one day at a time.

Ask anyone I grew up around if they met or spoke to my dad and they would all tell you no.

Or if they did, it was for a short, very breezed by conversation that consisted of hi! How are you? I can’t believe you’re hanging around with my kid joke, and that was it.

I can honestly say I’ve never been more proud, more let down, more crushed, and more empowered all at the same time by one man.

Addiction does not discriminate y’all. It creeps in like thick fog, and what you think is an illusion quickly turns to reality when the blue lights show up flashing in your driveway.

I am not telling anyones story but my own. My perspective and processing on this life probably goes down a lot different than any one else living in our bubble. So take this with a grain of salt, but for the record, I’m getting this out because it’s therapeutic. And anyone that doesn’t like it…sucks to suck.

For 15ish years it was gold. Well, maybe a little tarnished, but no one’s perfect.

He worked his ass off to make sure that we could go to the best county m schools in the state and he commuted over an hour each way to work. He took us camping, rented limos for the daddy daughter dances, and sat down at the dinner table every night to tell me what color campers he had sold that day.

I remember the night he relapsed. I was out on a date. I had to make up a lie so my date would bring me home and I could assess the damage.  There were screen windows cut out, Alcoholics Anonymous books thrown around the house, and the vivid memory of my brother and I just sitting in the front porch with the WTF just happened look on our faces.

That was the beginning of the train that is still going strong. The only beginning that I could remember at least.

The timeline:

1985- mom and dad get married

1988- they had me

1988- dad leaves for binging/rehab/more binging/more rehab

1991-he comes back home and remains sober until my junior year of high school

2005ish- relapse and trauma train starts back up again

2022-train is full fucking throttle

Addiction comes in so many forms. I saw it all throughout my life, but I didn’t realize it until now.

New jobs, cars, helping people, alcohol, pills, building things, whatever it was…it was the chase for a high.

I wrote a poem in school called “my hero”. It was for my dad. He could do no wrong in my eyes. He could have me on his shoulders on a bridge at rock city, or in a visitors room at Cumberland Heights and I would tell you that he hung the moon regardless.

I am grateful for him. I am grateful for the shit I saw go down with his journey. And because of him in more ways than one, I am praying for the strength to go on my own journey.

I feel like I’m hyper aware of my drinking because of the household I grew up in. I’m also aware of my drinking because I no longer feel like I am in control. Coming from my type A personality, paired with the stubborn, strong willed Taurus that I am, not being in control is not a great place to be.

I’m 24 hours in.

I don’t know shit about being sober, but I can tell you some red flags that I was ignoring…

-being over aware about how much people would drink around me

-making sure that I never ran out of wine

-watching the clock to make an excuse for when it was “socially acceptable” to pour a glass

-letting my kids fetch me another drink

-feeding drinks to others to ensure I wasn’t the only tipsy one

-feeling like I needed to pregame before an outing

There were plenty more, and I feel like I could still make an excuse for every single one of them. Addiction looks different for everyone.

This may not be what I need at all. This may not last forever.

But I do know that for me, my family, and my my sanity, I’m going to make dry January my bitch.

Cheers dad,

Thanks for showing me the strength in my vulnerabilities.