True Story

Difficult, and yours to tell.

Families keep secrets that we, in turn, keep. Then one day there’s a shift, in the moment or in you, and the truth spills out.

This past weekend my sister and I were visiting extended family and the topic of alcoholism came up. I found myself telling them my father had a drinking problem. That when I was a child, his rage seemed to spring out of nowhere, with me its frequent target. That my mother’s code, dad was “in a bad mood,” was a warning to steer clear, but sometimes I didn’t, or couldn’t.

Then, my father had a stroke when he was in his mid-forties. After he recovered, he was a different person. He no longer smoked and stopped drinking to excess. Instead of being volatile, he was supportive and kind. For the last four decades of his life, it was easy to love him. But that didn’t erase my lived experience.

My sister was (understandably) unsettled by my frankness.  She felt Dad would be devastated if he knew we were discussing him this way. She’s right. He would. Yet. Even though that makes me sad, it doesn’t change the fact that when I was young, my father drank too much. It doesn’t change the fact that too often, my childhood felt unsafe. It doesn’t change the fact this difficult truth is mine to share, or not.

But I absolutely believe change is possible.  

Let me tell you about my dad.