Our story is not one of sadness, it is one of pure resilience with love at its core

Today, I sit in my lovely home, surrounded by laughter and love. For the first time in my life my nervous system feels calm.

I started writing this morning as I sat and reflected. Everything negative that ever happened in life has always been linked back to far reaching effects of alcoholism.

I felt compelled to summarise life events. This piece is raw and it’s unedited.

Our story of hope and love

Some might describe my life story as traumatic or rough, but I don’t see it that way.

Our life story has shaped who we are today, and I am immensely proud of how strong and resilient my family are. Our story of hope and love.

My mother came from a privileged background. She was beautiful and incredibly intelligent, a Cambridge graduate who fell in love with a runaway teen from Manchester. They began their lives together, unconditionally beautiful.

We were raised in some beautiful places, but they were always short-lived, and we all had to learn to adapt. My mother called us “new-age travellers.”

We lived in a teepee for a while, and most of my memories include us children running around the woods in full body paint, my dad fire-breathing, and plenty of people doing earthy things, parties etc.

We lived with love and respect for mother earth as a key value. However, alcohol has been a running theme throughout our journey.

Life became tougher

Maat our little sister, my mother’s third daughter, died of cot death. This had lasting effects on my mother, as it would.

We continued moving around the UK in our ever-growing family. I was one of seven. I never knew why but I now do feel my mother was running away or trying to manage her struggling relationship with alcohol.

We spent some time on a small island on the sandy in Orkney isles, where memories become those that I don’t like to dwell on.

Life became tougher. I believe my mother had developed an unhealthy relationship with alcohol from a lot earlier than I originally knew but my family was beginning to feel the effect.

An early memory was when Santa didn’t come. I remember my mother was intoxicated and must not have remembered. I do, however, remember being happy as a family. Fun and laughter was and is still our go to.

Life was improving

My grandfather passed away, and we moved back to North Wales. Life was improving somewhat. My mother announced she was pregnant with her fifth child Tem. But happiness and life as we knew it came to an end suddenly when we lost our father in a tragic car crash.

My mother powered through and gave birth to my youngest sister. She met my amazing stepdad, Adam, who unexpectedly arrived in our lives and became the glue that held us together.

My mother started using the tool she grew accustomed to – alcohol as a crutch for her grief. After years of our family attempting to cover up her addiction, embarrassed and scared, we were all taken into care.

Years filled with heartache and sadness

The next years were filled with heartache and sadness. We had to move from foster home to foster home, and from school to school. We never settled and always yearned to be re united.

All my siblings were separated, and my mother’s life plummeted. She was an intellect and never gave up fighting for her children, even throughout alcohol decency, she battled the courts. Despite this, contact with her dwindled, and if she did show up, she was intoxicated.

Although we were all separated, we tried so hard to stay connected as a family because it was so important to us. My mother fell pregnant and gave birth to Tali, our brother, who has foetal alcohol syndrome and spent the first eight months of his life in the hospital.

My stepfather was given custody of my brother, which enabled us siblings to remain in contact.

Embracing the journey of motherhood

Life was tough, and I can’t say I enjoyed most of it. I never settled in school, and I fell pregnant at 15. I sat my GCSEs and gave birth 10 days later to my lovely daughter.

I wanted to give her the life I had taken from me by addiction. It became the making of me. I enjoyed all aspects of becoming a mother.

They say it makes you or breaks you. I fully embraced the journey and loved every minute. For what I knew of stability, this was it.

Alongside my life story, my siblings’ stories run parallel bonded by the same values. We shared life experiences that were similar but oh so different.

My eldest sister, Asher, was funded through private education by my grandmother because she never settled in care. She lived between boarding school and my grandmother’s home.

Asher couldn’t let go of the life we had before my father’s death and somewhat romanticised it. Her mental health struggled, and it was unknown to most. She was a true dreamer, and her life’s ambition was to reunite the family.

Five days before Christmas, when I was pregnant with my second child, we received news that she had committed suicide. I always blamed myself for this, I think we all did.

I am not to blame

Now I realise I am not to blame, but during quiet times I still regret not doing more. I feel like everyone feels guilt in different ways.

However, my mother who at this point was in remission never acknowledged her part, we never spoke of it either. I believe she must have felt shame.

Not long before Asher’s death my mother had hit rock bottom; she was dying from cirrhosis of the liver. We had been by her bedside, saying our last goodbyes. But miraculously after a month in the hospital, my mother was on the mend and went into rehab.

The death of my sister brought a new strength out of my mother, and she was strong as ever. The mother we once knew.

Always pretending to be okay

Years went by, and in a beautiful turn of events, my sisters Kiowa and Tem were able to visit more often. My brother Taran moved home to his mum, and life was on the up.

Despite my mother’s yearly relapses, relapses none of us knew how to approach. None of us wanted to relive those earlier years and just hoped that it was the last time.

My personal struggles ran parallel. I desperately tried to conform to normality and be the most conventional mother I could be. My family called me “soccer mom.”

I had a point to prove; I was desperately embarrassed of all we had witnessed. I have always pretended to be okay and have done a damn fine job of it, but inside, I was broken. Despite all my work I probably still am to some extent.

I wish I could tell all my siblings’ stories because I couldn’t be prouder of each and every one of them.

A journey to find myself

After my third son was born, I began a journey to find myself. I started working for a homeless charity supporting vulnerable young people and wanted to retrain as a midwife, wanting to make a difference.

My relationship broke down, and I was going it alone. I did the best job of transitioning, and there are many things I would have loved to do better.

Past traumas came back to haunt. Resentment grew with my mother because, despite everything, she was very judgmental of my decisions and failed to acknowledge her part in events.

When I reflect back and being a parent myself, I do understand that she just longed for me to be happy and stable and this may have been a coping mechanism.

I soldiered on and had another baby. I fell pregnant very quickly and, being settled with my children, I suppose I thought that was all I knew.

When my youngest was born, I went back to education and pursued my dream of becoming a midwife.

Challenging as ever by pushing through, I love academic work and homeschooled the kids over Covid whilst doing my degree.

My mother was so proud. This still meant so much to me, academic was the only way to impress her, and I feel I needed a degree just to make her proud.

We are all very resilient

Life continued until much to my embarrassment my relationship broke down. I have spent my whole life embarrassed for one reason or another, shame I believe plays a huge part for children of alcoholics. Feeling that I do not want to be another statistic.

It’s the main reason now that I work in care, the very core of why I started working was to inspire others. I believe there are no limits, we can achieve whatever we set out to achieve. We are all very resilient. That I thank my parents for.

Mixed emotions

One morning on the way to work the phone rings and my sister is with my mum who was unresponsive after another relapse. We bought her back to life after what seemed a lifetime of CPR, unbelievably after a week in ICU she came round.

Mixed emotions (relieved but so angry that she continued to put us through hell in our adult lives) this is hard to admit, and many will not understand. We had spent our whole lives anticipating her death due to the relapses and poor health.

A few weeks later she was back on her feet for a short while. In 2023 my mother passed away in bed surrounded by all her children. Her Oesophageal varices ruptured – common in alcoholics.

We said goodbye me and my siblings conducted the funeral just as she did my dad and sister. She was just unbelievably strong and hard faced. I didn’t cry. I do cry now.

The death of my mother brought us all closer than ever, my family are my world. Healing began from the life that we knew.

Feeling guilty for feeling relief

I know because we speak about it that we all feel so guilty for feeling a sigh of relief in her passing. We loved her and respected her beyond words, but life had been hard. She was an amazing grandmother, and her presence is missed so much.

I found myself in her passing I can now accept my weird and wonderful ways. We may not ever fully heal but I hope we can.

At times I still struggle with the calmness and always yearn for some drama that deep down I do not really want.

Your past does not define you

Today I am finally in the most healing relationship. I have met a man that does not judge that excepts me unconditionally. My siblings all thriving.

My children they are so well rounded, and I have to pinch myself sometimes at how balanced cleaver and beautiful they all are. I struggle to say this, but I must have done an ok job. I mean they saved me and made me power through.

I work as a midwife a job I love. I’m desperate to help others and get the message out that your past shapes you yes but does not define you.

I have had consent from everyone mentioned in my experience.

Enlli

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