We all carry around some shame. Most of us can just sweep it under the carpet or tie a pretty bow on it and make it all better. Some of us like to out our shame and turn it into a joke. Have I mentioned how filthy my home is? Yours too, I bet. But, really, my children don’t even know what colour the inside of a toilet bowl should be. There are items in my fridge older than at least one of my children. And I’m not even sure which year the Christmas tree needles on the front steps are from. Hardy har har. Right?
How about the time some poor mom dressed her toddler in snowsuit, hat, mits, scarf and then let him play in the snow without boots on? And remember when you were so tired you just let the kids eat carrot cake for dinner? Oh my god, don’t forget how little Johnny managed to climb up onto the kitchen table and was eating sugar by the spoonful.
What about the time a mother had a couple glasses of wine too many and her kids asked why she was acting so funny? What if they didn’t ask? What if it wasn’t just the one time, but every time? And then she tried to stop drinking but she couldn’t and there was the fighting and everything was falling apart.
No, you don’t get to turn this kind of shame into a joke. And ignoring it just makes it worse. I know something about the hurt and the despair alcoholism inflicts on a family and it is real and it is dark. It is not my story to tell, though. I don’t have first-hand knowledge of what it’s like to lose control of your drinking, to lose sight of your sobriety. I do know just enough to understand the weight of that shame. There’s the paralyzing fear of being found out and the judgments that will come down against you. There is also the fear of admitting it, letting the world in, and then failing publicly. There’s more, I’m sure, and all of it is so very, very isolating. Shackles of shame.
So when, in the course of one week, I read three separate accounts of women, mothers, breaking out of the prison that shame built and identifying as alcoholics, I am moved beyond belief. The courage it takes to make a public declaration about one’s alcoholism and affix your name to it is immense. There will be judgment and it will be hard. By letting the rest of us in, though, they are a little less alone. They are accountable to the rest of us and we are accountable to them through our support. What’s more, they become beacons of hope and light for other lost souls. Inspirations.
Heros.
Here are their stories: Maggie writes at Okay, Fine, Dammit, Heather blogs at The Extraordinary Ordinary, and there’s Corrine at Trains, Tutus and Twizzlers.
Let me know of any others that I should link to as well.
Addendum: Ubi es Caelum
Image courtesy of jesiehart on Flickr.
But it was clearly worth the wait.