Note: The author reserves the right to return to this post in five years and update if they were full of complete shit or not.

Sometimes I look at my daughter and wonder if she’s going to be an addict or alcoholic like me. The genetics are NOT in her favor, especially in the awkward preteen department. Her father and I clearly shapeshifted into attractive territory well after high school. But more importantly, the -ism of alcoholism snakes it’s way through both branches of her family tree. Before we were a family of three, it was easy to dismiss such worries of an offspring’s alcoholic or addict fate because “we know what to do if she is.”

Now, it’s not that simple.

I look at her face, a reflection of my own, and imagine her experiencing the pain and fear that accompany this disease. It rips my heart out wondering if she will suffer like we did. Will she experience assault, intimate partner violence, or a rap sheet as tall as she is as a result of this disease? If she takes after her father, will she also embrace the artistic liberties taken with jailhouse tattoos? I try not to linger in this reflection too long—I only want clean lines and well-lit shops for her tattoo experiences.

If you have a toddler or young child then you know they are very much like alcoholics and addicts. In short, they are dicks, much like I was in my inebriated state. The tantrums, public freak outs, the black and white thinking, the tragedies of boundaries, and don’t forget the constant need for a fucking snack, I mean this is clearly addict behavior, right? Is this a sign of things to come?

It’s a fine line between analyzing someone’s behavior and projecting your own, I’m aware.

So what do we monitor and what do we dismiss as the normal growing pains associated with raising a kid? How do we nurture away a disease that may never occur?

If you’re reading this far for answers, I have nothing concrete to offer. However, I will share how I cope with the rabbit hole thoughts and translate it into action. The TL:DR? I take the gaps in nurturing I experienced as a child and do my best to avoid repeating them with her. This is the best I can do.

Here are some examples:

My brother had a lot of emotional needs as a child, and I incorrectly interpreted his constant need from our parents as “taking all the love and care they had.” His needs were so intense, I was too afraid to ask for my own emotional needs to be met because I didn’t want to be a burden. I never realized that my parents’ care and affection was unlimited when it came to us both. What little time I had solo with my parents I treasured and I didn’t want to ruin it with stating my own needs. This thought process eventually morphed into “I’m not important. I can’t communicate my needs to anyone, because it’ll be a burden on them”, which kept me in a state of unnecessary drowning for far too long.

Today, I invite my daughter into conversations about feelings, big and small, and do the best I can to nurture, not dismiss. It takes a lot of coffee. I try to meet her where she is, and ask her the “why” behind her feelings to get her to make connections and build trust and rapport between us. I make sure to have dates with her and invite her into my world of friends and work. She has a place in all parts of my world. By doing this, I hope I’m curating a sense of safety and security in her to grow into her own sense of self, knowing she has a family and community to rely on in the background. She is welcome anywhere in my life, emotionally or physically.

I was a good, smart kid, who was very sheltered from the harsh realities of the human experience. I had experienced some pain, but because I never acted out in clearly negative ways growing up, people assumed I knew how to handle life on life’s terms. It’s safe to say that my parents jumped to the conclusion that I didn’t need hard conversations and hands-on guidance because I was smart enough to figure things out. Let me spell it out now: Honor roll does not equate to emotionally stable.

So when some harsh realities became present in my own life, from body image issues, date rape, and parental estrangement, I did not know how to handle them and oh boy, did I fuck up some responses. I clearly missed the very special sitcom episodes on these topics. I relied on quick fixes like stealing diet pills. I used my emotions to hold my dating partners hostage. I was codependent with friends and lost many in the process. I wasn’t prepared to ask for help and I jumped at any ports in the storm, eventually finding myself in rehab.

No matter how sweet, how smart, or well adjusted my kid is (ok, well adjusted is a goal, not our current reality), hard conversations about real world truths are already a part of our life. We talk about healthy and unhealthy habits, from food and exercise to the concept of holding people emotionally hostage (“You can kick and scream your feelings out, but you can do that in your room. Mommy’s watching her stories”). These conversations are easy to have with her now, and thankfully she has a plethora of Aunties to have conversations with when she’s older and it’s too embarrassing to talk things through with me. I tell her when I have bad days at work, if I messed up, or if someone hurt my feelings, so she can see that it’s ok to share the good and the bad. I apologize to her. I model self care and allow her the space to do the same. She’s said before that she just wants to stay home some weekend days, and I honor it. The world can be fucking exhausting and it’s ok to step back.

I worry that I’ll slip into overcompensating my core wounds and instill new ones in her. This is where my own practice of self care comes into play. Since she was an infant, I’ve taken time away to breathe and think. I used to hire a babysitter so I could read a book in peace at Starbucks.

I go on walks, and sometimes I invite her on shorter ones so she can utilize the same benefits of breathing, thinking, and sightseeing. Mom and Dad attend couples counseling to make sure our communication skills reflect love and respect. And of course, I attend recovery meetings (and definitely play recovery podcasts in the background), tag in my recovery cohort, and find ways to be of service.

Don’t get it twisted: I am far from perfect in raising this kid. I have lost my shit. I have had moments of sheer frustration. I have had to apologize and practice humility with her. But I’m present and aware of my intentions and actions today, thanks to my own recovery, and that is half the fucking battle.

I can’t play God with predicting my daughter’s future. I can only arm myself with the knowledge of what didn’t work for me or what would have made a real difference and let the rest go.

She isn’t me, but we share the same set of genes and personality traits. We feel everything. We care deeply. We want to be everyone’s friend. I work to encourage the good and instill coping mechanisms for the rough times. Sometimes feeling everything so passionately is exhausting; it’s ok to take a break. This is just as much a message to her as it is myself. Sometimes we can’t be everyone’s friend—we both need to learn how to love everyone and invest in those we can.

It all boils down to this:

I’m trying to give her a running start against her genes, but if she turns out exactly like me, I know I can put other tools into practice: accountability and loving but firm boundaries. I hope the -ism skips her and she’s just a normal, loving, and happy human with a good emotional head on her shoulders.

But, if not, the college fund can easily become a rehab fund.