I was always waiting for Hyde to reappear

I didn’t know my dad was an alcoholic until I was a teenager. When I was little, the phrase used to describe his illness was ‘he is Scottish and likes a drink’.

I knew that when my dad had been drinking to stay out of the way. There was inevitably going to be an argument between my parents that might get violent. 

I learnt to watch for the signs, the smell of alcohol was my cue to be on alert. My dad worked away during the week, so these were always on a weekend.  

My dad was my hero when he wasn’t drinking.

That reference to Dr Jekyll and Hyde is so familiar to me. We shared a love of football, and he was my biggest cheerleader and supporter of anything I chose to get involved with. 

I could depend on him when sober to be a supportive parent. The problem was I was always waiting for Hyde to reappear. Something I still experience now, always waiting for the ‘shit to hit the fan’ if I feel like things are going far too well for me.  

Divorce

My parents divorced when I was 7. I lived with my mum, seeing dad on holidays. Weirdly things never got out of control with his drinking. I realise he was doing his best to stay sober during our time together. 

I reflected as an adult how painful this must have been for my mum. I would come home and tell her of the great time I had. She understandably held a lot of pain and grief, and our relationship deteriorated.

I went to go live with my dad at 13 and saw my mum at school holidays. As an adult, my mum told me dad begged her to get me to change my mind. My mum believes this is because he didn’t want the responsibility of looking after a teenager. I now know from painful experience what he meant. 

Fear and embarrassment

I lived in a near constant state of fear of him coming home drunk from the pub, angry that he wasn’t like ‘other dads’, embarrassed the whole village knew about him and people telling me when they had seen him drunk or falling out of the pub.

I was deeply ashamed and at 17 left home. I could live a new life, reinvent myself, one where people did not know this shameful secret I kept. I told no one I knew there.

Shame gave way to guilt for my family who remained living in the village, trying desperately to get my dad to stop drinking.

There were times when I was pulled back into reality. I was an only child so when my dad had a fall or an alcoholic seizure that led to him being in hospital, it would be me who would be called as next of kin.

I can still recall vividly arriving on hospital wards to hear my dad arguing and shouting at the staff to let him leave or go out for a cigarette. I was mortified. Some looked at me with sympathy, others with pity. 

My dad died in 2009.  He was diagnosed with stomach cancer and a week later he died. I remember at the time being glad there was no mention of alcohol on his death certificate. So naive to think that it didn’t play its part.

Using my experience

I was 28 and about to start a Social Work degree. Just like the majority of helping professions, I decided I wanted to put that post traumatic growth to good use. 

My mental health has undeniably suffered over the years. During my teenage years I experienced symptoms of OCD and later, as an adult, I was diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder.

I later retrained as a psychotherapist and that is what I do today. I work with children, teenagers, and families. My work is incredibly rewarding to me.

I get to help people who are struggling every day, and it gives me a sense of purpose. My job also gives me the chance to provide people who are in pain, hurt and suffering, the compassion that my dad needed.

I continue to heal from the past and build my future. Part of that is not keeping my experience secret, supporting organisations like Nacoa and Al-Anon and taking a stand to break the stigma. 

Yvonne

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