Growing Up Around Addiction and Choosing Sobriety

Giving myself a hug that never ends

You know that feeling when you’re the last person who’s picked to join a team in your physical education class, or when you’re looking for someone to sit with at lunch, but no one will make eye contact?

How about when you thought you finally had a chance with your so-totally-majorly-hot crush, just to find out they’ve actually been flirting with your best friend?

Or that feeling when you’ve worked so hard on a project at work and your boss shuts it down with such might you think you might go home and shove your head right through a wall?

That’s what it feels like to grow up with parents in active addiction. The feeling of being cataclysmically let down; always knowing you’re second best.

I always assumed it was my fault somehow, too. Like if I’d just been a bit easier to handle or more interesting to be around, my mom would have stayed at home with me instead of going to the bar all night. Or if I could have loved my dad more, he wouldn’t have felt like he had to do drugs to cope with life.

As I grew up, I learned about addiction and that it had nothing to do with me. But try telling that to a child.

When people ask me why I’m sober, the explanation is one that I know might be longer than what they want to hear. And, quite honestly, it is more personal than they might be ready for.

Most people expect something like, it’s better for my health or I can’t handle my alcohol. And while those things are true, it’s not the crux of why I made the decision to quit. But “I asked my mom to stay at home with me instead of spending all of her nights at the bar, and she said no, and I begged my dad to quit whatever it was he was on so that we could live a normal life together, and he just couldn’t, so I ended up coping by doing the same thing and drowning my feelings in substances” is a bit too long-winded of an answer.

From a young age, addiction touched my life. It affected me before I even started abusing substances. Mom is a people-person, loves to be surrounded by friends having a good time, and takes every opportunity to do so. Dad was charming and loving and felt his feelings deeply and could not take this fucked-up world at face value and needed to cope with drugs. Neither of them ever wanted to hurt their daughter, I know that without a shadow of a doubt.

And yet…

I was shocked when addiction hit me even though that choo-choo train had been chugging right in my direction my entire young life. It’s hard to recognize that you’re in it when you’ve been surrounded by it from exit of the womb to present. Addiction doesn’t look that bad because the bar has been set so low to begin with.

You’re blacking out four out of the seven days of the week? Not unusual, I’ve seen this before. You haven’t gone seven days without a drink since age 19? Nothing about that seems weird to me. You’re using cocaine regularly? Cool, at least it’s not meth. You get the picture.

So, after ten years of not taking myself seriously, I finally got sick of that person. That person was flaky, she was someone with very little self-confidence. She was drowning her feelings. She was not at all the person she imagined she would be.

Consequently, I began journaling. In that journal, I pleaded with myself to quit drinking. One entry would be a sort of promise to myself that I would quit drinking for a period of time; things like, okay, we’re going to go for one week without alcohol. The next entry would be a shameful recounting of how I did not, in fact, make it one week. The next one would be a rule of some sort like, okay, you can drink, but only this much. The entry after that was a mournful recalling of the night before when I definitely went over my agreed-upon limit, usually straight to blackout city.

You get the gist.

I was mad at myself. I was ashamed of myself. I was desperately trying to get to a place where I could trust myself. But time after time I let myself down. I was making promises and breaking them and choosing alcohol over a relationship with myself.

That was when I had my “aha!” moment. The physical evidence was right in front of my face and it finally clicked. I was no different than my parents.

That realization was the straw that broke the drunk camel’s back. And not because I have my dad’s hands and wavy hair or his big heart, not because I got my mom’s work ethic or her smile, but because I was doing what I could hardly forgive my parents for. I was choosing my addiction over nurturing myself.

My inner child desperately needed someone to choose her and to give her the love she deserves. She was tired of begging and pleading with those around her who were supposed to provide that love and care to do so. She wanted to be the first kid picked to be on the team. She didn’t want to have to look around desperately for someone to sit with at lunch.

After I pored through my journal, sobbing the entire way through, I made her a promise that I finally kept. I said those scary words out loud, “I’m not going to drink anymore.”

I told my husband and I told my friends. I made it a promise to everyone else, too, so there was no going back on that word. Because for some reason, showing up for the people I love is easier than showing up for myself. That has since changed, I treat myself as an equal… finally.

Now I’m three months shy of one year without alcohol, and it’s one of the greatest gifts I could have given myself. My younger self feels like she’s been wrapped up in a giant hug. She’s snuggled up with her teddy bear on her bed, watching The Jungle Book, feeling a peace that she never has before. She’s been picked first. She no longer has to wonder what being good enough feels like because someone—possibly the most important someone—has kept a promise to put her first.

The shift that happened in my life when I chose to put myself first is like nothing I’ve experienced before. Doors keep opening and opportunities keep coming that I never would have thought to approach. I’ve given myself the gift of confidence and self-trust. I’ve given myself the tools to emote properly and feel all of my feelings, even the hard ones. And maybe most importantly, I’ve forgiven my parents for not knowing how to deal with their addiction.

I often compare sobriety to magic or a superpower. Colors feel brighter and less muted. Music transports me to places I’ve never been before. Relationships are more sacred and treasured because they’re built on trust that I’m accepted for who I am and not just who I am when I’m drinking.

Every single aspect of life is made easier—not easy, just easier—by living with a clear mind. But the ultimate magic is being able to go back in time and scoop little me up into a hug that never ends.

What promise to yourself are you ready to keep? We’d love to hear in the comments.

And before you go, would you take a second to tap the heart? It helps more people find this work and supports our sober community.