The Past

“You need to get over the past.”

It is a phrase that is flung my way every few months. Unfortunately, It is something It comes with the territory.   My advocacy work makes some people defensive. It makes them look at things they are uncomfortable facing. My truth can be threatening to those who do not want to look back.  Yet I don’t speak out t hurt them, I do it because I need to use my voice in order to move forward. For me it is important in my healing joruney to face the past.  Yet I wish people understood, that the past is a place that I work each day to leave behind.

I grew up in a traumatic environment. Due to my Mom’s alcohol dependency, I witnessed addiction and domestic violence numerous times during my childhood.  There are memories that still bother me. Memories that left indelible marks on who I am.

That manifests itself in many ways. Raised voices make me nervous. A sound, smell or phrase can bring me back to a scary memory, and my body reacts accordingly.

My body is shaped around protection. It is used to the worst happening suddenly. Many of these reactions date back to when I was the last line of defense, protecting me and my sister from the chaos. Many of them no longer serve me, but they protected me for years. I honor them, even as I work to build healthier patterns.


As the child of an alcoholic, my past often returns unexpectedly.

I want people to see that. I heal loudly, because for years I thought I was an aberration. I silently suffered through my triggers unsure of how to reach out. I thought something was wrong with me, when in truth I was simply reacting to a trauma.

It isn’t about “getting over” my past. It is about honoring it while working to move into the future.

Together we heal

Did I make you uncomfortable?

I believe in telling stories of addiction with compassion. Of sharing the good and the bad. In looking at everyone in a fair way without judgement.

But I also have a deep belief that survivors have a right to tell their stories. Even if it makes other people uncomfortable. We do not have to hide our pain because you cannot handle it.

Everything has a consequence.If you don’t speak up for a child that needs you, someday you may have to face being confronted by that. Survivors don’t have to silently carry their traumas to maintain the status quo within a family that turned away from them.

Survivors have no obligation to protect those who failed to protect them.

My Small World

Growing up my world was scary.

I encountered repeated traumas. I watched my mom drink to excess and turn into a monster. My parents fought nightly, the screams reverberating through the walls as I tried to sleep. I was seven when I watched Mom being arrested for a DUI. The world was scary, I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

In her work Brené Brown says

“Of all the things trauma takes away from us, the worst is our willingness, or even our ability, to be vulnerable. There’s a reclaiming that has to happen.”

 Right now, I’ m in the middle of that reclaiming.

For years, I struggled. I watched the people around me excel as I stalled.  I turned inward, thinking something was wrong with me. That I was unmotivated and not strong enough. As I began my healing journey, I began to realize it was something different. My environment growing up taught me that risk was dangerous. I had a limiting mindset, and that held me back.

I lacked the room to be vulnerable. I did not reach out and try new things because they were scary. My childhood had shaped me for survival, not growth. Life was already full of risk and fear. Play it safe was my motto.  

But that held me back. I carried that limiting mindset into adulthood.  I quit when things got hard. I did not reach for my goals. I settled for the first job that came my way to be safe. I allowed people to mistreat me because I thought something was better than nothing. I did not pursue my passions.

because the risk involved terrified me.

But lately there has been a shift.

Over the last few years, I have been working on healing. In late 2018 I hit rock bottom mentally. I realized that something did not change I was in trouble. I started the hard work of healing. Slowly I started to move into a healthier place.  As I have gotten better, I have felt my attitudes and mindsets shift.

I have started to move out of my safety mindset.  I took little risks. When those paid off and not threatened my sense of safety, I have moved onto bigger risks.  Instead of “I can’t do that” it has been “What is the harm in trying?”  I am learning that I can take risk, and the bottom will not fall out under me.  That knowledge has given me the confidence to be vulnerable. That has led to an incredible amount of growth in my life.

That vulnerability has allowed me to move forward.  I am currently debating two job offers for positions in a field I am passionate about. Yesterday I finished my application for graduate school. I am finally reaching out for more. What is amazing is that I am finding success. After so many years of holding back, it is incredible empowering to reach my dreams.

After so many years of making myself small to survive, I am spreading my wings. That limiting mindset is falling away, and I get to experience how beautiful life is.

The world is not scary anymore.

Navigating the good and the bad

“If you want, or need to tell of your experiences, it’s ok with me. I’d just hope that you don’t discount your good memories because those are the ones I cherish most. “

After a few months of limited contact, my Dad and I are talking. Its complicated for me as I work to navigate that old relationship with new boundaries. It brings up many feelings.

I was not surprised by the statement. He tends to be uncomfortable when I tell my story. He thinks that I am rehashing the past. That I am focusing too much on my pain.

I love my parents deeply despite their flaws. I tell my stories in a compassionate way, doing my best to show the complexities of families like mine. Yet In order to be authentic, I need to share the full truth of being the daughter of an alcoholic.

Moving forward into healing, I need to integrate each part of my story. That means holding space good memories, while also acknowledging the painful one.

I share all of this to give others hope. For the millions of children around the world living with an alcoholic parent. For those adults that are still coming to grips with that legacy. There are so many people that need to see what being a COA like. I feel a responsibility to tell my story. To make things easier for the next generation of children of alcoholics.

I will always cherish those good memories, but sharing those challenging experiences is important too.

And that is exactly what I told him.

Happy Birthday Mom

Today would have been my Mom’s birthday. She would have been 64 if she did not lose her battle with alcoholism.

I had something else written out, but as I prepared to post, it did not feel right. It felt too seriously, so instead I decided to share some of my favorite stories of her.

I brought her to see Bad Grandpa and she thought Johnny Knoxville was the funniest thing ever. I thought she was going to be offended but she died laughed.

She broken her femur before I was born. The hospital tried to take her pants with hospital shears. She told then they were not going to cut her goddamn Levi’s off and proceeded to get them off.

She loved our dog Birdie. She treated her like her first grandchild. There were always treats and new toys for Birdie when we visited. Bird was allowed to drool on everyone, jump on furniture and reign general chaos. One time me and my now husband caught Mom feeding Birdie half of a steak. We let them have their moment.

Most importantly she was the first person to believe in my writing. She believed in me before I did. She told me I had a gift with words, and encouraged me to keep writing. More than anything, that has stayed with me.

My Mom had a strong, stubborn, loving personality. Much of my strength and tenacity comes from her. I am proud to be her daughter and carry those traits into my life. She was an alcoholic, but first and foremost she was a person. A person that I deeply love.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Having to walk away.

This was taken at Father Daughter dance at my wedding. This is the moment my Dad chose to apologize that his girlfriend was not there.

“ You know __ is sorry that she isn’t here right?”

As the child of an Alcoholic I am expert at hiding in plain sight. Covering my emotions when needed. But on that day my mask slipped. The disbelief showed on my face. We were surrounded by cameras, so I quickly forced a smile. I didn’t want anyone to know something was wrong.

But the photographer caught it.

This picture holds so many emotions. I feel anger, and sadness and disappointment. I look back and I feel let down. He took a moment from me that I will never get back.

Outsiders who say “ But they are still your family” have no understanding of how how hurtful family can be. They don’t understand the pain that brings us to the point of no contact. It is not easy, but sometimes we are left with no choice.

People always ask where my healing journey began. It was in this moment. When my concepts of my family was shattered and I was forced to see the truth. When I realized that the dysfunction was much bigger than my Mothers alcoholism. When things got incredibly complicated, but also painfully clear.

The truth is sometimes the best thing you can do is leave your family behind. You can love them and still walk away.

It is complicated sometimes.

A letter to my younger self

This kid has been on my mind a lot lately. What would I say
to her if given the chance?

I am sorry that the adults around you failed to protect you. You deserve so much better.

Things are going to get tough, but I promise it will not last forever.

You will never lose your compassion, despite what you went through, and I am so proud of you for that.

There are people out there who will love you unconditionally. I cannot wait till you meet them. Family is not always blood.

Don’t let people push you around. Use that fearless stubbornness and hold your ground.

Do not make yourself small so others can be comfortable.

You are not too emotional. Your deep empathy is an incredible gift. You will touch so many lives.

You are not a burden just because you exist. Your parents made the conscious choice to bring you into this world. You do not owe them.

You are not alone. Many children have a parent
struggling with alcoholism. You will find your people.

If you have to beg for their love, they are not worth it. Don’t overextended yourself for people who don’t deserve it.

You have a way with words. Follow that passion. Do not let anyone talk you out of your dreams.

Finally I love you so much. I know you struggle with isolation, fear and your worth. You are beautiful, both inside and out. You are such an incredible human, who is going to do great things.

Keep going kiddo, it gets better from here.

Complicated Grief

After My Mom passed away, my emotions were complicated.

We lost her on a rainy day at the end of June. I still remember the rain on my face, as I ran down the driveway. Running by the ambulance in the driveway. The group of people gathered there speaking in low voices. Walking into that living room, and the jolting moment when my life was split into a before and after.

Losing my Mother left me with a deep sadness.  The grief that follows the death of a parent is difficult to explain. It is permanently pulls from your own childhood. In the aftermath, you are faced to face your own mortality in an intimate way. As a young child, you believe that your parent is invincible. When that is proved wrong, it changes you.

 Yet there were other feelings too. In the days following her death, I developed a deep sense of closure. A heavy weight that I had been carrying my entire life was lifted. It felt good but was at odds with what a daughter is supposed to feel after her Mother’s death. I kept those complex thoughts and feelings hidden. I did not want to be judged. It was easier for me to sit and nod at the condolences.  Yet as I listened to mourner’s kind words, I became uncomfortable. Our life as a family was being idealized. There was more to the story, and it felt like that uncomfortable truth was being ignored.

Healing and time have given me a deeper understanding of my mindset.  Those complicated feelings were valid given my childhood environment. Living with someone in active addiction is a nightmare.

I was 24 years old, when my Mom passed away. She struggled with Alcohol the entire time that I knew her. Our relationship was unpredictable, confusing and painful. There were days I could feel her love deeply. There were also nights where I feel asleep crying, hating her.

When she was sober it was a mixed bag. Some days were good.  Where there was warm food and a smile waiting for me when I got home. Where I felt loved and cared for. It would never las though.  The longer she went without drinking, the more rigid things became. She would snap at us for being late to dinner or laughing too loud. She had lost control of her life due to addiction. She compensated for that by exerting an iron will on us. It made life suffocating and unbearable.

 Yet that was still better than the alternative. When Mom drank, she was a monster. She would blame us for things, invade our privacy, and scream for hours on end. In high school I would hang out at school, avoiding going home. When I got a cell phone, she called me constantly. I did not pick up, she left screaming voicemails. Our entire life as a family revolved around the uncertainty of her addiction.
For years we knew that her death was inevitable. She drank close to 30 beers and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in a day. She was running herself into the ground. It was hard, but we knew that it was only a matter of time. You cannot cheat death indefinitely. It catches up with you.

When it happened, there was part of me that was ready.  I had been thinking about it deeply for years. Mentally preparing myself so that when I was faced with it, it did not hurt as much. My reaction to her death surprised me though. I had expected the pain, but not the relief.

Yet looking back, I understand why I felt that relief. Life close to an alcoholic is hard. Her death closed out a difficult part of my life. I no longer had to worry about what I would walk in on at my parents’ house. The fights were over. I would never have to call 911 when my parents got violent.  I did not have to prepare for her cruel words. Or worry that she would get behind the wheel of a car and kill someone. That vicious dynamic was finally at an end. It makes sense that I felt relief.

I understand it, but it is still hard to share that.  I worry that people will judge me for it because it is hard to understand. We are not supposed to feel a sense of relief that our parents are no longer here. I usually keep it secret because it is easier. I still feel a certain sense of guilt for it. despite our differences, and her addiction, I loved My Mom. People do not understand the complicated nature of coming from that legacy of addiction.
But I have come to understand that my feelings are valid. They make sense. They are part of me.
I miss her deeply. There are moments when I feel her loss deep within my bones. When I silently cry in my car, wishing I could hear her voice again. Yet I also feel a sense of relief. That I no longer have live within that dysfunction. That that pain and dysfunction is done. That she is no longer in pain.  I am thankful that now I get to look towards the future.

There is peace and healing now. I miss her deeply. But there is a sense of closure and relief.

I have realized there is room in my life for both.

Impacted By Alcohol

 In December, I was involved in the Tropicana campaign. They launched advertisement that joked about parents sneaking away from their kids to drink. It was harmful to those recovering from Alcoholism. it also hurt for those who watched loved ones suffer with Alcohol.  Due to pressure Tropicana took it down, but it got me thinking.

Our relationship with Alcohol is complicated. Our lives are saturated with it. It is a part of most social events. Yet when someone develops alcohol dependency, no one wants to talk about it anymore. There is so much judgment, for both the Alcoholic and their families. The blame tends to fall squarely on the shoulders of those who fall into Alcoholism. That mindset is not fair or accurate. Alcoholism is a combination of choices, genetics and our environmental conditions. It is much more complicated than society makes it.

 After Tropicana pulled the ad, many people were angry.  They said we were too sensitive or couldn’t take a joke.  Unfortunately, there was a lot of nasty comments, but those two bothered me the most. It felt like people were discounting our experiences as survivors. Our pain made them uncomfortable, so it was easier to ignore us.

Trying to talk with people in the comment got me nowhere. The response needed to be bigger. It needed to rise about that division. The struggle was, what should that look like?

What drove me to action was what I saw. I kept stumbling across ads making jokes about Alcohol. Making light of hangovers or talking about Mommy wine culture. I have personally seen where that can go, and to joke about it is dangerous. I could not say quiet anymore. I realized that in order to make change, they needed to see us.

I came up with the campaign on a Tuesday. I had a piece of notebook paper and a pen.  I was disappointed because I did not have a marker.  I worried it wouldn’t look professional, but I felt a drive to move forward. I made my sign, wrote the post and put it up. I hope for the best but had low expectations.

 The response exceeded my wildest dreams. It was incredible watching the chain reaction of people telling their stories. So many people stepped forward, and into their truth. They revealed the secrets that they had been hiding for year. To watch people, step out of that darkness and isolation, was incredible.

I watched people connect with one another. Share stories and support one another.  Alcohol is stigmatized, creating an environment where people stay silent. This campaigned allowed people to break free of that and create meaningful connections. It was amazing to watch people who had been touched by alcohol come together and speak out. The campaign continues. Each day more stories are added, and the community grows. It amazes me that my post helped create that.

It taught me important lessons too. To listen to my inner voice and believe in myself.  I am strong, well-spoken and capable of creating meaningful change. I also learned that something does not need to be perfect to create meaningful change.

There is so much more work to do. Yet I believe that beginning is the hardest part. When we create community, we start to break that stigma. That is the first step in changing things.

 Together we heal.

New Year’s Reflections

  Yesterday was New Year’s Day. We left the challenging year of 2020 behind.  Over the last few days, I have been taking some time to reflect. For me, the past year was a mixed bag. I am still working to come to terms with all that it meant.

One thing that is bothering me is the typical stuff that you see at New Years. The predictable, typical New Year, New Me! posts. Which honestly have me disappointed. It makes me sad. So much has changed, yet we are still falling into this end of the year pitfalls.

I wish that we would slow down. Takes some time to pause and come to terms with how the year has shaped us. I think it is great to look forward, but that this should be part of a larger reflection. I personally feel that before we surge forward into a new year, it important to take inventory of the past 12 months.

 This year I have come to recognize that the only permanent thing is life is change. Everything else can easily change. The jobs are not permanent, and societal shifts happen quickly. If nothing else, this year has shown that we need to be flexible.

 It has helped teach me that the permanent parts of our lives are much less tangible.  It is the relationships, the memories and the moments that make our lives rich.  That sometimes the best adventures are those that are unexpected. Our existence is a miracle of the universe. We do not need to prove that we have value. We are worthy of love, regardless of what we create. Our creations and works should be an expression of our experience, not something in which to prove our value.  This year, I learned to be thankful to be here.

 For me it was a year of discovery. I spent a lot of time learning how to listen to the rhythms of my soul. To recognize my passions. To express my needs. This year was challenging, and I felt like I grew from it. for me, 2020 was a year of modest growth. I am thankful for that. For me, 2020 was a year of modest growth and for that I am thankful.

Yet I also want to hold space for those who struggled this year. 2020 was incredibly challenging. It is okay if you fell short of your goals or were not as productive as you wished. It is ok if you simply survived. If 2020 was a year where you kept your head down and waiting till the storm passed, celebrate that. By keeping your head down, you made it through. Celebrate that, sometimes that is what victory looks like.

  I approach the new year, with compassion. For me, 2020 taught me about patience, strength and reflection. It was a hard year, but it showed me how to persevere. I look forward to bringing these lessons into the new year.