Why turmoil?

Usually my blog is about my daughter, Meghann or something to do with the special needs

community.  

Today I want to tell you a story. 

                                                  

The light flipped on abruptly. His eyes darted around the room.  He barely paid attention

to his sleeping little girls.  

One was asleep, snuggled up in her fuzzy blanket for the night. Her brown long hair 

fanned out on her pillow. In between the twin beds there was a path of dropped barbies

on the floor leading to the chest full of Barbie cars, houses, airplanes, clothes, and 

accessories. 

The older sister was sleeping soundly in the bed next to her.  Her brown hair matched

her sisters but it was pulled into a ponytail on top of her head. They had not heard all

the arguing going on in the house…….. yet. Or maybe they heard it and just grew

accustomed to the noise. 

The dark bedroom was filled with a bright overhead light when he hit the switch. 

It woke them up before their dad said, “Get up. Get in the car.”

The girls did as they were told. Their eyes were half closed because of the glaring bedroom

light and from being woken up suddenly. Without saying a word they stumbled over the

barbies quickly shuffling their little feet toward the garage. Neither little girl acted surprised

with the demand. They always did what they were told and kept quiet.  Not that they could

or dare to attempt to talk over all the yelling from their parents. They were kind of used to

the yelling. After all this was their “normal” family life.  Turmoil.  A word the little girls

would eventually understand as they grew up. 

The youngest little girl drowsily pushed her long hair out of her eyes and climbed into the

station wagon hiking up her nightgown over her bare feet so she wouldn’t trip. She

slid in next to her sister and two brothers. 

All four kids without instructions from the parents sat in silence. Silence is what they

did. Silence is what they learned at a young age. Silence was easy for them. Silence

was expected. 

The station wagon wasn’t packed with their clothes, shoes, toys, or snacks for a trip.

This didn’t seem unusual to any of them. They barely noticed. They just sat quietly

huddled together in silence. 

The little girl stared out the car window into the darkness trying to focus on the road. 

She sat quietly trying to watch the road hoping the yelling in the front seat would stop. 

Maybe her mom would stop threatening to jump out of the car if she would be a good

girl. She didn’t think about where they were going as much as why. They drove and

drove which seemed like forever to a nine years old child. The arguing in the front seat

lasted as long as the ride. The little girl wanted to be swallowed up into a hole where

she could disappear from everything. She didn’t fully understand

why she felt this way. All she knew was an unpredictable and scary time was

happening again. It was scary to not know where they were driving, and it was scary to

never feel safe. The knot in her tummy never seemed to disappear. Just like she could

never disappear into a hole. 

When the station wagon finally stopped. The little girl looked out the car window and

recognized the old Victorian house. It was grandma’s house. Sliding out of the car with

her sister and her brothers following behind they climbed the steps to the five

bedroom house not realizing it would be their new home. When Grandma

opened the door the little girl was relieved and still confused about the middle of the night

road trip. Unfortunately the knot in her tummy didn't go away because Grandma didn’t look

happy to see them. She looked sad. Why? Grandma stepped aside looking down into

her confused granddaughter's face. That face was mine. This story is how I moved

in with my grandmother and how I figured out my parents were divorcing. This is one

of the many faces of a family affected by alcoholism.  

I grew up during the time when alcoholism was hidden from anyone outside the

home. It was an unspoken rule that alcoholism was shameful. And to never talk

about it to anyone. Let alone discuss it within the household. It was to be kept as

a secret. I am writing this today because I am tired of the secrets. One in eight

american adults meets the diagnostic criteria of an alcoholic. If you have an alcoholic

parent it is likely that either you or one of your siblings will have an addiction

problem. This is what happened in my family. Unfortunately one of my siblings has

fought addiction their entire life. It is a sad disease that trickles down in the family

affecting everyone differently into adulthood. Sometimes leading to other addiction

and sometimes leading to TURMOIL within a family or life.  

I closed my eyes to the infidelity and dishonesty in my first marriage because that is

what I was taught to do. My addiction is to not have turmoil. Which causes me to have

turmoil. I do not want to cause waves which ends up causing me a tsunami. To this day,

I am still trying to hide in that hole so I do not have to be the cause of turmoil. Little by

little I am being helped to stay out of the hole I find myself heading toward. My head

tells me silence is what now causes my turmoil. And my old habits keep trying to

push me back into the silent hole. I hope by sharing my story one person steps out of

their silent hole and the shame of addiction by them or a loved one can be released. 

Next time you witness a child acting out at school or in public remember my face.

You never know what a child or an adult is going through. Be kind. Remember

sometimes the turmoil is within, and it cannot be seen.  

Approximately 10.5 percent (7.5 million) of U.S. children ages 17

and younger live with a parent with AUD (alcohol use disorder), 

according to a 2017 report.23

 

https://www.aa.org/pages/en_US

https://americanaddictioncenters.org/alcoholism-treatment/children

The best thing my parents did for us according to me is to give us our grandma.

She provided us a safe place to live and unconditional love.