is to be raised by one.
By this time, my oldest brother had been regularly attending therapy and Al-Anon — a support group for friends and families of alcoholics. He always encouraged me to try it. This was a wake-up call, I finally had to admit to myself I needed to go. Therapy was, and often still is, awful. The second time there, we talked about my father’s suicide attempt and I cried uncontrollably. Therapy was miserable.
Through my therapist, I was able to identify some of my detrimental habits, like avoidance, perfectionism, and codependency — self-destructive behaviors I did not realize I was doing. He even diagnosed my post-traumatic stress disorder. Nothing was perfect, but I finally began to understand what I was up against.
Children of alcoholics often need therapeutic treatment well into their middle ages according to the American Addiction Center. Although I started therapy young, I worry about those who will never start at all. I would be ignorant not to acknowledge my loving mother and supportive brothers. Not every child of an alcoholic has these bonds to point them in healthy directions and validate their abuse.
Being raised by an alcoholic is common. Roughly 30 million people in the United States were raised by parents who abused alcohol, according to Connecticut Clearinghouse. Yet, the resources available to those with addict parents are few and not widely publicized.
I do not know where I’d be without my brothers and my mom. I know I certainly would have never gone to college or gotten help without their guidance. And for the millions without a support system, I worry we are leaving children of alcoholics, through no fault of their own, in the dark.
