At the age of six, I remember my parents arguing over a missed field trip because they overslept. Their voices rose, and I wandered into the kitchen, only to witness my dad yelling at my mom, even pushing her against the glass door. This was my earliest memory of them.
Fast forward to 12 years old, and it’s another late night filled with my parents drinking, which was a common occurrence. My sister and I lie in our bunk beds, trying to sleep before school, when the shouting starts again. Guilt washes over me, and I think, “What if I could stop this?” We sneak into the kitchen and pour their alcohol down the drain, and I promise myself, “If they quit drinking now, I’ll never touch it.”
By 14, it’s my birthday, and I decide to bake my own cake. My mom allows me to do it, and I look forward to it. But that evening, my parents celebrate with a bottle of Crown Royal instead of being present with me. I end up singing “Happy Birthday” to myself while they enjoy their party in the other room.
At 16, I’m offered my first drink. The memories of my parents’ drinking flood my mind, along with my sister’s disappointed gaze. I decline easily, thinking I won’t start drinking until I’m nineteen.
At 20, my parents are getting a messy divorce, and my dad is spiraling deeper into alcoholism, making threats to my mom. I’m pregnant with my first child, but instead of focusing on that, I’m consumed with trying to protect her.
Becoming a mother at 21, I find myself embracing the stereotype of “mommy wine,” starting with just a glass once a week. But soon, that escalates to several times a week. I convince myself I’m in control; I know the warning signs.
At 26, I find myself pulled over by cops, red and blue lights flashing behind me. I spend a night in jail, shrugging it off as just another story to tell. A week later, blackout drunk, I find myself in an “accident” and confess to paramedics that I want to die. Deep down, I truly do.
When I turn 28, I’m court-ordered to attend two AA meetings a week. I attend merely to get my paper signed, dismissing the sober individuals I meet. I drink a half a fifth of rum daily, battling depression and anxiety, believing I can quit whenever I want, dismissing the concerns of those around me.
However, after nine months of meetings, something shifts. I crave the stability and happiness that sobriety brings. I realize I’ve become just like my parents. Every morning is a panic, riddled with shame over the previous night’s actions. I decide enough is enough.
On November 14, 2020, I commit to leaving alcohol behind. I dive into the world of sobriety, following countless sober individuals on social media and attending AA meetings more frequently. I explore new hobbies, focus on self-care, and seek strength in my sobriety.
Now, at 28 and nearly six months sober, I rise before dawn to care for my children. I savor my morning coffee, embracing the calm and joy that life finally offers.
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Summary:
This article recounts the journey of an individual raised by two alcoholics, who faced numerous challenges, including personal struggles with addiction. Through resilience and determination, they ultimately broke free from the cycle of alcoholism, finding peace and stability in sobriety while embracing motherhood.