Adult Children of Alcoholics

We like to  think that we are unique; that there is no one in the world exactly like us. This may be true in a literal sense, but the things that make up who we are and the reasoning behind them are generally very textbook. It is when there are multiple incidents of dysfunction that the pieces of the puzzle become asymmetrical and warped.

Recently, my brother Mike recommended a book to me: Adult Children of Alcoholics by Janet Geringer Woititz. I immediately downloaded the book and was anxious to get started. I knew, coming from Mike, that this was a book that would shed some light on the "whys" of my personality. I wanted links to my quirkiness and explanations of my insecurities. How much of who I am is ascribed by having an alcoholic father and how much is due to factors that I've touched on in previous blog posts?

My dad was my dad. To many, he was just the good-ole boy who liked to drink too much and have a good time. He was the first to perform some stupid dare that would inevitably result in a trip to the emergency room. He loved to play pranks and to be the life of the party. He enjoyed an audience so our house was often host to other good-ole boys who were eager to witness his feats of idiocy.

And then there was Dad. The man who would get drunk and spill out his honesty in the brutal manner that drunks seem to favor. He made sure that I was aware of every physical flaw that I possessed. In his mind he was being helpful; showing me how I could be better. After crushing my spirit, he always ended with, "you know I love you." So to me the three little words that should mean so much became white noise. They carried no depth or substance. They were a false statement that I still struggle to trust. My brain has a clear disconnect when it comes to receiving a true compliment and recognizing whether or not I am being the butt of someone's joke.

Oh, and let's not forget the false promises. I now understand in reading the book that this is indicative of alcoholic parents. They harbor grandiose ideas that in brief moments of sobriety they realize they cannot fulfill. I was repeatedly going to be the proud owner of a shiny, new Corvette. I never had any interest in having a Corvette, this was not my dream; but to Dad this was success. A dream that he possessed for himself.

I am not sure that I buy into the whole "alcoholism is a disease" argument. I clearly need to educate myself further, but I keep going back to selfishness. Why did Dad not love Mike and me enough to seek help for his addiction? Why were we not enough?

I am opening this particular can of worms to simply say, read this book. Read it if you are an adult child of an alcoholic, are married to an adult child of an alcoholic or merely to understand someone in your life that falls into one of these categories. Children of alcoholics most usually feel alone as they spend an excessive amount of energy trying to hide the family secret. I'm discovering how ordinary I really am. I do not say that in a diminutive tone, but with relief and gratitude that there is a community of people similar to me who need support and understanding right where we are.