The Rest of My Story…

I was raised by a father who liked to throw back a few beers and an alcoholic mother. Our family began dissolving when I was very young. I have vivid memories of “acting” like the hostess when good friends of my parents stopped by for an unannounced visit. I had noticed that my parents didn’t go anywhere, not did they invite others over. During their visit, Mom hung out in the kitchen - THE ENTIRE TIME! I later figured out it was due to the impact of alcohol on her physical appearance! The discomfort in the room was palatable. I remember trying so hard to lighten the atmosphere, with no success. I made excuses for her. Dad made excuses. They knew…

My dad started sleeping on the couch. I later recognized that this was likely so that my mother could drink herself to sleep every night.

Mom got sick and had to show me how to “take care” of the house. I learned how to do laundry, cook, grocery shop, and clean. I was probably 13 and lived in my self-assigned role as caretaker. This was different, mom had to “go away” for a while. Five days later she returned. I didn’t know why, as she was supposed to be gone for 4-6 weeks, but did know that things were tense. I later learned that she refused to participate in treatment.

I was 15 when my Dad finally left. My little sister went with him. My brother had moved out the day he turned 18. so when the judge asked me where I wanted to live, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice. I couldn’t leave my mom alone. I chose to stay and take care of her.

On my 16th birthday my parent's’ divorce was finalized. I also spent the day cleaning the airport as punishment for my minor in possession offense.

Three months later, in May of ‘82, I was running late for school because I had to clean up my mom’s vomit. I almost vomited myself due to the smell and black tar-like substance. I later learned the appearance was from internal bleeding. I screamed at her as I ran out the door.

“I hate you! You are always sick!”

Turns out those were my last words to her. I found her dead when I got home from school. I tried to shake her, but her arms were stiff.

Most people probably think that after the shock and grief subside, things slowly return to normal. From the outside, it probably appeared that way. I went on to become my high school class valedictorian while working at two jobs while in high school. I left for college as a first generation student. I didn’t stop at the bachelors degree, instead earned a Ph.D. in Psychology. I had my daughter out of wedlock, while in graduate school, and then married her father. We are coming up on our 33rd wedding anniversary. It hasn’t been all roses, but I do love him. Breaking the pattern of co-dependency has been difficult - something I had to work on with a few different family members.

Did I forget to tell you that after my adoptive mother died , and shortly after my daughter was born (1993) I met my birth mother? So very stressful, I was certain that I wasn’t good enough. i could barely breath as we pulled into her driveway for the first meeting. As it turns out, I wasn’t good enough to fix her addiction either. She died from alcoholism in 2012. Her celebration of life was on the anniversary of my adoptive mother’s death.

You see, while everything may have appeared to be normal, it wasn’t. I was broken. So very broken despite looking like I had life by the reins! I didn’t know how or why until I started some hard core therapy (coaches weren’t a thing back then). The long term damage caused from being raised by an emotionally unavailable mother contaminated every fiber of my being. However, I thought it was normal. I developed the classic symptoms of adult daughters of alcoholic mothers. I was the care-taker, the fixer, the control freak, the perfectionist. I did not love myself, and looked for love in all the wrong places. I thought I was unlovable. I had no sense of self-worth. I didn’t feel emotion, but was filled with empathy for others.

As I eventually learned to put the broken puzzle together, my behavior made sense. It was highly FUNCTIONAL when I was a child. It WAS NOT FUNCTIONAL as an adult, a wife, a mother, and a professional climbing the career ladder. You can only fake it for so long, and then things start falling apart. I had to learn how to BELIEVE that I was worthy, to BELIEVE that I was lovable, to BELIEVE that I was not an imposter. I had to learn to let go of control, take care of myself (rather than everyone else), and actually FEEL emotion. Do you know how many words exist to describe subtle differences in emotion? TONS! I never allowed myself to feel it, so I had to first learn to IDENTIFY and LABEL my emotions. Wow, like starting over as a child. The brick wall I built to protect myself slowly started to crumble.

Now I am ALMOST healed. I think I will always be ALMOST healed, as I still find random puzzle pieces here and there. I am honored to tell my story, to be completely vulnerable, as that is part of my healing process. I find it also helps others heal as well.

Consider booking a consult with me. Its easy, free, and may lead you down a path of recovery from the generational effects of alcoholism.