Loving My Dad
Growing up in an alcoholic home was very interesting at times. It was fun and exciting, but it could also be very scary.
When my dad came home drunk, my mom would wake me up because sometimes he got violent and fought with her. She would say, “Can you help me put your dad to sleep?”
My job was to make sure I didn’t say anything to upset him. I would try to make him happy and convince him, “Let’s just get in bed. Let’s just go take a nap.” Once he was asleep, I would get his wallet out and take enough money for groceries, making sure some money was left.
Thinking about those nights, I still miss the smell of cigarettes because he always smelled like cigarettes.
My childhood was hard, but it was happy too. When he started drinking, my dad was fun. He loved music and dancing. We would dance and have fun, but by the end, he would be so drunk that he would get upset about little things. That would put me on alert mode, making sure I didn’t do anything that could upset him.
Growing up, I learned that you don’t tell anybody what happens at home. You never ask for help because people don’t really want to help you, or if they do, it comes with judgment.
My mom would say, “If you’re going to do something, you better do it right.” That’s part of the perfectionist in me, which I’m really working on. I would always try to be prepared. I knew that you always had to have money hidden somewhere, and you made sure no one in your family knew about it.
When I was eleven, before my parents separated, my dad got sober. He started going to AA. I remember going with him, and my mom would cook food for the meeting.
During his drinking years, he got himself a second family, and after he got sober, he left us to be with that family. So I knew people could be sober, but I still felt like I couldn’t trust them. I felt like they were still capable of abandoning you.
“So I knew people could be sober, but I still felt like I couldn’t trust them.”
After high school, I got a full-time job and started college. Every weekend I went out dancing. I never drank. I was so paranoid at the clubs that if I got thirsty, I would go to my car, get a drink of water, and come back.
When I started dating, I looked for men who did not do drugs. If they drank, it had to be minimal.
I would ask what they did for work, and I loved it if they had jobs that required random drug tests. I felt like it gave me security knowing that their employers had to test them.
I feel like those relationships took me nowhere, so when I met my sweet, really white, non-dancing husband who didn’t drink any alcohol—or so I thought—I was looking for something different. I feel like he was a bit of a risk because he was studying finance, and that job didn’t require any drug tests.
Keeping Up Appearances
Our first two years of marriage were really good. We were getting to know each other. He worked mornings, and I worked nights. We were busy trying to get through life. But our third year got pretty interesting.
His family loved getting together for Sunday dinners. My sweetheart would start saying crazy things, and after a while, he would start drooling and falling asleep at the dinner table. His family would ask what was going on.
My response was always something like, “What are you talking about? My sweet husband worked all night. He had so much work, and he’s just so tired. We need to let him sleep.”
I always prided myself on honesty, but I became a pretty good liar, keeping up appearances.
My husband had an office that the kids and I weren’t allowed in. He had very important papers, and we might mess them up. One day he was out, and curiosity got the best of me. I was hoping there were just papers in that office.
But I found hidden alcohol bottles. I couldn’t believe my husband had these things hidden. I poured everything down the drain and displayed the bottles in the kitchen, waiting for him to come home. I was ready for a fight. He needed to explain what was going on.
He was really calm. He said he had a hard time sleeping, and sometimes alcohol helped. He promised he would stop drinking, and I believed him.
Things got worse, so I kept investigating. I went through his text messages and found out he was buying drugs. He had an explanation too: the alcohol helped him sleep, and the drugs helped him concentrate on his work. He would tell me that lots of successful people did this.
To be honest, I think deep down I knew he was lying, but I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe he was trying his best to be a good person. When I asked whether we should get help, he said he could do it on his own.
Through all this, I acted like nothing was happening. My kids looked good. They were clean. My house was in order. If you came to my house, you would think: perfect family.
Finally, he got into a car accident, was arrested, and got a DUI. This was my wake-up call. I knew we couldn’t do it anymore. We came clean to his family, and he went to rehab.
Some people say they feel good leaving their alcoholic in rehab because at least they know they’re safe. I felt hopeless and defeated. He had made so many promises and never changed. I had set rules and given ultimatums, and I was angry. I felt ashamed that all the men in my life had been a mess. I wondered whether it was my fault. The common denominator was me.
He Was Sober. I Was Still Angry.
After rehab, my husband was sober and doing better. Someone in AA helped him get a job. Now I had to start trusting him, but I just couldn’t.
We got him a phone, and I downloaded a tracking app. I needed to know where he was all the time. When he came home from meetings, I would smell him. He didn’t drink coffee, so if he smelled like coffee, I knew he’d been at a meeting. One meeting was at an Italian restaurant, and he would smell like Italian food. I was like a dog sniffing him all the time.
He kept going to meetings. He looked healthier and gained weight. His family was so proud of him. They would ask, “Aren’t you so happy he’s doing so much better?”
“Yes, I am. I’m so happy.”
But inside, I was thinking, “I wish I were a widow right now and people would feel sorry for me.” What was so glamorous about being married to an alcoholic?
In his second year of sobriety, I still resented him. I hated his guts. We had lost our home and our car. I had sold most of our furniture online. Two years later, we still had nothing. Only my kids got new clothes because they kept growing no matter what.
I still wanted out of the relationship, and I didn’t know how. I had these four rules: If he relapses, I’m out. If he hits me, I’m out. If he mentally abuses me, I’m out. If he hurts my kids, even if it’s a paper cut, I’m out.
I was always on alert, watching how he treated the kids and how he behaved. When was he going to say something mean to me?
He would come home happy from meetings, telling me what he had learned, and I would play along. I would intentionally pick fights with him, hoping he would act up. It sounds sick to think I wanted him to fail, but at the time, I just didn’t see another way out. I was really, really miserable.
“I would intentionally pick fights with him, hoping he would act up.”
I complained that he went to so many meetings. He should have been spending time with the kids and me. What wisdom did those AA people have that I didn’t? I was his wife. I had all the wisdom in the world.
I Wasn’t the Problem
When he mentioned a program for families of alcoholics, I was offended. He had decided to drink and use drugs. He needed help. I didn’t. I was good.
In summer 2018, I went to two Al-Anon meetings. People were crying and putting their dirty laundry out there for everybody to hear. I thought, “You’re a mess. You all really need help. I’m not like any of you. I never cry in public.” I wasn’t going back.
But my husband kept encouraging me to try different meetings. I would go and show him I didn’t need them. I wasn’t the problem. He was.
I went to a Wednesday night meeting, and those people were saying everything I had been saying in my head that I had never been able to say out loud. I felt so at home.
Me, Myself, and I
I kept attending. I could share, and afterward nobody would judge me or tell me what I needed to do. I started hearing about the Twelve Steps, and someone showed me the workbooks. I thought, “I can do this by myself. I’m taking online classes.”
I would answer the questions after each Step. Me, myself, and I—we were an awesome team.
Then a woman shared how important it was to work the Steps with a sponsor. I was offended. It felt like a personal attack. I was getting better. Hello! I didn’t need a sponsor.
But I found someone who was so calm. I felt like she could see the world ending and just say, “I’m ready for my meeting. I’m ready to go.” I loved that about her, and I asked her to be my sponsor.
We met in a study room at the library. I was ranting about how my alcoholic husband had ruined my life and how horrible things were. At the end, she said, “Our time is up. Next week, I may not remember everything you said.”
What? Wasn’t she going to remember? That meant she wasn’t going to tell her family what I’d said and how crazy I was. Those words gave me so much freedom.
Well, she does remember things. I started to share with her my darkest thoughts. She was the first person I think I really learned to trust.
I hated Step One. Accepting that I was powerless? No. That’s why there are rules and regulations. You follow them. That’s a way of having control.
I had thought about God growing up, but I didn’t rely on Him. He worked really slowly, and I needed answers right away. I had to learn patience. My sponsor suggested listing qualities I wanted in a Higher Power. My first thought was blue eyes, early forties, blond, and no facial hair. I think I was looking for a new husband instead of a Higher Power.
We put those thoughts aside and started writing the real things. My Higher Power never abandons me. He’s patient, and He doesn’t control me. I’ve really learned to trust Him.
Step Four was brutal. It took months. I don’t think I had ever cried so much. It helped me realize my part in the dysfunction of my family. I didn’t like seeing that.
But I knew the program was working because I was getting lighter and lighter. I could be honest with others and myself. I didn’t have to act as if I had it together. I didn’t have to act happy anymore.
Before Al-Anon, I never asked for help. Now I was constantly asking for help. I also realized I didn’t need to know everything, and not knowing something didn’t mean I hadn’t worked hard enough. Instead, I had room to learn.
“Before Al-Anon, I never asked for help. Now I was constantly asking for help.”
The Steps opened a new way of life for me. They taught me how to navigate the ups and downs of life. They taught me to be kind to myself and others. I don’t necessarily like making amends, so I try to slow down my thoughts before I open my mouth. I still make mistakes, but in this program, it is progress, not perfection.
The Day I Had No Control
After a few years in Al-Anon, life was so much better. One day, I had a medical emergency.
On the way to the hospital, my thoughts were racing. I was thinking about my kids and who would stay with them. My husband suggested someone in AA.
A few years earlier, my first thought would have been, “What an awful idea. We can’t trust an alcoholic.” But that day, when he said who he was calling, I felt so much peace. I loved that alcoholic and his family. I knew my kids would be safe with him.
I had never thought I could really trust my alcoholic husband, and definitely not with my life. After everything we’d been through, I always thought that one day he would be in a hospital bed and I would be the one making the decisions.
That day, I was the one in the hospital bed. I had no control over what was happening to me. But I was at peace. I knew I could trust my husband with whatever decisions he needed to make. I knew my kids were safe, and I trusted my Higher Power.
I Still Have Crazy Moments
Nowhere in the program does it say that if I come to meetings and work the Steps, my life will be perfect and all my relationships will be good. I still have crazy moments.
One day, I was wrapping presents and couldn’t find the tape. My husband works from home now and has an office I’m allowed to enter whenever I want. The man doesn’t use paper. He does everything online. But I thought he might have tape.
I opened a few drawers. Then I started going through all his stuff, lifting things, checking under the seat, and looking behind the computer. By the time I’d ripped the room apart, I had forgotten I was looking for tape.
I talked to my sponsor about my little relapse. She said I should make amends. So I told him, “My sponsor says I need to make amends to you.”
He thought it was something serious, like I had blown a bunch of money. I told him what happened, and he started laughing. “I don’t care. You can go through my stuff.” We both laughed so hard.
Today, we both work our programs. We both have sponsors we can call, and we keep working the Steps.
I never thought I would be able to trust my husband again. Honestly, I didn’t think I could trust anyone. But Al-Anon taught me how to be honest with myself, how to ask for help, how to love, and most importantly, how to trust.
I learned that trust doesn’t mean everything will always be perfect. It means I don’t have to control everything or be afraid of what might happen.
The Al-Anon closing says:
“We aren't perfect. The welcome we give you may not show the warmth we have in our hearts for you. After a while, you'll discover that though you may not like all of us, you'll love us in a very special way, the same way we already love you.”
That is how I feel about my Al-Anon family. We are not perfect, but I have learned to love and trust people in a way I never thought was possible.
I love my Al-Anon family, and I will always be grateful for this program and for everything it has taught me.
