- Alcohol
- Drugs
Welfare, or public assistance, was the first stigma I dealt with in life. My alcoholic father was absent during my childhood and teenage years, so my mother worked odd jobs and collected welfare to support her three children. This was back in the days before EBT cards and food stamps came in booklets. Much like Monopoly game money, food stamps used to look nothing like real money. So trying to be discreet with them was impossible. I used to HATE to go grocery shopping with my mother although I happily scarfed down the food the government gave us.
The stigma started in school, when I was forced to accept the free lunch program. They gave all the poor kids a pink ticket, which to me was like a flashing neon pink sign saying, “Poor kid! Poor kid!” I would save my allowances or beg my mother for a dollar just so I wouldn’t have to use the ticket. Every time I used it, I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks in embarrassment. I felt like everyone in the school knew I was poor, and they were laughing. My parents finally divorced, and my dad moved out. I remember packing his stuff and hating my mother. I told her that I want her to fix it and that I didn’t want to live in a single parent home. Although some of my friends had parents who were divorced, I still felt different.
At the young age of 15, my 18 year old boyfriend moved in with us. He came from a family that had a nice house, and I was SURE they didn’t collect welfare. Our home was an old row house in a coal mining town that was about 100 years old. I remember being horrified at the thought of my boyfriend seeing the place, let alone living there! To make it worse, the end of the month came and it was food stamp day! I tried my best to keep him from knowing we were on welfare. I started out adulthood with a huge resentment for my mother. If she just would have made my dad happy and got a good job, our lives would have been so much better. Determined to be different than her, I got pregnant to an alcoholic/addict and collected welfare. I wish I could have understood the saying, “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
Addiction stalked me long before it attacked. I believe it stared me down in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. When I wasn’t paying attention, it grabbed me by the neck and drained the life away. No childhood stigma can compare to the stigma that comes with being an addict or alcoholic. It stays with us as we grow in recovery. As recovery freed me from bondage, my past could forever stunt my growth. Jails and institutions don’t look good on a resume. I used to leave them out and make up a story to fill in the time gaps. I prayed they wouldn’t run my social security number or call references. The program teaches honesty, open-mindedness and willingness. With these, we are well on our way. But how many times do you think honesty has kept you from getting jobs? The stigma of addiction is often self-inflicted. We brought it on ourselves and feel forever stuck in the stigma. Society remembers the bad far more than they remember the good.
We have the power to bring positive attention to ourselves as well! I break my personal anonymity every day when I write a story about recovery. Sometimes I hesitate to put my name on the stories because I am nervous about the possible reaction. However, by naming myself as the author, it gives power to my recovery. I am becoming less ashamed of who I was in the past. Our recovery stories are a lifeline to a struggling addict. I write to the individuals who are not sitting in a speaker meeting. They are not ready to go to a 12-step meeting. But they ARE online, searching for help.
Writing it down and putting dirty laundry out there is my way of helping break the stigma of addiction. Surprisingly, there are non-addicts and non-alcoholics reading and commenting on the stories. My hope is that some personal story I write may help other people understand powerlessness. If I can get even one employer to feel how addicts and alcoholics feel at rock bottom, maybe he or she will be more inclined to consider a recovering addict for a job. If I can get even one family member to understand, forgiveness may come quicker. In my opinion, breaking my anonymity helps lessen the stigma. People knew all about my visits to prisons and institutions, so I have no problem being honest about recovery. Every day that we stay clean is a battle won. I have no problem showing my scars. We deserve second chances, and my goal is to help us get them.
April