Growing up with alcoholics affected my parenting style. Al-Anon has helped me become a better parent.

• In family therapy, our therapist told me I shouldn't treat my children as if they were my friends.
• I realized that by trying not to recreate the dynamic I had with my parents, I'd become codependent.

The tension in my family had been building for a few months like magma in a volcano. My two young children were fighting more than usual, and my husband and I seemed perpetually annoyed at each other.

At school pickup one day, I confided in my friend about how difficult things had been. She mentioned that her family therapist, Nancy — a gruff, no-nonsense woman in her late 60s — had done wonders for their family dynamic. Having worked as a therapist for many years, I was grateful for the referral. Later that day, I called Nancy.

During our first family session, Nancy spoke softly to the kids — leaning in and asking questions — as my husband, Alex, and I smiled at each other from opposite ends of the couch. I thought, "This isn't so bad."

Eventually she sent the kids into the hallway to play cards so that the three of us could talk privately. As soon as the door closed, Nancy's demeanor changed.

"We have a real problem here," Nancy said, looking at me. "Your kids don't need you to be their friend; they need you to be their mother."

Startled, I sat frozen as Nancy pelted me with questions about my upbringing. She spoke about how we needed to set better boundaries and create more structure for our children. I left the session feeling attacked. I resented Nancy for pointing a finger at me and decided family therapy was over.

Having alcoholic parents affected my communication skills and made me codependent

But over the next few days I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said.

She wasn't wrong. I grew up in a family with two alcoholic parents, where the lines between the roles of parent and child were often blurred. From an early age I wasn't allowed to discuss my parents' drinking with anyone. I understood it was a family secret. Of course, most people in our close-knit community knew my parents were alcoholics, but their drinking was rarely acknowledged. This is often how it goes for families coping with addiction. The weight of hiding the substance abuse from the outside world often falls on the shoulders of caregivers, and this unspoken shame can be difficult for family members.

Maybe I'd been so focused on not repeating the familial patterns I'd grown up with — poor communication, feelings of powerlessness, gaslighting — that I was overcorrecting and ignoring codependent behaviors like avoidance and weak boundary setting. I realized that my family needed to go back to Nancy and that I needed to change these maladaptive behaviors before they negatively affected my children.

I decided it was finally time to go to Al-Anon, a support group designed for people whose lives have been affected by someone else's drinking. It only took me 42 years of living as a child of two alcoholics to attend my first meeting.

Throughout my life, lots of people — school counselors, teachers, friends, boyfriends — have encouraged me to go to Al-Anon. But I believed that speaking to anyone outside my family about my parents' drinking would be a direct betrayal. When my mother passed away in 2015 from a rare type of bone cancer, I assumed many of my codependent behaviors would stop. I was wrong.

I put others' needs before my own, causing me to burn out

My mother was a force to be reckoned with. She was stylish, creative, witty, and fun. Everyone wanted to sit next to Susie. Her close friends called her "Saint Susie," because she was so loving and kind, and also because she'd spent half of her 20s living as a nun. (Mom rarely spoke about that chapter of her life — it was yet another secret she kept.)

After she died, my father and I drifted apart. He continues to struggle with his sobriety, and I have two young children who demand my attention. Eventually I made the difficult decision to put my own family first, and for the first time in my adult life I was no longer caring for an addict.

But it turned out that a lifelong habit of putting other people's needs before my own was hard to break. Without my well-defined familial role, I felt empty and without purpose. My anxiety skyrocketed — I felt as if I were walking through a world where something bad was always about to happen.

I tried to fill the emptiness with endless commitments. I took on more clients in my private practice, which led to burnout. I volunteered for several positions at my children's school, got overwhelmed, and stopped showing up. I said yes to every invitation and began to resent my friends. I cooked elaborate recipes and got angry when no one in my family noticed or cared. (My children are 6 and 8 and not exactly gourmands.)

For me, codependency looks like trying to control outcomes, people-pleasing, and needing to be loved. Soon after our first session with Nancy, I told my husband I was finally ready to try Al-Anon, and he supported my decision.

Al-Anon was compassionate and forgiving

During the first meeting, I learned I wasn't supposed to refer to my parents as alcoholics. Or addicts. And — this part surprised me — I was told I shouldn't really talk about their drinking at all. "Oh great," I thought, "my parents had the exact same rules in our house."

Growing up, I wasn't allowed to acknowledge my parents' drinking, which contributed to my feelings of anxiety and self-doubt. I was immediately skeptical of the program and the people, but I decided to keep going back. I'm glad I did.

My weekly meeting is a small group. It's held on the first floor of a local Methodist church in a small, well-lit room (not a dark basement as depicted in movies). There's very little chitchat upon arrival and dismissal, which I like.

I'm learning that Al-Anon is a community built on the principles of compassion and trust — a confidential space for people to share and be heard. In my meeting there's no crosstalk, meaning that after someone speaks the group does not offer comments, advice, or even kind words. After I shared for the first time, the silence made me uneasy. I was left to sit with what I'd said. I felt messy and imperfect. But then it felt like the group helped absorb my words and bear the weight of my experience, just by being there and saying nothing.

I don't claim to know everything about Al-Anon. But I do know that for me it already feels like a family dynamic I never had. It's acknowledged in the program that while we don't always have to like one another, we have love for everyone in the room. We're bonded through a shared experience and a willingness to work on ourselves. Isn't that what family should be?

Changing lifelong habits takes time. It might be why new members are encouraged to attend at least six Al-Anon meetings before deciding whether the program is right for them. I continue to show up, and it's making a difference. I'm learning to forgive myself for the choices I made under the circumstances I was given, and I'm committed to changing the things I can. Because how I choose to live my life isn't anyone else's responsibility. From now on, it's on me.