When Dad Died, I Turned to Alcohol. When Mom Died, I Turned to Therapy.

My dad died when I was 26. Almost exactly ten years later, my mom died too. I was 36.

When Dad died, I turned to alcohol. When Mom died, I turned to therapy.

A lot of things went into those choices.

With Dad, I was only 26. Way too young to lose a parent. It was my first real loss, too.

And then, after Dad died, I became Mom’s main caretaker. She had an autoimmune disease. Some days, she was fine. Other days, I was more her nurse—or even her mom—than her daughter. So instead of dealing with my own grief, I put all my energy into helping her through hers. I numbed my own pain.

When Mom died, though, I was ten years older. I’d been through loss before. And, as awful as it sounds, instead of getting more responsibilities like I did after Dad, I was suddenly just… free.

I could spend my time however I wanted. No more checking in on Mom. I could actually focus on work, take on more there, instead of saving all my energy for her. And I hated myself for being happy about it.

I would have given anything to have Mom back. Still would. But I couldn’t pretend there wasn’t some relief mixed in with the grief.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Or who I was supposed to be now that I didn’t have that responsibility. I had no idea how to handle the guilt, either. But I knew one thing: going back to the bottle wasn’t going to help. It hadn’t helped after Dad.

Now I wasn’t just dealing with losing Mom. I finally had to face Dad’s death, too.

At 26, alcohol helped me survive all the noise and new, unwanted responsibilities. It let me mask the pain just enough to function.

But at 36, I didn’t need to just survive. I needed to figure out how to actually live. Therapy wasn’t about numbing anything this time. It was about naming the guilt, noticing the freedom, and figuring out what to do with all the space I suddenly had.

It’s been eight years since Mom died. Eighteen since Dad. And honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m writing this.

I just talked with a family member about all of this—about my loss, about theirs. I actually said, “When Dad died, I got into alcohol. When Mom died, I got into therapy.” And something about that stuck with me.

We talked about how every loss hits you differently. There are so many things that shape how you handle it.

I guess I just want to say: grief hits you in the weirdest ways. There are healthy ways to deal with it, and not-so-healthy ones.

But I don’t think there’s a clear right or wrong way to handle it.

I handled my first real loss with alcohol.

• Was it healthy? Not even close.
• Would I recommend it? Definitely not.
• Are there risks? Absolutely.

But at 26, I did what I had to do.

We all just do the best we can with what we’ve got, until we find something better.