I have always been a bit of a daddy’s girl. My Mum and I are very alike and sometimes that means we wind each other up. My Mum was a nurse for almost 40 years and sometimes this means she isn’t always especially supportive when my anxiety or depression rear their ugly heads.
My Dad just wants me to be happy. If I’m happy so is he. Simple as that.
Yesterday we met up with my parents for a few hours at a point about half way between our respective homes. We were catching up on family news and my parents were telling me about my aunt who, by the sounds of it, is spiralling towards a point of crisis as a consequence of her drinking. It brought home to me how things might have worked out if I had carried on drinking. My aunt is 65 – just 20 years older than me. I’m worried about her.
So, over a coffee the conversation turned to my almost nine months sober and to the fact that my parents are now more conscious of their own drinking and have cut down considerably. Then we moved on to talk about something else.
As we were getting up from the table my Dad said quietly “I’m really proud of you”. He caught me unawares. I didn’t think he had any idea of how bad things became, that my drinking was not just a bad habit but an addiction which was swallowing me whole. But now think perhaps he knows, really understands. He’s proud of me and it means more to me than I can ever say. Xx