Caring for an alcoholic parent

We were recently invited by Action For Carers Surrey to host an online conversation exploring what it means to care for a parent who uses alcohol.  

Three Nacoa volunteers – Ryan, Ginny and Annie (name changed to protect anonymity) – shared their personal experiences of growing up with an alcoholic parent, the caring responsibilities they took on, and what has helped them along the way. 

The discussion highlighted that no two experiences are the same, but many emotions are often shared: confusion, responsibility, guilt, resilience and, ultimately, hope.  

Below is an edited version of the conversation, organised around the questions asked during the event. 

Can you share a little about your experience of growing up with an alcoholic parent? 

Ryan 

I grew up around pubs because my mum worked as a pub landlady.  

Looking back, I probably started to realise something was different when I was about seven or eight years old.  

I’d stay at friends’ houses and notice their parents weren’t drinking every evening or falling asleep on the sofa surrounded by bottles. It slowly dawned on me that what felt normal to me wasn’t everyone else’s normal. 

When my parents separated, things became much more difficult. My mum’s new relationship encouraged her drinking and created an environment that felt unsafe.  

From a young age, I found myself stepping into a caring role. I was making sure she had food in the house, buying healthier groceries, locking up the pub and the house at night because she often couldn’t, and worrying constantly about how she was coping. 

Even after I’d left home, I found myself travelling back from university because I was worried about her. I’d come home to clean the house, make sure she was eating properly and check everything was okay. It felt like I was the one carrying the responsibility. 

One thing I remember vividly is feeling jealous of my friends. I’d see families eating dinner together, playing games or simply spending time together without chaos. Going back home afterwards was hard because the contrast was so clear. 

Ginny 

My experience was slightly different because I didn’t realise my mum had an alcohol problem while I was growing up.  

I knew she struggled with her mental health and that her moods could be unpredictable, but I thought it was completely normal for her to have a glass of wine every evening or to be drinking by the time I got home from school. 

It wasn’t until much later in life that I began looking back and recognising that my childhood had been very different from what many other people experienced. 

Things became much more obvious after my dad became ill and, later, died. He had quietly managed so much behind the scenes, and after he was gone my mum’s drinking became much harder to ignore.  

Looking back, I can now see how much uncertainty and insecurity there was growing up, even though I couldn’t recognise it at the time. 

Annie 

Although both of my parents drank throughout my childhood, my experience looked different again. From the outside, our family probably appeared very functional.  

My dad was organised and controlling, so the practical side of family life carried on. We had food, routines and a house that functioned. 

What I realise now is that what was missing was emotional care. I had to become independent very early because there wasn’t anyone helping me understand my feelings or guiding me through life in the way parents usually do. 

Like Ryan and Annie, I didn’t fully recognise the extent of the problem until I was an adult. I was around 27 before I understood that my parents’ drinking wasn’t simply part of who they were.  

Looking back, I can now see the emotional neglect that I couldn’t recognise as a child because it was all I’d ever known. 

What did/does caring for an alcoholic parent look like for you? 

Ginny 

For me, caring for my mum really changed after my dad died. He had quietly taken on so much of the day-to-day responsibility and, in many ways, had become both her carer and her enabler.  

Before he died, I remember having a very honest conversation with him. I told him I couldn’t take on the role he had played. I couldn’t spend every day taking Mum shopping, taking her to restaurants for her daily wine or trying to manage every aspect of her life. I knew I wasn’t able to live like that. 

After he died, though, I was the only sibling living nearby, so naturally more responsibility fell to me. My mum was grieving and struggling to cope, and the situation quickly became overwhelming.  

The chaos increased, as did the manipulation that often comes with addiction. I found myself trying to support her while also protecting myself, my husband and my children. 

That balance was incredibly difficult to find. I wanted to care for my mum, but I also had to recognise that I couldn’t allow her needs to consume my own life. 

Ryan 

Looking back, I don’t think I realised I was a carer when I was younger. It was just what I did. 

There were practical things that became part of everyday life. I’d make sure Mum had proper food in the house because alcohol often came before eating.  

I’d cook meals, tidy up, lock the pub and the house at night and check everything was secure because she would often fall asleep before doing it herself. 

Living in a small village meant people knew our situation. Mum would sometimes send me to buy wine, and I’d quietly try to buy the weakest bottle I could find because I wanted to feel like I was helping in whatever small way I could. 

As I got older, I realised I couldn’t fix her addiction. What I could do was try to make life a little safer and a little more manageable. Sometimes that meant making sure there was food in the fridge. Sometimes it meant cleaning the house or looking after the pets.  

As her health declined, particularly towards the end of her life, there was less and less that I could actually do beyond helping her get to appointments and encouraging her to accept medical support. 

One of the hardest things was accepting that caring doesn’t always mean you can change the outcome. 

Annie 

My caring role looked different because my parents were able to manage more of the practical aspects of life themselves for many years. But emotionally, I carried a great deal of responsibility. 

As an adult, I often felt responsible for their wellbeing and found myself trying to make life easier for them. Like many adult children of people with alcohol dependency, I wanted to solve their problems, even though they weren’t mine to solve. 

Over time I’ve realised that caring doesn’t have to mean sacrificing yourself. You can love someone, care about them deeply and still recognise that their recovery isn’t something you can do for them.  

That understanding has helped me develop a much healthier relationship with both my parents and with myself. 

How have your boundaries changed over time? What kinds of boundaries have you found useful? 

Annie 

For a long time, I didn’t really understand what boundaries were because I’d never seen healthy ones growing up. I thought love meant fixing people, rescuing them or carrying their problems. It took me years to realise that wasn’t my responsibility. 

One of the biggest changes has been accepting that I can’t change my parents.  

I can tell them how I feel, I can offer support, but I can’t make them stop drinking or make different choices. Once I accepted that, it became much easier to decide what I would and wouldn’t do. 

I’ve also learned that it’s okay to step back when conversations become hurtful. Addiction often brings denial, blame and anger, and I don’t have to stay in situations where I’m being treated badly. That’s been a really important boundary for me. 

Having children also made me think differently. My responsibility is to them as well as to my parents, and sometimes that means choosing to protect my own family first. That was a difficult lesson because I’d spent so much of my life putting everyone else’s needs before my own. 

Ryan 

I think my boundaries have changed because I’ve finally accepted that I wasn’t responsible for Mum’s drinking. 

For years I thought that if I just found the right words or did enough, I could somehow make things different.  

I tried encouraging her to get help, I tried helping her cut down and I tried taking on more and more responsibility at home. Eventually I realised I was driving myself into the ground trying to control something I couldn’t control. 

That doesn’t mean I stopped caring. It just meant recognising where my responsibility ended. 

Towards the end of Mum’s life, there were days when she’d refuse medical appointments or reject help.  

I had to accept that I couldn’t force her to make decisions she wasn’t ready to make, however difficult that was to watch. 

Looking back, I wish I’d understood earlier that looking after myself wasn’t selfish. It’s very easy to lose yourself when you’re caring for someone with an addiction because their needs can become all-consuming. 

Ginny 

Learning about boundaries has probably been one of the biggest changes in my life. 

For years I thought being a good daughter meant always being available. I felt responsible for keeping Mum happy, solving problems and making sure everything was okay. That became exhausting. 

Counselling helped me understand that I could care about my mum without taking responsibility for everything that happened to her. It helped me separate what belonged to me from what belonged to her. 

One of the most important boundaries I’ve learned is recognising that I’m entitled to my own life. I have my own family, my own relationships and my own wellbeing to protect.  

Setting boundaries hasn’t meant loving my mum any less. If anything, it’s allowed me to have a healthier relationship with her because I’m no longer trying to carry something that was never mine to carry. 

I’d encourage anyone in a similar position to remember that boundaries aren’t about shutting people out. They’re about protecting yourself so that you can continue to care without losing yourself in the process. 

What does support look like to you now? 

Ryan 

Support looks very different to me now than it did when I was younger. As a child, I was focused on supporting my mum. Looking back, I can also see how important it was that other people were quietly supporting me. 

I was lucky to have people around me who noticed what was happening. They’d give me lifts to school if Mum couldn’t, check in on me or help keep things running when life felt chaotic. At the time I probably didn’t appreciate how much of a difference that made, but I do now. 

Something I’ve come to understand is that addiction is an illness. It’s easy for people to ask, “How could someone choose alcohol over their child?” but that’s not how addiction works. Understanding that hasn’t made everything that happened okay, but it has helped me separate my mum from her illness. 

When I was supporting Mum, it was often about the practical things – making sure there was food in the house, helping her get to appointments, cleaning, looking after the pets and trying to keep things going.  

As her health deteriorated, there was less I could actually do, and accepting that was one of the hardest parts of the journey. 

These days, support also means talking openly about my experiences. If sharing my story helps someone else feel less alone or encourages them to reach out for help sooner than I did, then something positive has come from what I’ve been through. 

Annie 

For me, support has come from finally talking about something that stayed hidden for so many years. 

When I was younger, I tried raising my parents’ drinking with them, but like many people living with addiction, they became defensive or angry. Eventually I realised I couldn’t change that. What I could do was stop carrying it on my own. 

Being involved with Nacoa has been a huge part of that. It feels like taking something that was incredibly painful and using it to help somebody else.  

There’s so little you can control when you’re living with someone else’s addiction, so being able to support other people through Nacoa has given my experiences meaning. 

I’ve also made a conscious decision to be open with my own family. We talk honestly about my parents’ drinking because secrecy and silence only add to the shame.  

If we can have those conversations without judgement, it takes away some of the stigma that so many families still experience. 

One thing I’ve realised is that many adult children of parents with alcohol dependency become very independent. We get used to coping on our own. Learning to ask for help and letting other people support me has been one of the biggest changes I’ve made. 

Ginny 

Counselling made an enormous difference to me. Speaking to someone independent gave me the space to work through feelings I’d carried for years – not just about my mum, but about my dad, my own family and the impact everything had had on my life. 

One of the hardest things about caring for someone with alcohol dependency is how lonely it can feel. Friends often want to help, but unless they’ve lived through something similar, it’s difficult for them to truly understand. 

I also found support through Al-Anon, where I met other people who had lived with the same kinds of experiences.  

Simply sitting in a room with people who recognised the feelings I was describing was incredibly reassuring. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to explain everything. 

Finding Nacoa was another important step. Reading other people’s stories made me realise I wasn’t alone, and volunteering has given me the opportunity to turn something painful into something positive.  

I often think how different things might have felt if I’d known about Nacoa when I was growing up, and that’s one of the reasons I’m so passionate about helping others find it now. 

How has your understanding of your parent’s drinking changed over time? 

Ginny 

When I was growing up, I didn’t realise there was anything unusual about my mum’s drinking. It was normal to me that she’d have a drink when I got home from school or take a glass of wine to bed. I didn’t understand that alcohol had become something she depended on rather than something she simply enjoyed. 

As I got older, I began to recognise the patterns. I saw the changes in her mood and behaviour, the unpredictability and the manipulation that often came with her drinking.  

I realised this wasn’t social drinking – it was a dependency. That understanding helped me make sense of so many experiences from my childhood that had never quite added up. 

It also helped me develop compassion. I don’t excuse some of the things that happened, but I now understand that my mum was living with an illness. That perspective has allowed me to separate the person from the addiction, and that’s been an important part of my own healing. 

Ryan 

I had a similar experience. Whatever you grow up with becomes your normal because it’s all you’ve ever known. It wasn’t until I spent more time with other families that I realised our home life was different. 

As I got older, my understanding kept changing. There were times when I minimised it because alcohol is legal. I’d think, “It’s not like Mum’s taking drugs,” and convince myself it wasn’t that bad. Then something would happen that reminded me just how serious it was. 

I also spent years believing that if I tried hard enough, I could make things different. Eventually I realised there was only so much I could do. Accepting that was incredibly difficult, but it also gave me permission to stop carrying responsibility for something that was never mine to control. 

Looking back now, I understand much more about addiction than I did as a child. I can recognise the illness without forgetting the impact it had on me, and I’ve learned that it’s possible to hold both of those truths at the same time. 

Annie 

Over time, I’ve come to see that alcohol wasn’t really the root of my parents’ problems – it was how they coped with them. 

Both of my parents struggled emotionally, and alcohol became a way of managing feelings they didn’t know how to deal with. It created more problems, of course, but it wasn’t where those problems began. 

Understanding that has helped me feel more empathy towards them, while also recognising the impact their choices had on me. It doesn’t mean accepting everything that happened, but it does mean seeing the bigger picture. 

That shift in perspective has been an important part of moving forward. I’ve stopped asking why they couldn’t just stop drinking and started understanding that recovery is far more complicated than that. 

What would you like to share with someone who is currently in a caring role? 

Annie 

The biggest thing I’d say is to remember that your needs matter too. 

Caring for someone with alcohol dependency is different from many other caring roles because addiction can affect the relationship itself. It can leave very little room for your own feelings or needs, and over time that can start to feel normal. 

One idea that really helped me was recognising that healthy relationships should have some balance. There will always be times when one person needs more support than the other, but over the long term, both people should feel listened to, valued and cared for. 

If you realise that all of your energy is going in one direction, take a moment to ask yourself how you’re doing. Are you looking after yourself? Are you talking to people who care about you? Are you making time for the things that bring you joy? 

Many of us who grew up in these environments become incredibly independent. We get used to coping on our own.  

But asking for help isn’t a weakness – it’s an act of self-care. Find people you trust, let them support you and don’t lose sight of the things that make you feel like yourself. 

Most importantly, remember that you don’t have to sacrifice your own wellbeing to prove that you love someone. 

Ryan 

I’d tell someone that it’s okay to admit when you’re struggling. 

When you’re caring for a parent, especially from a young age, it can become such a normal part of life that you forget you’re carrying something incredibly heavy. You don’t have to cope with it on your own. 

I’d also say that it’s okay to set boundaries. Caring about someone doesn’t mean you have to carry responsibility for every decision they make. That took me a long time to learn, but it probably would have saved me a lot of guilt if I’d understood it sooner. 

If you’re able to, talk to someone. Whether that’s a trusted friend, a counsellor or an organisation like Nacoa, sharing what you’re carrying can make an enormous difference. 

Ginny 

I’d want people to know that they are not alone. 

When you’re living with someone who has an alcohol dependency, it can feel incredibly isolating. You might think nobody else understands what life is like behind closed doors, but there are so many people who have walked a similar path. 

Don’t be afraid to reach out for support. Whether that’s counselling, a peer support group or speaking to Nacoa, talking to someone who understands can help lift some of the weight you’ve been carrying. 

And finally, be kind to yourself. So many carers carry guilt – guilt for not doing enough, for feeling angry, for needing space or for putting themselves first. But looking after yourself isn’t selfish. It’s essential. 

You deserve support just as much as the person you’re caring for. 

_____ 

A big thank you to Ginny, Ryan and Annie for being involved in this discussion. If you’re affected by a parents drinking, our Helpline is here for you.