01/05/2026
๐ฆ๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐๐ด๐ต๐ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐ต๐ฒ๐น๐ฝ๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ.
She looked up to her.
The way little girls look at their moms like they are made of answers and safety.
She knew something was off.
She did not know what to call it.
She just felt it.
She noticed the tone changes.
The missed moments.
The way her mom was there, but not really there.
She was the one who realized her mom was drinking before anyone else did.
She was the one who found the empty bottles.
Hidden in her own closet.
Of all places.
And one day, she walked up to her mom and said it quietly, like it mattered not to break something.
โMom, I found a bottle in my closet. But donโt worry. I wonโt tell Dad.โ
She thought she was protecting her.
She thought keeping the secret was helping.
She thought this was love.
And in that moment, a child became the holder of something that was never hers to carry.
Her mother never imagined being the kind of parent whose child kept secrets from the other parent to protect her.
But there they were.
This is what addiction looks like through the eyes of a child.
It teaches them to manage adult problems with a childโs heart.
It teaches silence before honesty.
Responsibility before safety.
Children do not just witness addiction.
They adapt to it.
They learn what not to say.
They learn how to read moods.
They learn that love sometimes means staying quiet.
And that is the part that changes everything once it is seen clearly.
If you are a parent and something in this story tightened your chest, hear this.
Awareness is not shame.
It is the beginning of change.
Cycles can stop here.
Secrets do not have to live in closets.
Healing is not just possible. It is waiting.
If help is needed, it is not too late.
For the parent.
Or the child.
๐ Share if you believe love can grow safer and stories can change.
