Helen Coronato: My Double Life as a Secret Addict

I was afraid of being found out, but then Grace found me.

I’ve always wanted to be liked.

No, that’s not exactly true.

I’ve always wanted to be your favorite. Everyone’s favorite. All the time.

I could quickly read people and become the friend they were looking for, editing my likes and dislikes in accordance with their opinions. I could be funny, serious, the star, second fiddle, whatever the situation called for. I preferred being the person you wanted me to be rather than risk being myself. Why? Because I knew if you discovered the depth of my addictions, you’d be revolted. You’d recoil. You’d leave.

I had a wonderful husband, beautiful home, successful career, and a new car. My carefully crafted image had to be upheld, precarious though it was. I hid my shameful secrets for years until the pain of living with addiction became worse than the fear of others finding out about my addiction. There, in that tiny crack of grace, I somehow found enough courage to ask for help.

These People Are Losers

When I went to my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, I drove around the block three times and then parked out of sight. Still, 11 years later, I can’t believe I actually walked through the door. I had a crippling addiction to drugs, alcohol, sex, pornography, shopping, and prescriptions, and I could not believe that anyone—anyone—had ever done the despicable things I had done.

To cope, I looked for all of the ways I was different from the people sitting in the group, counting them off in my head: She’s way worse than I am. I never did that. I cannot believe she is wearing overalls. Who wears overalls? Get it together, lady.

The Enemy wanted me to leave and distracted me from getting healthy with such self-righteous thinking: These people are losers. If I stay here, I’ll become a loser too.

After weeks of treating meetings like a social event where my primary purpose was to be the prettiest girl in the recovery room, I realized I had stopped drinking, but not much else had changed. I was still an emotional train wreck. Another woman with plenty of sober time took mercy on me, pulled me aside, and offered me life-changing insight. “Stop comparing your story to theirs and start identifying their feelings with yours,” she told me. “There is a difference between ‘not drinking’ and ‘living sober.’ Now come sit next to me.”

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I did.

Getting Honest

For the first time, I really started listening. I quickly recognized that I wasn’t that different from the other men and women in the group. No, I had never driven drunk with my kids in the car like one of the other women, but it was because I hadn’t had children yet, not because I was such an upstanding drunk! If I fell back into alcohol and drugs I know I probably would—even today—drive drunk with my kids. It breaks my heart to even write that sentence, but it’s the truth.

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Helen Coronato is a contributor at TCW as well as a non-fiction author and a homeschooling mom of two boys. Check out her projects and connect at HelenCoronato.com.

This article was originally posted here