The Sobering Truth: How Denial Harms the Children of Alcoholics

I’m not writing this to parent shame or to guilt trip people. I have a lot of empathy towards my dad and I know alcohol use disorder is a lot more complex than it is given credit for.

I’m also aware at how difficult some of you may find my content, especially if you’re parents and your addiction has had an affect on your loved ones. I get it, I’m a mum and I would hate hearing about I had hurt or affected my family. But through sharing we can grow and learn.

I hope that by sharing my experience it will help you to understand a different angle. This isn’t about being a victim or placing blame, it’s about bringing together two perspectives and learning from one another, it’s about bridging a gap and healing.

One of the biggest affects my dads alcohol use disorder had on me growing up was his denial. Now, I know he was in denial too so how could he admit to a problem that he didn’t know he had. But, looking back there were glimmers of realisations from him, there were moments where deep down he knew, there were times he admitted to having a drink problem. But, then the realisation became all too consuming and he denied it or even worst denied admitting it.

His actions and words would contradict each other. For example there were times he would snap “I’m not an alcoholic, I could stop if I wanted to”, and then in the next breath he would say “Okay I will stop Monday”. Both sentences with two entirely different meanings. On one hand complete denial, and the other he insinuated that there was a problem, otherwise he wouldn’t need to stop on “Monday”.

You see his denial denied my reality, I could see what was happening but he was convincing me otherwise. When I said “I think you’re an alcoholic and need help”, he said “I think you’re being dramatic, you don’t know what you’re talking about”. I could blatantly see alcohol consumed him, and I was intelligent enough to relate the alcohol to his mood changes. But, he told me he wasn’t an alcoholic and therefore I believed him.

I looked up to my dad, most of us as young children respect and look up to our parents. We believe them and we naively believe that they’re invincible and all knowing. Which is why I was so conflicted. Even at the age of 27 when my dad was laid down shaking, sporting a yellow glow, I still believed him when he snapped back “I don’t have liver failure, you’re being dramatic”. I believed him, I genuinely believed him.

I used to really resent his denial, but now as a parent myself I can’t help but wonder whether he was trying to protect me. He knew deep down inside, but he didn’t want to worry or scare me. Which is admirable really. But, whichever way you want to look at it his denial did to help me, whether his intentions were good, whether he was gaslighting me intentionally, or whether he was so in denial himself.

Allow me to explain why. This constant confusion made me question my reality, imagine seeing the sky and knowing its blue but your parent tells you its not blue its yellow. You trust them, you believe them, and you respect them. But it leaves you confused and conflicted. Your experiences aren’t matching what you’re being told, and when that happens frequently it has a significant impact on you.

When I was frequently laughed at and told that I was being dramatic, it made me question my instinct and my surroundings.

I was always at conflict with myself and had no autonomy to think for myself. How could I be so wrong, surely he is an alcoholic, surely this isn’t normal behaviour.

It is only recently as an adult that I have realised where my constant validation seeking, my indecisiveness, and my lack of self-trust has stemmed from denial. Now I see it, I cannot un-see it.