‘There is a moment of clarity that life would be better without alcohol’: what we can learn from addiction memoirs | Books

On the night of Boxing Day 2021, my father’s body was found near a hostel in Cardiff. His death, at age 55, was as sudden as it was unpredictable. For years, alcoholism had changed the shape of his heart.

He died less than a mile from his old office; leading law firm, equity partner. Six kilometers from our once close-knit home, in a leafy neighborhood. He had lost his family and his job in 2019. Raised in working-class Barry, he had been proud of the good life he had built for us. Others thought he “had it all.” He was widely adored, but drinking made him unstable. He was homeless and often behind bars during his last two years.

I last saw my father in the spring of 2019, just before moving to Australia. I was no longer able to cope with the distress and chaos caused by his addiction. From then on, I only saw him in photos: an article about homeless people receiving Christmas dinner; police calls regarding missing persons. Or had my caring and intelligent father is gone?

I never talked about his drinking. It seemed treacherous, then dark, then futile. He had been one of my closest friends. It wasn’t until I lost him for good that I realized I wanted others to know him. This came through writing, which I started compulsively the day after the news. This is what I do to keep my mind stable. I was five years old when my father asked me to write about an event that shook me: my brother’s first epileptic seizure in 1999. It was a lesson in how finding words could help in the face of unthinkable things.

My memoir, Long Going, came out last summer. This is the story of my life with and without the fiery man who raised me. It turns out our story resonates. Readers say they found it surprisingly uplifting. I feel lighter since I wrote it.

At events I am often asked about my relationship with alcohol. My answer is evolving. Like my father, I never had a hangover. I could drink myself into oblivion with friends and wake up feeling fine. Today, I am vigilant. Since becoming a parent myself, I have been part of the growing number of sober and curious people. I know what’s at stake.

In June, I took a Tŷ Newydd writing class with Amy Liptrot, whose memoir The Outrun is an invigorating tale of recovery from alcoholism in Orkney (the film adaptation, starring Saoirse Ronan, was released in 2024). Amy suggested to us that memories could be windows into different worlds, or mirrors of our own worlds. Or sometimes, I wonder, both? Even while writing my own book, my father’s penciled notes gave me a window into his world of prison cells and leaky tents.

Over the past year, I’ve been drawn to other memoirs about addiction. Either I didn’t realize these books existed or I was avoiding them. I don’t know what’s true, but I wish I’d read them sooner.

Take Always Winning by Top Boy star Ashley Walters. Raised in Peckham, with his father oscillating between prison and binge eating, Walters found himself in a young offenders’ institution at age 20. He eventually managed to turn his life around and forged a successful acting career, most recently starring in the hit series Adolescence. His reading of the audiobook is revealing, particularly about how he confronted his alcoholism and broke his cycles by entering rehab. I saw my father in Walters’ memories of his arrogance. I saw myself in his memories of loved ones walking on eggshells, not knowing what version of him to expect.

Alcoholism is known as a family disease, whether it is hidden in the genes or has consequences on those around the addict. A powerful testament to this is In the Blood, co-written by Arabella Byrne and her mother, Julia Hamilton. With admirable honesty, they reflect on what brought them to Alcoholics Anonymous nine months apart. Arabella and I hosted an event at Blackwell’s in Oxford during my book tour. His mother was in the front row. My little girl was on my lap. It felt like we were breaking cycles together.

Fortunately, there is no shortage of memoirs about recovery. We need it. Haunted by his father’s addiction, From the Ashes by Jesse Thistle is a realistic and gripping book about his long struggle with addiction and homelessness before he entered rehab, found love, and became an academic. This tattered grace of Octavia Bright beautifully articulates her journey to sobriety, paralleling her father’s descent into Alzheimer’s disease.

When reading these books, I inevitably look for explanations. Why hasn’t my father recovered? What else could I have done? I won’t pretend to know the unknowable, but something keeps arising. Each writer describes a moment of clarity that life would be better without alcohol. This simple inner conviction – rather than external pressure – leads them to AA or rehab. Here, ego and destructive patterns are exchanged for communal and healthy habits. Day after day, they continue to choose this better life, embraced again by their loved ones.

I was told that my father once said that he would rather die than get sober. Some things cannot be explained. He had so much to live for. He deserved to enjoy his retirement and spend time with his grandchildren. Had he recovered, he would have been an incredible presence in my daughter’s life – just as he had been in mine.

This month I’m celebrating his birthday with three events: from a bookshop in Chester, where he studied law, to the homeless shelter that fed him on Christmas Day, to Bristol with Nacoa, the charity for children of alcoholics. I can’t change the way my father’s story ended, but I can pass on what he taught me about finding words. So much for more open windows and fewer unthinkable things.

• Long Going by Sophie Calon is published by Honno Welsh Women’s Press. To support the Guardian, order your copy from Guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply