In the realm of family therapy, I received a valuable piece of advice from our therapist: I should not treat my children as if they were my friends. This realization dawned upon me as I aimed to avoid replicating the dynamics I experienced with my own parents, ultimately leading me down the path of codependency. Fortunately, my decision to join an AI-Anon community has immensely aided me in becoming a better parent and breaking free from lifelong habits. Thanks for signing up and joining us on this journey! Now, you can conveniently access your favorite topics on the go by downloading our app.
The tension within my family had been steadily intensifying over a span of several months, akin to the pressure building up in a volcano. My two young children began quarreling more frequently than usual, and my husband and I found ourselves constantly irritated with each other. During a school pickup, I confided in a friend about the difficulties I was facing. She shared her positive experience with her family therapist, Nancy, a no-nonsense woman in her late 60s, who had worked wonders in improving their family dynamics. Grateful for the referral, I immediately reached out to Nancy.
In our initial family session, Nancy displayed a soft-spoken demeanor as she leaned in and asked questions, directing her attention towards the children. Meanwhile, my husband, Alex, and I exchanged smiles from opposite ends of the couch. At that moment, I thought to myself, “This isn’t so terrible.” However, everything changed when Nancy discreetly sent the kids to play cards in the hallway, allowing the three of us to have a private conversation. As soon as the door closed, Nancy’s tone shifted. Looking directly at me, she sternly stated, “We have a significant problem here. Your children don’t need you to be their friend; they need you to be their mother.” Taken aback, I sat frozen as Nancy bombarded me with inquiries about my upbringing. She emphasized the importance of establishing healthier boundaries and introducing more structure into our children’s lives. Leaving the session, I couldn’t help but feel attacked and resented Nancy for pointing an accusatory finger at me, leading me to believe that family therapy was no longer a viable option.
However, in the following days, I found myself continuously pondering over Nancy’s words. And truth be told, she wasn’t entirely mistaken. Growing up in a household with two alcoholic parents blurred the lines between parent and child roles. Discussing my parents’ drinking was strictly prohibited from a young age; it was a heavily guarded family secret. While our close-knit community was well aware of my parents’ struggles with alcoholism, it was seldom acknowledged openly. This is often the case for families dealing with addiction — the responsibility of concealing substance abuse falls upon the caregivers, resulting in an unspoken shame that can burden family members. Perhaps, in my efforts to escape the patterns and dysfunctional communication I encountered in my own upbringing, I had gone too far in the other direction. I had overlooked codependent behaviors such as avoidance and weak boundary setting. It became clear that my family needed to return to Nancy and that I needed to address these maladaptive behaviors before my children suffered the consequences.
Finally, I mustered up the courage to attend Al-Anon, a supportive community specifically tailored to individuals whose lives have been impacted by someone else’s drinking. It took me forty-two years, living as the child of two alcoholics, to walk through those doors for the first time. Throughout my life, various individuals — school counselors, teachers, friends, even significant others — had encouraged me to seek solace in Al-Anon. However, the thought of discussing my parents’ alcoholism with anyone outside of my family felt like a betrayal. I clung to this belief until my mother’s passing in 2015 due to a rare form of bone cancer. Naively, I anticipated that her death would mark the end of my codependent behaviors. I could not have been more wrong.
Being the child of two alcoholics, I constantly prioritized the needs of others over my own, temporarily alleviating the pain of my mother’s absence and my father’s continued struggle with sobriety. However, the deeply ingrained habit of self-sacrifice proved difficult to shake off. Without the defining role of caretaking for an addict, I began to feel a void deep within, lacking purpose and fulfillment. My anxiety skyrocketed, as if I were constantly bracing myself for impending doom. In an attempt to fill this emptiness, I overwhelmed myself with countless commitments. I took on more clients in my private practice, only to experience burnout. Volunteer positions at my children’s school piled up, leading me to eventually stop showing up. I said yes to every invitation, resenting my friends when they failed to notice or show appreciation for my elaborate culinary creations (even though my children, aged 6 and 8, were hardly culinary connoisseurs).
For me, codependency manifests as an incessant need for control, people-pleasing tendencies, and an insatiable desire for validation. Soon after our first session with Nancy, I confided in my husband, expressing my readiness to give Al-Anon a chance. Fortunately, he supported my decision wholeheartedly. The experience of attending my first Al-Anon meeting was eye-opening and compassionate.
To my surprise, I learned that I should refrain from labeling my parents as alcoholics or addicts during the meetings. In fact, discussing their drinking habits was not encouraged either. These stringent rules closely resembled the atmosphere in my childhood home. Initially skeptical, I wrestled with my reservations but decided to continue attending the meetings nevertheless. And I’m grateful I did.
The weekly meetings take place in a small, well-lit room on the first floor of a local Methodist church — far from the dark, gloomy basements often depicted in movies. There is little chit-chat upon arrival and dismissal, which suits my preferences. What I’m slowly discovering is that Al-Anon is a community founded on principles of compassion and trust — a haven where individuals can share their experiences and be genuinely heard. During the meetings, crosstalk is strictly prohibited, meaning there are no comments, advice, or even kind words offered after someone shares their story. As I spoke for the first time, the ensuing silence unsettled me. I was left alone with my thoughts, feeling exposed and imperfect. However, it felt as though the group compassionately absorbed my words and carried the weight of my experiences through their mere presence. Although I don’t claim to be an expert on all things Al-Anon, I am already sensing the emergence of a genuine family dynamic that eluded me for so long. The program acknowledges that while we may not always appreciate one another, love permeates the room. We are united by shared experiences and a shared commitment to personal growth. Isn’t that what family should entail?
Transforming lifelong habits takes time, which is why new members are encouraged to attend at least six Al-Anon meetings before reaching a conclusion about the program’s suitability. I continue to attend these meetings, witnessing firsthand the positive changes in my life. I am learning to forgive myself for the choices I made while navigating the challenging circumstances I encountered. I am fully dedicated to transforming the aspects of my life that I can control, for I recognize that living my life to the fullest is entirely my responsibility. From this point forward, the ball is in my court.
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