When addiction lives inside a home, every day feels unpredictable. For a child, it means living in constant tension, waiting for the next outburst, silence, or storm. The love you crave is tangled with chaos, leaving scars you can’t yet name. My childhood was shaped by these shadows, but within them, I also found hidden strength.
“Children of alcoholics are made of glass and fire; they break easily but burn brightly.”
– Unknown
My mother’s alcoholism made our home unpredictable. Some nights she was affectionate, other nights she was consumed by anger or silence. For a child, love felt like a gamble, and safety was never guaranteed. My father’s quiet strength often kept me grounded, but it was never enough to erase the instability. Growing up like this meant learning early how to read moods, how to stay small, and how to survive.
Sharing The Strength
Each and every ounce of sorrow I’ve tasted in my life has given me lessons I didn’t recognize until later. I learned empathy because I knew what it felt like to hurt quietly. I learned resilience because I had no choice but to keep going. And I learned that while we cannot control the choices of others, we can decide how to rise from the environment we were given. In many ways, the shadows shaped my ability to stand in the light.
- A parent’s addiction is not the child’s fault.
- Stability can be found in small moments of kindness.
- Strength grows in the shadows of pain.
- Healing often means forgiving without excusing.
Though my mother’s drinking cast long shadows, I am not defined by her addiction. I carry compassion for the child I was and the resilience he built. Forgiveness came slowly, not as an excuse, but as a release. And in that release, I discovered a freedom that allowed me to finally step out of the shadows and into myself.
