…and I’m the Adult Child of an Alcoholic.
My brother had the same father, and I don’t think he sees it that way. The way I do I mean. And I think this has profoundly impacted our relationship. But his story is different than mine, and I think that has always been hard for me. I don’t think alcohol was less present when he was growing up, but I think our stories were different. Maybe because of birth order. Maybe because of timing. And maybe because he is just more of what they wanted in a child.
But truthfully, regardless of the reason, because Envy is a gremlin of mine. And God, my God, I do want want he has.
A dear friend of mine once commented, after he watched me interacting with my parents, that it was obvious my mom and I were close, but that my dad and I…we had moments. Moments around fire pits, with music, and sometimes, yes, whiskey. And I realize that there’s a sick irony in whiskey uniting my dad and me but…for a second, I want you to imagine that the moment, with the fire and the music, was what mattered more than the whiskey. Because in our moments, it wasn’t the whiskey. It was everything else. And that matters and always has.
And for me, it’s those moments that consistently make me feel like something has always been missing. And it has mattered because I can count those moments on one hand.
And I wish that wasn’t true.
But it is. And that is my story. And I own that. And I believe in it. It is my truth. Continue reading