Hello, I’m Sarah, and I am an alcoholic. I’m also a mother.
The phrase “I’m an alcoholic” has crossed my lips countless times in the past five years. Yet, the first time I spoke those words in a crowded Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, my eyes were filled with tears. I had just purchased a bottle of whiskey and a pack of beer, and as I sat in my truck, I noticed a building where I knew meetings took place. On impulse, I decided to see what it was all about, not understanding why I felt compelled to enter.
Was it fate? Perhaps my higher power guiding me? The moment I walked through those doors was transformative. I broke down in tears, and several women approached, guiding me to a couch. For the first time, I felt cared for and accepted without judgment.
After the meeting, I returned to my truck, fully aware that the alcohol I had bought awaited me. Despite the kindness I had experienced, I still intended to drink. I left with a list of names and numbers for support, but I wasn’t ready to reach out. I didn’t even have the courage to confide in my teenage son about my attempt to seek help.
If you’ve never battled addiction, you might find it hard to understand the complexities of this struggle. Addiction can feel like a twisted form of love, and for some, it can overshadow the love for their children. My own mother was an alcoholic, but I never knew her, as she passed away before I could form memories of her. My father drank occasionally, but I only witnessed him intoxicated once, and looking back, I realize it was likely due to his own depression, which is a battle I share.
Depression and anxiety can be relentless foes. I often turn to alcohol as a temporary remedy, believing it helps calm my racing thoughts. As someone with bipolar II disorder, I experience periods of hypomania, but there are times when full-blown mania takes over. My mind convinces me that alcohol is necessary to bring me down from these heightened states.
Alcohol is seen by many as a natural way to relieve stress, and while some might have a glass of wine to unwind, I often consume much more to quiet my internal turmoil. I frequently find myself reaching for a fifth of whiskey to maintain some sense of balance, although the reality is that I am far from stable. The happiness I project is often a façade, concealing an inner battle filled with regret for my drinking habits.
I often reflect on the reasons behind my drinking. In those moments, the alcohol seems to momentarily drown out the depression, but that relief is fleeting. I worry about the example I’m setting for my son, who is now nearly 18. I am aware that I risk teaching him that excessive drinking is acceptable.
In my twenties, I watched films that romanticized drinking as an escape, leading me to believe that it was normal to use substances to cope with pain. I have days where I can abstain from drinking, but I still grapple with my identity as an alcoholic. Admitting this is challenging, especially when I strive to be a good mother.
Why share this now? Because I know I am not alone in this fight. There are other mothers who might be unwittingly creating their own struggles through alcohol. It is crucial to recognize that we have the power to choose our paths, even if the road to recovery feels daunting.
I am a knowledgeable woman aware of the difference between right and wrong, yet I am still navigating this complex journey. If you are in a similar situation, I want you to know that you are not alone.
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Summary:
Navigating the challenges of alcoholism while trying to be a good mother can feel isolating. Acknowledging the struggle and understanding that you are not alone is the first step toward healing. With the right resources and support, it is possible to work towards a healthier future.