I was born on October 14. 1946. That means that, as of yesterday, I am seventy-nine (79) years of age (not old), and for almost fourteen of those years I drank blackout alcoholically. Then came treatment and, for almost five years, I was a dry drunk – doing everything right for the wrong reasons. Finally, I had a spiritual awakening and, today, I have forty-one years of sobriety and serenity; one day at a time with the help of my Higher Power.

I did not have a birthday cake and neither did I have seventy-nine candles. My birthday is  a day of gratitude for being born and, while there was a lengthy period when I had little to no time for my mother and her controlling ways, sobriety and ACOA taught me that everything I learned about controlling people and getting my own way I learned from observing her. You see, my mother was a dry drunk. She hated the smell of alcohol. Her addictions were work and church/prayers. Morning mass and evening rosary.

Long before I picked up my first drink, I was a dry drunk. I did what I wanted to do, when I wanted to, where and with whom I wanted to. I broke just about every rule in boarding school and never got caught. I had created a network of enablers who covered for me.

It is fascinating to me to review my life from the standpoint of an Adult Child of an Alcoholic – albeit a dry one. I was fascinated to learn that, within the confines of our “good Christian home” the absence of healthy emotions was normal; manipulation and volcanic outbursts of anger was normal; and that we, the children, each learned how to survive. No one taught us. No one said “You are the family clown. You are the family troublemaker. You are the gift of God.” Each of us, in our way chose different paths to survive. I was the class clown bordering on being the troublemaker. I was the one who pushed the envelope and pushed it to the limit at home and in school.

As an adult, my “Irish brogue’ and sense of humour was like a sheet that covered a multitude of sins. Also, being a priest (at that time R C), gave me a certain latitude of protection from the confrontation I should have received.

Before I could admit to any of the above, I had to get sober. That in itself took time – almost five years imitating my mother as a dry drunk. I went to meetings, memorized a lot of the Big Book, talked to folks I called my sponsor, and, thanks be to God, I listened to the good advice of a couple of guys (Boston Irish), who talked sense into me. Then came my spiritual awakening and, at this point, I began to acknowledge my dad’s spirituality. He was a quiet individual. After a day’s work, he’d spend a couple of hours in the garden and bring me with him. Through storytelling of his own adolescence, he raised me. His was a low-key but deep spirituality. One thing my parents shared was their concern for families who ran into hard times when work was not available. Service without fanfare. Quietly dropping off a week’s worth of groceries and nothing being said about it.

As I grew in both AA and ACOA, I came to the realization that who I am and what I chose to do is not the fault of my parents, especially my mother. I came to the realization that my parents loved me in the best and only way they knew how.

There is something freeing in being able to take responsibility for my survival skills. I didn’t become the class clown or the troublemaker because of my mother. I unconsciously chose these modes of behavior in order to survive the system into which I was born. My mother had no idea she was a dry drunk addicted to church and prayers. She was a good person doing the best she knew how, and, thanks to mom and dad, I got a good education.

There is much to be grateful for in my background. Gratitude for a good education; gratitude for a storytelling dad, gratitude for growing up in the countryside, gratitude for a seminary training that opened the world to me when the world and I were in a whirlwind.

Today I am grateful for the programs of AA, ACOA, and Al-Anon – those 12 step spiritual programs have given me life and a spirituality I would have sorely missed. Twelve simple steps took me from powerlessness to turning my will and my life over to God and, each day, I ask only for the knowledge of god’s will for me and the power to carry it out.

Séamus D.

Séamus D. is an episcopal priest in the New Orleans diocese.