Are we alcoholics?
At the cookouts, the family reunions, hell at any function there is always that one corner. And you know the people in it are having a good time because well, they are drunk.
My father was a functioning alcoholic, and he died a month before his 61st birthday a year and a half ago. This topic is not talked about enough within our community. I personally struggle with alcoholism, and if I’m not careful, I can find myself drinking my problems away in between work obligations. These are not things I share with a badge of honor, but to display how common this is in our community.
I’m excited to see the conversations in the comment section after you read Danielle’s submission.
The Silent Killer: Alcoholism and Addiction
Written by Danielle
I am taking a suggestion from Jacquie on stating my why for writing. So this piece is a vulnerable one, and I think we don’t talk enough about the hidden struggles we as Black people have with substance abuse, and especially alcoholism. I felt this was a piece that needed to be shared in Blackstack for us.
I felt there was more to be learned about how addiction and alcoholism affect us in the Black community. How our families and ancestors suffered in silence. My own story of suffering sparked this. I got sober 8 years ago, and when I did, I learned both my grandfathers suffered with alcoholism when I was growing up, and I never knew. My mom and my dad both told me getting help back in the day for mental health or any addiction was frowned upon because they didn’t want to go seek help from anyone, especially white doctors. They also believed a lot could be prayed away, or that it was weak to admit you had a problem. I have family members, including my own father, who are currently functioning alcoholics. I thought that was a title I would die with if I didn’t stop drinking. So I truly believe that the passing down of the skill of hiding, escaping, and choosing something to numb away feelings runs deep. I can only imagine what my ancestors went through with no support or a safe place to work through the pain, struggles, and suppression of feelings because they felt unworthy, ashamed, and forbidden in some cases to speak on.
Some research…
“We have a lower number for use than our Caucasian counterparts, but we have more negative consequences from the use of alcohol. We suffer more mental, physical, and health problems because of the alcohol use in the Black community,” said Carol Stegall, a senior counselor at the Afrocenticentric Persona Development Shop in Columbus, Ohio. “Alcohol has a dramatic impact in the Black community. Whether it be health, socioeconomically, or mental health wise– we are impacted at a greater rate.” 1
“In general, then, alcohol use is generally lower in the black community than in other racial and cultural demographics. Interestingly, however, problems related to alcohol are greater within the African American community than they are for European Americans.” 2
I am not a doctor or expert in any manner. But the more I read about how alcohol affects us differently than other races, it stuck with me that there are answers in the silence. It all leads back to our ancestors and what they suffered. What they passed on down to us. The courage and strength they called it to heal on their own. To let God heal it. To let silence heal it. Shit, even drinking it away was the norm. We would avoid it because we ain’t got time to be talking about our problems. To move on or distract ourselves with more important things. We have to raise kids, we have to go to work, and we sure ain’t gonna be talking to no doctor about our personal matters. Who wants to listen to that complaining? The white man caused so much of our suffering, and they are the professionals who should seek to help us? Who got that kind of money to waste on talking about them feelings? Those are the words I hear from my ancestors.
When I got sober…
In my experience and where I live, 12-step programs do not have a lot of Black people in them, and they originated from white men. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful I got sober and used a program. I have spoken on panels and attended meetings, and there is not much of a representation of us other than in closed online meetings. Once I started to go to more of the online spaces with Black people, I started to hear the similarities of how far back addiction goes in our lineages. Mental health and addiction resources were very few and scarce back in the day because of racism and lack of money. As the research says, Black people are not the leading demographic to die from addiction, but we do have higher alcohol related illnesses that stem from genetics, how and where we were raised, and lack of community resources. When I look at my addiction story, all I wanted to do was escape. I didn’t talk to my family and share what I was experiencing. I learned early on it wasn’t safe to share them. All the feelings of unworthiness that I let build up. All the verbal abuse I allowed. All the missed opportunities to speak up, stand up for myself out of fear. I did not even know I had a family that suffered in silence too. But what is most interesting to me is the WHY did I drink; because us Black people, especially our elders and ancestors, hid what they were struggling with. We withdrew from sharing our feelings, our demons and escaped true emotions and instead chased substances to avoid having feelings at all. It was simple; it was easier to avoid than deal. It was what we call strength.
How much did our ancestors suffer? I wonder how much they endured in silence.
Silence is the REAL killer!
When I was deep in my addiction, it was very silent in the end. I drank in silence with no friends or company. I suffered in silence, no one to hold me. I cried in silence with no one to wipe my tears. I chose a relationship with a tall, slender bitch named vodka. She carried me through my darkest days. She was smooth, hot, and she fed every desire I had. She was there for me to sit with, sleep with, and wake up to. In the end, I didn’t even want to share her with others nor did I want to break up with her as much as I knew the damage she did to me. She was my kryptonite and my answer to everything. She gave me the super powers to avoid all emotions. She had me in a chokehold for years. Drinking her last drops like it was my last drink of life. I craved her, and would shake obsessively if she wasn’t in my body. She even gave me the courage to be whoever I wanted to be without shame. But that person hurt people and my selfishness needed no awards. What a bitch that bottle and her possessiveness was. The saddest and sickest love story.
My ancestors heard the call of my desperation…
When I got sober, I knew my grandma on my dad’s side helped me from the spirit realm. She was not alive when I hit rock bottom and got sober, and yet I felt her presence when I got on that plane to rehab. I truly believe that me getting sober was to heal my lineage. Heal for every ancestor who didn’t get the chance or the courage to heal their pain. It was painful learning to feel again. When I got sober, I had to face every feeling without numbing it. It was hard and still is. Going through breakups, challenges, and facing fears like raw-dogging it? Not fun. Even now, sober and looking back at what pain I caused my children and others, I see how much the disease of addiction stole from me. But I felt my ancestors needed me to feel their pain to heal their pain. To learn to be comfortable in the uncomfortable. To push through and not choose the bottle or the drugs. To understand the root cause of my pain. To learn why I felt unworthy, chose the wrong people, and let people hurt me. I spoke up about my journey in my self-published book during Covid. I am certain Spirit and my ancestors were in those pages. The title The Gift Is In My Wounds was inspired by seeing my wounds as gifts. Gifts I used to heal myself and my ancestors. And to be a Black woman sharing recovery out loud. This opened the door to learning my spiritual gifts and they are still evolving. I am uncovering so much the more I honor my truth and listen to Spirit.
How can we as a community eliminate silence?
As a community, I feel like we need to be more aware and intentional to reach out to those we care about. To seek a safe space, be a safe space. If I wasn’t emotionally neglected in my young age, or told what to do by white religion, maybe I would have opened up about the things I was ashamed of, was curious about or feared. Things like being gay and trying to pray it away. Things like never getting to be a child because of the Jehovah’s Witness religion I grew up in that sheltered me. Things like understanding how to communicate my feelings instead of shy away from them. Maybe if I had knowledge of resources near me I could seek them out. Maybe if I got to hear more about Black women or others struggling it would have encouraged me to speak up about my own struggles. Maybe if I took an extra minute to reach out to my friend who has been MIA, it would give an opportunity for me to hold space. And maybe that call would be what they needed to be vulnerable instead of choosing to escape to a bottle or a drug. Maybe instead of keeping my feelings bottled up, I could instead reach out to someone who I can trust. Maybe I could see that getting help is not weak but strength. Maybe if I accepted it is ok to not be ok then I could honor my feelings and my truth. These are some of the thoughts that cross my mind when I think about us and addiction. We only got us!
What would I tell the bitch named Vodka today….
You stole many years from me to be present with my children. You took away my power of choice. You showed me what love is not. I didn’t know true intimacy because of you. You stole the moments I could have shown up for my loved ones. You sold me on temporary solutions that resulted in pain and chaos. You pretended to be my cheerleader and my courage. You made me want you even when I knew I should have walked away. You stole many memories where I blacked out because you won and took me from reality. You made me drink you warm instead of in a cute glass with ice. You made me less than a classy drinker with a pretty face. Instead, you turned me into an ugly drunk, drinking you straight up with no chaser and without any care in the world. I drank the cheapest you because I needed you that much. I stole from others to get you. I cheated on others to find you. I lied to get you and keep you. I even lied about our relationship in fear of what others would think. I chose you time and time again over myself. I cried for you in my dreams. I broke out in uncontrollable sweat until I could hold you and taste you. So today I say fuck you. You didn’t win. I got my power back. I learned to face my feelings and use the tools in my spiritual toolbox. My children love and respect me today. I got to make amends with those I hurt because of you. My ancestors are protecting me from your abuse, and they got me. All those feelings you got to hold, you no longer do. When I see you walking by today, I smile. I smile because I don’t crave you. I smile because I don’t need you. I smile with gratitude because of my ability to sit with my feelings, and speak on them. I smile because I share with others the abuse you caused. I smile today because even though it is hard to feel, I choose to instead of thinking you will save me. I smile today because I am ok living life without you. I smile today because I don’t miss you. I smile today because I WON. I will continue to recover out loud and proud. You may have killed some years of my life, but you didn’t kill my spirit. Silence is a place I will never be with you again.
Did you make it to the end? You are a real one!
 | A guest post by
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You curated this beautifully and I love you @blackstack!
This couldn’t have come at a better time. I’m in my late 20s and I was just telling my bestfriend how I’ve been struggling with this for a couple years now and I’ll never forget the telling myself “I’ll never stop drinking” because it relieved me from all pains and responsibility, especially when I’m recovering the day after blacking out. But now, I’m seeing so many recovering alcoholics sharing their story at an overwhelming rate and I appreciate posts like this because you guys let me know it’s possible to quit and be free from this addiction. I’m seeking help and finally being honest with my doctors and loved ones about the severity of the situation. Thank you for your courage and words of wisdom.