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What to do when you're the child of an alcoholic

My dad was an addict, and growing up with him taught me a lot.

Photo with permission from writer Ashley Tieperman.

Ashley Tieperman and her father.


There was never just one moment in my family when we “found out" that my dad was an addict.

I think I always knew, but I never saw him actually drinking. Usually, he downed a fifth of vodka before he came home from work or hid tiny bottles in the garage and bathroom cabinets.

My name is Ashley, and I am the child of an addict. As a kid, I cried when our family dinner reservation shrunk from four to three after a man with glassy eyes stumbled through the door. I didn't guzzle the vodka, but I felt the heartbreak of missed birthdays. I feel like I should weigh 500 pounds from all the “I'm sorry" chocolate donuts. I had to grow up quicker, but it made me into the person I am today.

addiction, coping, 12 step programs, recovery

Me and my dad.

Photo with permission from writer Ashley Tieperman.

I spent many years shouting into journals about why this was happening to me. But this is the thing that no one will tell you about loving someone who has an addiction: it will force you to see the world through different eyes.

Here are some things I've learned:

1. When your family's yelling about burnt toast, they're probably also yelling about something else.

My family yelled about everything — and nothing — to avoid the messy stuff. We all handled my dad's addiction differently. My brother devoured sports. My mom took bubble baths. I slammed doors and slammed boyfriends for not understanding my family's secrets.

Regardless of the preferred coping mechanism, everyone feels pain differently.

2. Your "knight in shining armor" can't fix this.

Boyfriends became my great escape when I was young. But when I expected them to rescue me from the pain I grew up with, it never worked out. No matter how strapping they looked galloping in on those white horses, they couldn't save me or fix anything.

In the end, I realized that I had to find healing on my own before I could build a strong relationship.

3. “Don't tell anyone" is a normal phase.

When my dad punched holes in the wall, my mom covered them up with artwork. I wanted to rip the artwork down to expose all the holes, especially as a bratty teenager. But eventually I realized that it wasn't my choice. My parents had bills to pay and jobs to keep. I've learned it's common to cover up for dysfunction in your family, especially when it feels like the world expects perfection.

4. Friends probably won't get it, but you'll need them anyway.

Bulldozed by broken promises, I remember collapsing on a friend's couch from the crippling pain of unmet expectations. I hyperventilated. Things felt uncontrollable and hopeless. My friend rubbed my back and just listened.

These are the kinds of friends I will keep forever, the ones who crawled down into the dark places with me and didn't make me get back up until I was ready.

5. You can't fix addiction, but you can help.

When I was a teenager, I called a family meeting. I started by playing a Switchfoot song: “This is your life. Are you who you want to be?"

Let's skip to the punchline: It didn't work.

It wasn't just me. Nothing anyone did worked. My dad had to lose a lot — mostly himself — before he hit that place they call “rock bottom." And, in all honesty, I hate that label because “rock bottom" isn't just a one-and-done kind of place.

What can you do while you wait for someone to actually want to get help? Sometimes, you just wait. And you hope. And you pray. And you love. And you mostly just wait.

6. Recovery is awkward.

When a counselor gave me scripted lines to follow if my dad relapsed, I wanted to shred those “1-2-3 easy steps" into a million pieces.

For me, there was nothing easy about my dad's recovery. My whole family had to learn steps to a new dance when my dad went into recovery. The healing dance felt like shuffling and awkwardly stepping on toes. It was uncomfortable; new words, like trust and respect, take time to sink in. And that awkwardness is also OK.

7. I still can't talk about addiction in the past tense.

Nothing about an addict's life happens linearly. I learned that early on. My dad cycled through 12-step programs again and again, to the point where I just wanted to hurl whenever anyone tried to talk about it. And then we finally reached a point where it felt like recovery stuck.

But even now, I'll never say, “My dad used to deal with addiction." My whole family continues to wrestle with the highs and lows of life with an addict every single day.

8. Happy hours and wedding receptions aren't easy to attend.

My family will also probably never clink glasses of red wine or stock the fridge full of beer. I'm convinced happy hours and wedding receptions will get easier, but they might not. People get offended when my dad orders a Diet Coke instead of their fine whisky.

Plus, there's the paranoia factor. Surrounded by flowing liquor, I hate watching my dad crawl out of his skin, tempted to look “normal" and tackle small talk with people we barely know. I've learned that this fear will probably last for a while, and it's because I care.

9. If you close your eyes, the world doesn't just “get prettier."

With constant fear of the unknown, sometimes our world is not a pretty place. I remember watching the breaking news on 9/11 and feeling the terror of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers as if I was there.

My dad numbed the anxiety of these dark days with vodka, but this didn't paint a prettier world for him when he woke up the next day. I've dealt with the fear of the unknown with the help of boys, booze, and bad dancing on pool tables. Life hurts for everyone, and I think we all have to decide how we're going to handle the darkness.

10. Rip off the sign on your back that reads: “KICK ME. MY LIFE SUCKS."

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see only my broken journey. In some twisted way, I'm comforted by the dysfunction because it's kept me company for so long. It's easy to let the shadow of my family's past follow me around and choose to drown in the darkness.

But every day, I'm learning to turn on the light. I have to write the next chapter in my recovery story, but I can't climb that mountain with all this crap weighing me down.

11. It's OK to forgive, too.

Some people have given me sucky advice about how I should write an anthem on daddy bashing, or how to hit the delete button on the things that shaped my story.

Instead, my dad and I are both learning to celebrate the little things, like the day that he could change my flat tire. On that day, I didn't have to wonder if he was too drunk to come help me.

I can't forget all the dark nights of my childhood.

But I've learned that for my own well-being, I can't harbor bitterness until I explode.

Instead, I can love my dad, day by day, and learn to trust in the New Dad — the one with clearer eyes and a full heart. The one who rescues me when I call.


This article was written by Ashley Tieperman and originally appeared on 04.27.16

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Woman shares startling before-and-after photo to give recovering addicts hope

via V Ginny Burton / Facebook

Virginia Burton, 48, has over eight years and five months of sobriety under her belt and that's the longest stretch she's gone without using. She was first introduced to marijuana at the age of six and by the age of 15 was a "full-blown addict."

She was incarcerated three times, twice with her mother.

She desperately wanted to stop, but couldn't do it on her own. But finally, she found sobriety after getting arrested. "If not for the police, I wouldn't be where I am today. They gave me an opportunity to change my life when they arrested me," she wrote on Facebook. "On my own, I wouldn't have stopped."

"I honestly thought I'd die on a park bench with a needle in my arm or by gunshot to the head," she wrote. "I would've never in a million years thought my life would look the way it does today."

However, things have changed.

A photo she shared on Facebook is going viral for showing the dramatic change she's gone through. The photo on the left is of her strung out on heroin and cocaine in 2005. The right, Burton after recently graduating with a political science degree from Washington State.

"How's that for motivation?" she captioned the photo.

Last year, as a junior, she was awarded the prestigious Truman Scholarship which recognizes future leaders driven to make change at the policy level.

An avid mountaineer, she told the University of Washington that she tackles each task in life like she approaches a summit.

"Making the decision to return to school so late in life was a challenge for me," she said. "I thought I might be too old to start my life over again and that learning might be harder than I imagined. I decided that I would tackle each challenge I faced with the same drive I tackle mountains. There is no excuse to stop moving forward. If I want to reach the summit, I must keep climbing."

Burton hopes her miraculous transformation will show people that anything is possible. "Stop selling yourself short," she wrote. "You don't know what tomorrow might bring so you might consider starting today."

Recovery Talk with Ginny Burtonwww.youtube.com

"If you would have told me that my life would look like it does today eight and a half years ago, I would have called you a liar," Burton told 10 TV's Bryant Somerville.

Burton hopes her transformation will show people that even in the direst of situations it is possible to turn one's life around.

"I want people to know that there is hope," she wrote on Facebook. "No one is disposable. You don't have to die in addiction. You can stop using, lose the desire, and find a new way to live. There are so many of us out here willing to help."

The post has clearly done its job. It's been seen by people as far as the Middle East, Switzerland, and Spain, and her inbox has been filled with countless messages from people thanking her for her hope and perseverance.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am to share my life out loud," she wrote.

Burton is looking forward to changing more lives by pursuing a master's degree at the Evans School of Public Policy in Seattle so that she can help change the prison system. Since 2011, she has worked as a volunteer with the Post Prison education program which works to support former prisoners.

Her long-term goals are to realize her childhood dream of becoming a lawyer, run for elected office, and to restructure prison time. Given how she's approached life for the past eight years, I wouldn't bet against her.

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Rob Lowe, celebrating 31 years of sobriety, offers hope to other recovering addicts

Rob Lowe/Twitter, Rob Lowe/Instagram

Anyone who has gone through the process of disentangling themselves from an addiction knows it's an ongoing, daily battle. It may get easier, and the payoffs may become more apparent, but it's still a decision someone makes each day to stay detached from their substance of choice.

Seeing someone who has a long record of sobriety—especially after a very public struggle—can be motivating and inspiring for others in different stages of their recovery journey. That's part of why actor Rob Lowe's announcement that he's reached 31 years sober is definitely something to celebrate.

"Today I have 31 years drug and alcohol free," Lowe wrote on Twitter. "I want to give thanks to everyone walking this path with me, and welcome anyone thinking about joining us; the free and the happy. And a big hug to my family for putting up with me!! Xoxo"

Lowe, who is now 57, spent his early-to-mid 20s embroiled in negative press after a scandal over an underage sex tape (he was 24 and one of the two women he was with was 16—over the age of consent for sex in the state of Georgia at the time, but too young to be recorded) and his widely publicized substance abuse issues. In 1990, two years after the sex tape scandal, he decided to stop drinking and doing drugs. He entered a rehab program—which he has said was the best decision he ever made—and has managed to remain sober ever since.

He has also been married to his wife, Sheryl Berkoff, since 1991. The couple has raised two sons, who are now around the age Lowe was when he got sober, and who love to hilariously troll their old man on social media. (Even when you're a studly, successful superstar, your kids will always be there to keep you grounded.) His career has flourished since his return to television in "The West Wing," and he has become a bit of a poster boy for redemption in Hollywood.

He has also been quite open about how happy sobriety has made him. Last year, on his 30th recovery anniversary, Lowe wrote about his "sober life of true happiness and fulfillment" on Instagram.

"From a treatment center in Arizona to a bomb shelter in Israel, I have come to know many extraordinary people," he wrote, "and the fellowship of recovery has changed my life and given me gifts beyond my selfish imaginings."


One of Lowe's big fears when he got sober at 26 was that he wasn't going to have fun anymore. He told Kelly Clarkson that he couldn't imagine not having a drink at his wedding or a whiskey when his kids were born. "Guess what?" he said. "Yes, I didn't have any of that, and it's awesome."

Lowe told Variety that sobriety has to come from a deep desire for change in the addict themselves.

"Nothing can make you get sober except you wanting to do it," he said. "The threat of losing a marriage, losing a job, incarceration — you name the threat, it will not be enough to do it. It's got to be in you. The reason that people don't get sober 100% of the time when they go into programs is that people aren't ready when they go to use the tools."

Lowe also shared with Variety the moment he knew he was ready for rehab:

"I was ready when one day back in the days of answering machines, my mother called me and I could hear her voice on the answering machine. I didn't want to pick up because I was really, really hungover and I didn't want her to know. She was telling me that my grandfather, who I loved, was in critical condition in the hospital and she needed my help. And I didn't pick up. My thought process in that moment was 'I need to drink a half a bottle of tequila right now so I can go to sleep so I can wake up so I can pick up this phone."


Lowe says that all of his understanding about life has come from getting and staying sober. "The only way to stay in recovery is to be honest with yourself on a minute-by-minute basis," he told Variety. "No secrets, no double life. And you have to get real...the longer you are in recovery the more facile you are in getting honest."

Congratulations on 31 years sober, Rob Lowe. May your story be an inspiration to others who are on their own path to and through recovery.


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Heroes

A love letter to the parents struggling to give their kids the childhood they didn't have

Photo by Andrew Seaman on Unsplash

There are superheroes among us.

Disguised as ordinary moms and dads, members of this league of extraordinary parents change diapers, pack lunches, and tuck kids in at night just like the rest of us. But behind the scenes, they battle forces of darkness none of us can see.

My dad was one of these superheroes. I don't remember when I first took note of the cape tucked neatly under his sweater vest, but by the time I left home, I had some idea of how much time and energy he spent fighting the villains in his head.

Growing up, I heard stories and parts of stories. A grandfather beating his wife before chasing his sons down an alley with his police pistol. A mother plagued by alcoholism and anger. Six siblings from six different fathers. A precious violin smashed to pieces in a drunken rage. Bit by bit, the picture of my father's upbringing was painted in blacks and blues. He didn't tell us everything—just enough to give us a sense of where he came from.

Superheroes must keep some secrets, after all.

Now that I have three kids of my own and a keen understanding of how difficult parenting can be under the best of circumstances, I recognize my dad for the cycle-breaking hero that he was. I'm well aware that the hell he lived through as a kid, simply by being born into a wounded family, could easily have been my own fate. The cycles of addiction and abuse, the inheritance of personal and parental tools in need of serious repair, the passing down of bitterness and rage like family heirlooms—I've witnessed these phenomena in other families over the years.

It's the easiest thing, for mortals to be human.

But at some point, my dad stepped into a phone booth and vowed to be more than the sum of his upbringing. He took on the monsters that followed him and declared war on the dysfunctional demons he carried. He chose to give his children the childhood he didn't have.

And for the most part, he succeeded. I remember fun family vacations, laughter around the dinner table, prayers and hugs at bedtime. I can still see my dad giggling to the point of tears when my brother announced his pet rock pooped on the floor. I can smell his famous hash browns cooking with Stevie Wonder blaring on the record player Sunday mornings. I can hear his voice filling the room at choir concerts, plays, awards ceremonies, and graduations—“THAT'S MY DAUGHTER!" He was always proud of me. I always knew I was loved, deeply and sincerely.

But there were battle scars he couldn't hide. I remember watching him leave in the evening to attend ACOA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) meetings and wondering what went on there. I recall pleasant but wary visits with uncles and grandparents and a dim awareness of extended family member drama. I still feel the grief of my dad's beloved younger brother's suicide when I was ten—too young to understand that my sweet, funny uncle had been fighting the same war as my dad, but had lost.

And I did witness occasional losing battles—jaws clenched, eyes flashing as the demons surfaced, changing the weight of the air in the room. I remember moments when my mother (a superhero in her own right) calmly tamed those monsters. I remember staring them down myself once, begging my father to fight harder before he silently carried the beasts off to battle alone. He always apologized for battles lost.

But I remember many more battles won. Struggle and strength manifested in deep breaths and strained brows. There was a speed and energy to his movements when he took on the rage monster. I instinctively knew to step lightly, to give him space to build his fortresses and strategize without distraction. In time, I discovered some of his weapons—faith, prayer, books, routine, decompression time, classic rock albums—and saw how much easier the fight was if he kept them well-maintained and at the ready.

I know it wasn't easy. I'm sure he feels he failed us in some ways.

My dad wasn't perfect, it's true. But neither is any parent—or superhero, for that matter. All have their kryptonite. But the fact that he kept returning to that phone booth defines his fatherhood for me. I admire my dad for many reasons, but none so much as his courage and fortitude on his internal battlefield.

I've met others like him in my adult life, and they all amaze me. It takes superhuman strength and stamina to fight the good fight every day, to drown out the dysfunctional dialogue in your head, to overcome anger and abuse. Cycle-breaking parents face a megalopolis of tall buildings, and those single bounds have got to be exhausting.

So if you are a parent from a wounded background striving to raise your kids differently, if you are silently waging your own battles the rest of the world can't see, I want you to know that you are awesome. Parenting is damn hard, even with good psycho-emotional tools, so naturally it may feel impossible sometimes. But you've got this. Keep choosing that phone booth. Don't give up.

When you feel weary, remember this: The rewards for your efforts are vast and far-reaching.

You are protecting your own family, yes, but your feats also positively impact society at large. Raising kids with minimal damage is a gift to the world. Seriously. How many great thinkers and potential trailblazers have been held back by the scars of their upbringing? How much of the pain people inflict on one another is a byproduct of generations of abuse or neglect?

So wear that cape proudly, cycle breakers. Don't be afraid to give your kids clues to your “secret" identity. You don't have to tell them everything, but offer them a sense of what you go through in order to shield them from the darkness. I am so grateful to my dad for tackling those demons for me. Your kids will thank you, too.

This post originally appeared on Motherhood and More. You can read it here.

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