Fun fact: my town once had the most pubs in England per square mile. And they were full every Friday and Saturday night. I rarely, if ever, saw my dad without a pint in his hand. I was exposed to alcohol and its side effects from day one. It was pervasive.
My dad’s drinking wasn’t always what someone on the outside would consider to be ‘alcoholic’1. It often starts innocuously, progressing over time. For the first 20 years of my life, he was able to hold down jobs, although now when I look back it wasn't with much consistency but we got by. For a while. But a storm was brewing on the horizon.
My dad’s drinking progressed as I reached my early twenties. It was like a series of ever-increasingly violent tornados, sucking us all into the chaos over and over again. Occasionally the storm would lift, and I would be left bruised and reeling, waiting for the next inevitable touchdown. Sometimes we would enjoy good weather for a while, with dad swearing off alcohol for a few weeks, a couple of months if we were very lucky. But the skies always blackened sooner or later with the next impending relapse. Strangely, these short periods of sobriety were the hardest. Everyone was back to normal, or at least putting on a good show, yet I was frantic with anxiety, knowing that the relapse was coming. It always did.
Every relapse became harder to recover from, both for him and for us. He would have seizures and end up in the hospital, detoxed, and released and the cycle would repeat itself within weeks. Unfortunately, my dad never accepted his alcoholism or help, despite our best attempts to intervene. There was not a tactic that I did not try. We did everything we could. He ultimately drew his last breath in his home, alone on the living room floor, where he had a heart attack as a result of alcohol-related organ failure at the age of 55.
I was 25 years old and had already developed what I at the time considered a less-than-ideal relationship with alcohol. I was a binge drinker and largely soothed myself with the fact that as I was not a daily drinker like dad, I was OK. Spoiler alert: I was not OK, even if I could go a few days with a drink. I used my dad’s death as an excuse for my drinking for the next 10 years, comfortable in my anger, and misery, truly a victim of my circumstances.
Three years ago, I was miserable enough to want recovery more than I wanted a drink and so I took a leap of faith and reached out for the help I so desperately needed. I didn’t know what a life without alcohol was going to look like, and I was scared. Who wouldn’t be? The thing that had been my solution for my whole adult life had turned on me and I needed to find another way. I had no idea what I was doing but I did have a willingness to listen, learn, and accept my disease. I learned that I could not cure it, but I could treat it. From day one, the sober community held me while my body, mind, and spirit slowly began to heal. Eventually, I was able to use my experiences to help others, the true gift of recovery.
As the effect of alcohol ripples outwards, affecting the family, loved ones, and wider society, so does the impact of recovery.
When we recover, we can loosen the shackles of selfishness and turn up for the people we love. We can be accountable. We can be present for whatever life decides to deliver to us.
If you are struggling with alcohol, please know that you can recover. It can feel impossible some days, but taking the first step in reaching out is all you need to do. There are numerous support services available, whatever your situation.
If you are in recovery, then I am so glad you made it. The road may be bumpy at times, and I have had my stumbles along the way. But I get myself back on my feet, dust myself off, and give the next day everything I have.
My dad didn’t make it, but I hope that by taking my recovery one day at a time, I can break the cycle of addiction, and help others break theirs.
Celeste is a recovering alcoholic, podcast host, and campaigner for LGBTQIA+ rights. They can be contacted @celestial_recovery on Instagram.
1 Editor’s note: You can read more about the language used to talk about drinking problems, including the word ‘alcoholic’, here.
