I had made it a habit not to fall asleep until hearing my mother's car
turn into the driveway. I'd wait for my parents' usual argument to end
and then try to fall asleep. But that night was different. It was the beginning
of my breaking point. I was 20 years old, and I was physically sick and
emotionally tired of worrying about my mother.
It was almost 1 a.m. when I heard
two cars pull up on our street. I immediately jumped off the couch when
someone knocked on the door. A strange drunk man stood at our back door.
He told me that my mother needed help because she wasn't able drive herself
home. I frantically pushed him out of the way and ran outside. My biggest
fear was becoming a nightmarish reality.
I found my mother stumbling out of her "friend's" car. Agitated,
I told them to bring her into the house and to leave. I hated my mother's
friends.
My mother barely acknowledged me as I helped her into bed. She didn't
notice the anger in my eyes. She kept mumbling how sorry she was and that
she didn't feel well because the medication she was taking didn't mix well
with beer. Actually, I was more scared than angry because I didn't want
my father to come home and see my mother in this state. So I quickly put
her to bed, wrapped her up in warm safe blankets and pulled her car into
the driveway. As usual, I went to bed feeling sick.
That
was three years ago, and I still am recovering and healing as an
adult child of an alcoholic. Alcoholism means a person is physically addicted
to all forms of alcohol. It often is used to mask mental and emotional
problems, but the disease is not without hope. Through Alcoholics Anonymous
and/or rehabilitation, some alcoholics find the support to recover.
Pamela L. Meredith, a clinical social worker at Kent State's DeWeese
Health Center, says children of alcoholics have a tendency to look at other
family patterns and to doubt themselves because their own sense of normalcy
is so distorted.
"Most children who grow up in alcoholic families learn to live
by unspoken rules like don't talk, don't see and don't feel," Meredith
says. "That is why most children of dysfunctional families grow up
with a feeling of insecurity and self-doubt."
I can relate to that description.
My sister, Sharon, and I grew up with the shame of having a mother who
was an alcoholic. We felt alone, frightened and abandoned. I felt that
nobody else lived with this same problem and that everyone else had normal
families.
My mother has been drinking for as long as I can remember. It was natural
to see her walk in the door late at night with bloodshot eyes, a happy
face and smelling of alcohol. It also had become normal to see my mother
cry and become angry at the slightest bit of agitation.
I wasn't the only one to notice.
"I didn't like it, and it upset me, but I knew that there was nothing
I could do," Sharon says.
My sister and I found a measure of safety and security in each other.
"Although we never sat down and spoke about it," Sharon says,
"it was a mutual understanding that we had to ignore it."
Throughout high school, I never had the opportunities or self-esteem
to do things that other kids did. Instead, I would come home and try to
make our home life perfect.
Although I did not excel in school, I made sure that I did the best
I could, hoping to ease the tension. But it didn't work. And I was still
miserable inside.
I would try so hard to make everyone happy.
When my mother was sick and tired, I would do everything I could to take
care of her. I thought that maybe if I made her happy, she might not go
out and drink that night. I was wrong.
I spent my teen-age years constantly living in a state of depression.
It was then that I began to realize our lives were abnormal. Yet I felt
helpless; my mother was drinking by night and fighting with our family
by day.
I became embarrassed of my mother, and I began to lie to my friends
about our situation at home. At that time, I did not want to understand
my mother's problem. I just wanted her to stop drinking. I wanted my family
to have the normal life it deserved.
Near
the end of high school, my mother checked into rehabilitation centers
several times. These were the most heartbreaking of times for me. It is
difficult for a child to see a parent give up and admit they need help.
Despite all her problems, I really love and respect my mother. Each time
she tries to fight her disease, I fully support her.
There came a time when I felt like my own alternatives were either facing
death or getting help. While my mother dealt with her recovery, I did nothing
to help myself.
Chronic depression, anxiety and insomnia had begun to affect my relationship
with my family and friends, as well as my performance in school. I was
diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome, caused by stress. I had to get
some help.
The
biggest obstacles were the twin hurdles of denial and fear. But
getting help isn't as easy as it sounds. It's not just going to a group
session and listening to other people talk about their problems - it requires
a lot of work.
I've attended many support groups like Al-Anon, and believe me, there's
nothing harder than entering a room full of strangers and admitting you
can't survive on your own much longer.
My
mother is doing well now. She has finally gotten out of her unhappy
marriage. She sought out help and has relied upon Alcoholics Anonymous
for support. She is in the process of rediscovering herself.
Although there have been some minor setbacks, for the first time in
my life, I can see that my mother finally has found some sort of inner
peace.
I too have realized how important it is to get help, to make that first
step. I still have difficulty coping with having once lived in an alcoholic
family.
"Children in these situations have learned skills in order to survive
in alcoholic families, so it becomes harder to adapt to what is normal
and abnormal behavior," Meredith says.
At Adult Children of Alcoholics in Kent, I am learning that I am not
alone. I am learning to understand that my mother's drinking was not my
fault, and there was nothing that I could have done to have stopped it.
I am learning to take care of myself.
My mother and I have both learned that the road to recovery does indeed
exist, if you're willing to look for it. Now, it's up to me to travel it
on my own.
Sherita Bowling is a sophomore magazine major. This is the first time
she has written about her mother's illness.
