“I spent my whole life making sure I didn’t end up like my dad. And now, the only difference between my dad and me is that my dad died from his alcoholism, and I don’t have to die from mine.”
It has been many years since I first heard those words. In that time I have listened to similar stories repeated by men and women of all ages, across the world. Regardless of the drug of choice, the majority of kids raised with addiction in the family have said to themselves, It will never happen to me. They were going to make sure they did not do what their parents had done. As I sit in family groups, I hear the same story from husbands, wives, and partners. They, too, have been raised in addictive families and have repeated those same words. In their wildest dreams, they didn’t imagine it could ever happen to them. But they married an addict—some for a second or third time—even though the words, It will never happen to me, were thought and spoken with all sincerity. They are all surprised to see the cycle of addiction repeating itself. It does not take long before their children are also echoing those same words. Another generation of young children continue the fight for esteem amidst chaos and fear.
My work and personal life are guided by the belief that no one deserves to live with fear and shame. I was raised in a family setting where addiction was a way of life. Aside from my father being alcoholic, we lived in a small town where my parents owned a tavern that was central to our logging community. Chronic drinking among adults was common to most and exposure to this was the norm. Unbeknown to my mother, my father’s drinking was well established prior to their marriage. He was just twenty-two years of age, she was seventeen. Having been raised with alcoholism and compulsive gambling, the earlier stages of my father’s addictive behavior were not concerns for my mother.
It would be growing up with an established legacy and an entrenched addictive family that I would find my way into what was then referred to as the “alcoholism field.” I loved my parents dearly as I knew they loved me. Notwithstanding, I experienced a family wreaked with havoc by the emotional, physical, and spiritual ravages of addiction.
When I was originally asked to create a family program in a small chemical dependency (addiction treatment) unit of a hospital, I didn’t know to ask questions. I assumed when I was asked to develop family programming that “family” meant children. So I began to invite children into the program to talk about their experiences. My clients in the 1970s were of the age that many had adult-age children who were no longer living in the home. I believed, however, that if they had grown up with ten, fifteen, or twenty years of alcoholism they deserved to have a chance to talk about that experience. Growing up in my family I had learned to be hypervigilant to the expressed and the unexpressed, so I was a good listener. I expected these adult-age children would talk freely, and I would be of some service by listening. They came, but they didn’t seem to know what to say. They struggled with their thoughts and feelings. Most would tell me how well they were doing, how they hoped their parent(s) would get better, but that they didn’t really have any needs of their own. And, certainly, “it would never happen to them.” They wouldn’t repeat the pattern of their parents. Most were still caught up in the delusion that they had not been seriously impacted by their parents’ addiction.
It was in this context that I first began to use the phrase “adult child.” From a practical standpoint, it defined who I was working with—the preteen, the adolescent, or the adult-age child in the family. It also acknowledged and validated that this adult was carrying the pain of his or her childhood vulnerabilities having spent life masking and defending against the effects of a troubled family.
Then there were the teenagers. They were very concerned for others in their family, but in their minds they certainly didn’t need to talk about themselves. Or they were angry and had an attitude that said they were doing just fine without me or anybody else.
Lastly, were the younger children, and here is where I found honesty and truth. Before me I witnessed a continuum so blatant and yet so unseen by others it would ignite in me a need to look deeper within and into those with whom I was working. It is from those early experiences the first edition of It Will Never Happen to Me was written.
This was a time when saying out loud, “I was raised in an alcoholic home” brought gasps from people. To discuss family problems, let alone to name addiction, was perceived by families as a major act of shame and betrayal.
Since those years, several changes have occurred to make it possible for families affected by addiction to break the cycle of their family history. There are many books on recovery available today compared to the days when not one book could be located. It Will Never Happen to Me has two million copies in print. It has been translated into multiple languages ranging from Japanese to Icelandic. Twelve-step groups permeate rural and urban America and are found throughout the world. Mental health specialists, family service agencies, and educational professionals are much more aware of and prepared to address the implications of addiction. Family secrets are much more openly talked about.
Yet, for most children growing up with addiction today, the experiences are extremely similar to the days of the past. They live with fear, loneliness, and confusion. Many continue to witness or experience direct physical or sexual abuse. They fear talking about what is happening and are learning to deny, rationalize, and tolerate the hurtful. Their lives are just as isolated as those of children years ago. As a consequence, the long-range impact for the child has not changed unless there has been some type of direct intervention. Adult children continue to become addicted, marry addicts, become depressed, anxious, and rageful. They often do this as they push to excel and overachieve educationally, professionally, and materially.
As you read, do so to understand, not to feel guilt or blame. This book is meant to offer a foundation for understanding what occurred growing up in an addictive family and to offer hope for recovery. With this in mind know that a person does not make a conscious decision about becoming an addict or a codependent. Without the intrusion of addiction he or she would have made other choices.
It is most likely you will experience a myriad of feelings. I urge you to share your feelings with a trusted friend. I also encourage you to use a highlighter pen to mark the words and messages that speak to you. Having a journal or notebook at hand to jot down your responses to what you are reading and for doing the exercises is invaluable as well.
For too long family members have suffered in silence. Let me close by acknowledging the resiliency in all who grew up with addiction. Regardless of how you have been negatively impacted, each and every one of us has incredible strengths. It is my hope you will draw on those strengths and allow your pride in survivorship to extend beyond the ability to survive and embrace the right to thrive.
I also want to acknowledge each and every one of you who have ever thought, spoken, believed, and hoped it will never happen to me. Because of that conviction, and because of your impact on me, together we have the possibility of creating a different journey for ourselves and others.