Who Would I Be If Alcohol Hadn’t Touched Me?

A Note Before Reading:

This is a deeply personal reflection on family, trauma, and resilience. If you’ve experienced challenges related to alcohol, loss, or healing, know that you are not alone. Please read with care, and take what serves you. 💙

As I unravel my life, I keep coming back to one question: How did I get here?

Alcohol touched me before I was even born. It shaped the people in my life—those who drank and those who didn’t. If it hadn’t, my mother might not have abandoned my sisters to chase a new life in California. She might not have met my father. She might not have drunk while pregnant.

They didn’t view it the same way in the '70s.

She got sober when I was three, but by then, the damage had already begun.

Early Memories Shaped by Alcohol

My first memories aren’t of childhood joy. They’re of hospital stays, blood draws, and asthma treatments. When my mother got sober, it was the most normal period of my and my sisters’ lives. I remember sitting in AA meetings, reading along in the Big Blue Book. I thought that meant things would get better.

But for me, my story was just beginning.

If alcohol hadn’t touched me, maybe my father could have managed his mental health instead of drowning it in liquor. Maybe he wouldn’t have disappeared for months at a time, only to reappear in fits of delusion, paranoia, and violence. Maybe he would have stepped up when it mattered.

A Childhood Marked by Absence and Trauma

If alcohol hadn’t touched my sisters, maybe they wouldn’t have resented me before I even had a chance. Maybe our bond would have been stronger. Instead, the damage was passed down like an old, worn-out hand-me-down.

Some of my happiest memories were visiting my dad’s family in Pennsylvania. They were warm, welcoming—normal. I was jealous. Too bad my parents were too drunk to even tell me they had divorced. Instead, they made me guess. I was nine.

If alcohol hadn’t touched my life, my mother wouldn’t have relapsed. She wouldn’t have tried to be a beacon of sobriety for others while secretly drowning herself. She was beautiful, smart, and knew how to hug your soul. But maybe it was all too much for her.

Sometimes, I understand.

If alcohol hadn’t touched my life, my mother wouldn’t have met my first stepfather at a bar and brought him home that night. It was Valentine’s Day. I was watching The Wizard of Oz. They would get drunk and fight. I remember getting hurt a lot. I remember hiding under my bed with a Monopoly board, waiting for the next explosion.

If alcohol hadn’t touched me, my father wouldn’t have told me on Christmas Eve that he didn’t love me anymore. That he had a new daughter. I was shattered.

The Lasting Effects of Alcohol

If alcohol hadn’t touched my life, I wouldn’t have been left in a house where my babysitter’s brothers sexually abused me. I thought I was cool, mature. But statistics don’t lie. Once it happens, it seems bound to happen again.

And it did.

If alcohol hadn’t touched my mother, maybe she wouldn’t have sought comfort in so many men. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so broken.

If alcohol hadn’t touched my life, my mother wouldn’t have been in a motel with a man when I needed her most. Maybe then the cops could have found her, told her that my sister’s husband had tried to drug me with sleeping pills. Maybe then my mother and sister wouldn’t have blamed me for destroying our family when I reported him.

If alcohol hadn’t touched my life, maybe my mother wouldn’t have married my second stepfather. Maybe she wouldn’t have played along with his abuse. Maybe she would have protected me.

Breaking the Cycle

But alcohol did touch me.

And when the trauma became too much, I let it. I let it numb me. Lead me into situations I shouldn’t have been in. Into relationships that mirrored the dysfunction I grew up with.

I let it write the script of my life.

Until I didn’t.

Because if alcohol hadn’t touched me, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

I wouldn’t understand resilience the way I do.

I wouldn’t recognize the weight of inherited pain—or the strength it takes to put it down.

Who Would I Be? Not Me.

Alcohol touched me. But it does not define me.

And that? That is something good.

💙 If alcohol, trauma, or loss has touched your life, you’re not alone. What’s one thing that has helped you heal? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.