Enabled: Child of an Addict
Looking at me and what I’ve done with my life so far, you’d probably assume I came from a stable middle-class home, that I was given all the necessary tools to become a productive member of society, and maybe even that I had more than I needed. You might conclude that very little struggle ever touched my life.
I have a gorgeous wife, three beautiful kids, and a stable career. I’ve never been in any serious trouble. I have a great network of friends, many of them affluent. I own a home, a few cars, have a decent savings, and I’m not in any more debt than the typical 41-year-old.
This isn’t a brag, nor am I trying to rub anything in anyone’s face. I just need to paint the picture clearly for what I want to share going forward.
From the ages of one through twelve, life was a rollercoaster that often felt flimsy and even dangerous. These are some of the most impressionable years of a person’s life, and for me, values and behaviors came in two extremes: one very moral and faith-based, and the other filled with fear and uncertainty. As you can imagine, this can confuse a child and push them toward one extreme or the other.
If you’ve been in the same situation, I hope you leaned toward values and faith, because the other path can be long and painful, filled with emotional and even physical trauma.
I teetered between both sides, but I leaned more toward the faith-based side because I spent most of my time with family on that side of the fence. At the time, I didn’t appreciate it, but looking back, I know I wouldn’t be where I am now if I had leaned too far the other way.
My parents met right out of high school and had me a year or so later. My mom was 19 and my dad was 20. From what I was told, the first few years of my life were fairly normal, aside from being born six weeks early and spending three weeks in an incubator.
There was lots of love from a big family, enough to eat and drink, and the fun and excitement of any normal one- to three-year-old’s life. We lived with both my mom’s parents and my dad’s parents at different times during that period. My parents, being so young, didn’t have the stability to purchase or even rent a home. Looking back, that may have been for the best.
I say this because my first vivid memory of violence and addiction came when we lived in a studio apartment with my parents and younger brother. I was around four or five years old.
I still remember the fear I felt the first time I saw my dad punch my mom and shove her to the ground. I don’t think he hit her full force—otherwise he might have seriously injured her—but it was hard enough to leave a permanent mark on my mind.
For context, my dad wasn’t a big man, but he could fight. He grew up boxing and street fighting. He was even a police officer for a time, but the story goes he got tired of busting all his drinking buddies, so he turned in his badge.
I don’t want to speak too harshly about him because during his sober periods, he was one of the best people you could ever meet—always smiling, always lifting others up. When he passed away, people told me how much he meant to them and what a great man he was.
Still, back in that studio apartment, another vivid memory stands out: my dad getting angry, throwing a full can of Sprite at my mom’s back, and breaking her rib. Things escalated until one night, after another drunken fight, my mom chased him into the bathroom with a butcher knife because she had finally had enough. They separated after that.
As the years went on, my dad’s addiction grew worse. He did have one long stretch of sobriety—three years after spending some time in jail. I thought he had his addiction under control. Needless to say, I was devastated when I didn’t hear from him for a week and then found him at my grandparents’ house, barely able to stand because he was so wasted.
I was so angry and hurt that I tried to fight him. Thankfully, my grandmother—God rest her soul—stepped between us. At 130 pounds with little fighting experience, I probably wouldn’t have stood a chance, but at that moment I was overwhelmed with emotion.
That was one of the last conversations I ever had with him. I moved away from home the next year, in 2004. He didn’t have a permanent home or a phone, so I eventually gave up trying to stay in touch.
He died in 2009. From what I was told, he was trying to get sober again but attempted to do it cold turkey. That can be extremely hard on the body, especially the heart. His heart couldn’t handle the withdrawals. They found him lifeless in a room at my grandmother’s house.
Being a child of an addict is a precarious situation. You’re told you can never enjoy alcohol or drugs too much, because you might easily become addicted. So when everyone else at the party is throwing caution to the wind and acting like it’s a scene out of Old School, you’re left reminding yourself: You can’t go too far.
After a beer bong and three games of beer pong, it’s not easy to hold onto that fact. But somehow, I did. I’ve made it to 41 without ever craving alcohol enough to lose the things I love.
I avoided drinking or drugs during the week, on purpose, because of the stigma of being a child of an addict. That gave me a sense of control—if I only “lost control” on weekends, I wasn’t like him.
Alcohol caused me some problems—stupid fights, maybe a failed romance—but nothing life-ruining. At the time I’d scold myself and feel ashamed, but now I see it could have been much worse if I hadn’t carried that warning in the back of my mind.
According to the CDC, there were 1.3 million deaths among working-age individuals (25–64) in the U.S. between 1990 and 2018 due to drugs and alcohol—an average of just over 46,000 per year.
With 3.1 million deaths in the U.S. annually, drugs and alcohol account for only about 1.5%. On paper, that doesn’t seem like a big number. But when it’s your parent, your sibling, your friend—that 1.5% feels a lot bigger.
An article reviewed by Dr. Kevin Wandler, MD, states that more than 30% of addicts relapse within the first year of sobriety. The good news is, the longer sobriety lasts, the lower the risk of relapse. After five years, relapse drops below 15%. The bad news is, even after 20 years, there’s never a 0% chance. For those genetically predisposed—especially to alcoholism—the threat never fully disappears.
A childl of an addict really only has two options: live with it, or learn from it.
There’s a fable about two brothers who grew up in the same home with an alcoholic father. One went on to build a successful career, a beautiful family, and a great life. The other became a severe alcoholic who lost everything. When both men were asked why their lives turned out the way they did, they gave the same answer: “Because of what I saw growing up.”
It’s easy to become a product of your environment, to let others’ expectations shape your path. Many people—even those closest to you—may expect you to repeat the cycle.
My mom always told me: “Prove them wrong.”
That phrase stuck with me. It meant carve your own path, live in a way that makes those who doubted you eat their words. I still apply it to everything I do. It keeps me on track when I start veering off course.
If you’re reading this, you may be trying to navigate a relationship with someone struggling with addiction. There isn’t a one-size-fits-all approach, but there will come a time when you have to show tough love—whether through intervention or by cutting them off. Otherwise, you risk enabling them. Nothing changes, and you’re left watching the person you love deteriorate.
It’s harsh, but true: nobody “beats” addiction. Former addicts learn to manage it, like someone with a chronic illness managing their condition. If they stop taking the steps that keep them sober, the disease will return and eat away at them.
If you’re supporting someone’s sobriety, remember: it’s a lifelong commitment. You may have to give up certain social activities, especially those involving drugs or alcohol, and support them not just emotionally but through your actions.
There are many support groups like Al-Anon that can help you. You’d be surprised how many others are walking the same path. Sometimes you need support just to keep supporting.
Don’t give up until it’s absolutely necessary. And if you do have to walk away, stay strong. It’s painful and can leave you feeling guilty, but sometimes it’s the only way forward.
If someone doesn’t want to change, they won’t—no matter how hard you beg or plead. To break the generational curse, you have to break the chain. Choose a different path for yourself and your family.
Prove them wrong.
Love and blessings to anyone reading this—especially those fighting this battle.
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