Understanding alcoholism after suffering years of emotional abuse and overeating

Picture my six-year-old brother’s face being pushed by a 47-year-old man into a cream pie at the end of an enjoyable meal. It was not the pie-in-the-face prank with a tin full of whipped cream thrown in good humor but the mean-spirited act of an alcoholic. The only offense committed by this young boy was to lean down to smell the delicious aroma. Little did I know at the time how alcohol abuse would affect my life and feelings.

I am a recovering overeater, the adult child of alcoholics, and the mother of an alcoholic. The emotional turmoil in which I grew up affected my peace of mind and created inner tension that lasted most of my adult life until an old friend, who is a recovering alcoholic, sent me a copy of the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions.

First, some background about my childhood experience growing up exposed to alcoholism. My father had lost his life in World War II when I was seven years old. My mother was emotionally unavailable because, I imagine, she had suffered a great loss herself and turned to the bottle for solace. She did not abuse us in a conventional way, but her emotional neglect, lack of support, and the emotional abuse of her lover had a profound and lasting effect on my sister’s, my brother’s, and my own psychological development.

My mother’s live-in lover was also an alcoholic. Instead of being a substitute father, this man systematically abused us with his verbal tirades—robbing us of our natural birthrights to feel loved and protected. He belittled us, told us we would never amount to anything, and chastised us for such behaviors as not having impeccable table manners or eating large quantities of the vegetable that grew in his garden. “These kids are no good” was a statement he often made to my mother.

Instead of protecting us, which is a father’s duty, he made us feel afraid and insecure. I do not recall my mother ever defending us, supporting us when he berated us, or standing up for us in any way.

I believed that if I was better or behaved exactly as he wished that I would receive love and warmth from him. I didn’t receive love for my attempts at being better. Instead, there were more criticism, put-downs, and insults. No matter what I did to get approval, I could never earn love. I began to believe his criticisms and name-calling.

The stress in our house became so great that I dreaded going home after school and being home on weekends; I didn’t know what would set him off. I walked on eggshells, always conscious of my actions, aware of every word uttered, so as to keep him from mouthing-off.

As the disease of alcohol progressed, his alcohol-induced ranting would start a few hours after work and continue until late evening. The weekends were the worst: the drinking began just after noon and did not end until the early morning hours. My sleep was often interrupted, and I would lie awake waiting for him to go to bed.

I used food to comfort myself from the continual abuse. I became overweight by age ten. By high school I was obese. I had become addicted to food to make myself feel better when stressed. The more he ranted, the more I ate to relieve the tension and release the endorphins that made me feel better temporarily. I didn’t realize that I was using food as a stress reliever—my means of stuffing down the emotional hurt.

Many years later, I reconnected with my former sweetheart. I found his e-mail on the Internet one afternoon when I had some time to waste. I debated whether to write him but decided to send off a rather harmless note wondering how he was doing and hoping he would e-mail me back. Little did I know how that e-mail would dramatically change my life.

Within a few days, he returned my e-mail and caught me up on his life. Among other information, he told me that he is a recovering alcoholic and has remained sober for nearly 17 years. Over the following weeks, we wrote about our lives, our children, our marriages, and—of course—our romance.

I confided in my friend about my son’s alcoholism. He was an invaluable source of strength, advice, and support for me. He sent me some A.A. literature to give to my son. He shared with me the Serenity Prayer and how it had helped him deal with life’s problems and conflicts. He suggested that I locate an Al-Anon group.

I have been going to meetings now for several months. There, I’ve found support and caring from people who have gone through similar experiences. The fellowship has helped me with healing and understanding the disease of alcoholism.

I scolded, cajoled, and tried everything I could think of to make my son stop the drinking that was ruining his family, career, and health. Of course, nothing worked as he would not admit that he had a serious problem with alcohol.

My son’s alcoholism taught me that I was powerless over alcohol, or anyone’s addiction including my own, until I gave myself up completely to a Higher Power as my source of strength and hope. The Serenity Prayer has helped me accept that I cannot change my son’s abuse of alcohol. Only he can come to the realization that he has a progressive disease that could eventually end in his death. I can give him love, understanding, and support, but I can’t stop his drinking.

I never left anything up to God’s will. I thought that I had power over my destiny and tried to control everything since I didn’t have control over my life when I was growing up. I thought that I could change situations through sheer willpower, through rationalizing with myself and others, and by forcing others into changing. I am working the Twelve Steps and find that they present a philosophy of life for anyone who would like to improve their quality of life and have meaningful relationships. I only have control over how I react to my feelings, I have to let go and to trust in God.

By Sheila
The Forum, October 2008

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