What it was like growing up with an alcoholic father

Alcohol. It’s everywhere. I’m as guilty as the next person for having that “one too many”, that night where you can’t quite remember anything except shouting out the Cup Song as you ran across campus (true for me) or hugging a guy dressed as a crayon (also true). But alcohol has been around in my life for far longer than I have been going on nights out, due to growing up with an alcoholic dad.

As he’s been through rehab and coming up on to five years teetotal, I thought now would be a good time to write a bit about my own experiences, and what growing up with someone battling an addiction is really like.

And no, it’s not just having a dad that drinks a lot. Alas, there is a bit more to it. Likewise, it’s not about having a dad that stumbled home at five in the morning, swearing until he collapsed on the sofa. My Dad was, and still is, the most caring, wonderful and inspirational person I know, and alcoholism is something that takes many shapes and forms.

For me, alcoholism tried to turn my dad into, well, not my dad.

The beginning

Rewind to little foetus (well, a few years old) Alex, who lived with her dad and little sister and enjoyed long beach walks, apparently.

#sotumblr #suchswag

My dad was the best. He took my sister and I to the beach and to arty places and always had a leather bag full of felt tips to distract ourselves, keeping all of them in a plastic wallet which I still have. He taught himself how to plait hair so while we stayed with him and not mum he could still fulfil our wish for princess hairstyles. He got up stupidly early in the morning and made homemade shortbread for us to take to school, even trying out brown flour to see if it made it “healthier”. It did, but it tasted a bit like cardboard covered in sugar (sorry, Dad).

He was amazing. But, the older I got and the more I looked back on those memories, I started to recognise the little bits, the clues to what was an underlying problem. The hours spent either in pubs or, as my sister and I got older, us waiting outside pubs. The way in which he would get upset if things didn’t go to plan, so much so that we would find ourselves trying so hard to make sure things went ok as to not cause an upset. The way that he started having mood swings, being hyper one minute and sat on the sofa in silence the next.

The little things became more noticeable – and the older I got, the more upset I became by it. One of the most upsetting things is seeing someone you love change in front of your own eyes. My fun, supportive, warm dad become silent, a shadow of himself who sat on the sofa doing nothing. I would get angry at him, not realising it was actually the situation I was angry at.

I felt like I was being the parent and he the child at a time where I needed support as I went through my teenage years.

And suddenly – he went to rehab. It seemingly happened out of the blue, but I am aware it actually took months of meetings and planning and proving he would benefit from it. I, now 14 years old, didn’t tell any of my friends what was going on until the morning when he went. It didn’t seem real. Looking back, I didn’t handle it all that well, due to my annoying-and-still-ongoing habit of keeping everything in. The first time it became real was when he phoned up that evening, the last time he would speak to us before the detox began. That was the first time I cried about it, hearing him calling from a strange place, with no idea about what was going to happen.

The only way is UP 

Cue Dad’s journey through rehab. There are actually numerous stages to recovery from alcoholic addiction, which meant there was a long time where Dad was only allowed to see us on certain visiting days. The first few visits were tough – seeing a paler, quieter version of someone I loved in a strange place was hard. Leaving at the end of the day was even harder.

Yet slowly, things got better. I noticed I could have proper conversations with my dad again, that we could go for days out without worrying about making sure everything goes well, and that he started to seem himself again. Being honest, certain things were still hard; he went into rehab when I was just a teenager. By the time he had gone through the various stages and moved into his own flat – meaning we could see him as much as we wanted – I was about to go to college, picking A-Levels and thinking about University. I had changed and so had he. But change happens in life, whether we like it or not. Doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to get sad about it, or shout or scream about how it’s not fair (or do all of the above) – but sooner or later, we have to accept it. Which, after being stubborn for ages as is my style, I did. Dad talked to my sister and I, we got a lot of things out in the open, shed a few tears, and since thing just kept on moving up.

Now

Nowadays, things are so much better. Yes, the road hasn’t been without its bumps – I still remember the things that happened in the past, still feel guilt at times about my “shouty, teenage” stage, and still worry about him and what the future might hold. However, these feelings are fading, and fade even more so when I look at my dad, my loving, wise and downright inspirational dad. My dad, who in my eyes has been to hell and back, faced his demons, all the while looking after and loving his family. My dad who now has a job at one of the rehabilitation centres he went to, helping people in the same position he once was in. My dad, who now lives in his own flat and takes me out for really cool trips out which vary from London exhibitions, to the local art store. My dad, who is coming up to celebrating his five year sober anniversary which makes my heart want to explode with proudness.

Dad now getting to enjoy the finer things in life, such as being baffled by having his name written on a coffee cup

Thank you for showing me how whatever happens, it will be okay, for proving to me change can be a good thing, and for forever reminding me to “get up, dress up, and show up”.

Finally, for anyone who has a loved one going through an addiction, or is struggling or has struggled with an addiction themselves, it will get easier. Yes, there were times when I wanted to cry and ask why it had to happen and give up, but I kept going. Dad kept going. I know every experience is different, but please keep going. Because I promise there are moments, like when Dad takes my sister and I to the beach or drives for an hour to meet me after a failed driving test to take me for cake (he is a believer in the power of cake) that makes everything worth it. In those precious moments, I’m so glad he didn’t give up, and that we didn’t give up on him.

I love you, Dad

In these moments, I’m so proud to call him my dad.