I was born an Alcoholic.

I was born an alcoholic. Or, at least, that’s what I used to tell people, because that's how it was explained to me. The story goes that while I was in my mom’s belly, she consumed drugs and alcohol. This led to a diagnosis of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS), or more broadly, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), a condition that later caused me to experience Neonatal

Abstinence Syndrome (NAS). NAS is easiest described as the process of withdrawing from alcohol and drugs immediately after birth. Heck of a way to enter the world… In my three decades, I've only met three other people who shared this diagnosis with me. I want to share how this diagnosis has impacted my relationship with alcohol, with my mother, and with others who share this experience.

My understanding of FAS

According to MedlinePlus.gov, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS) encompasses a cluster of conditions resulting from alcohol consumption during pregnancy. When alcohol passes through the placenta, the organ nourishing the baby, it can cause permanent damage, leading to lifelong challenges in areas including but not limited to medical, social/behavioral, and academics.

Reputable sites like the CDC, Mayo Clinic, and Medline Plus certainly offer valuable information on FAS. And while I deeply appreciate the incredible research done so far, their focus is largely confined to how parents can support their newborns or their children with FAS. Honestly, I wish for sections that specifically address teenagers, young adults, adults, or even spouses of someone born with FAS. Although Medline Plus acknowledges the lifelong impact, most publications emphasize early childhood development and interventions. This leaves a significant gap for adults, like me, who are now returning to understand how FAS impacts their later years.

Am I still drinking?

My relationship with alcohol is complicated, especially now that I understand I wasn't technically born an alcoholic. While prenatal alcohol exposure can indeed cause brain and body damage in the womb, the decision to drink is the mother's, not the child's. Alcoholism, by definition, is a brain disease marked by an impaired ability to control alcohol use. Although individuals with FAS often face challenges that heighten their risk of developing alcoholism, it's crucial to distinguish that from being born addicted.

As a '90s kid, I'm no stranger to the D.A.R.E. campaign. Remember Officer 'Friendly' coming to school? Ours, along with my third-grade teacher, were the program's biggest advocates, and I absolutely internalized their message: drugs and alcohol are bad. So, what did that make me? I desperately tried not to drink before the legal age, believing that waiting until 21 would somehow reverse or undo my pregnant mother's choices. I know now that's simply not how it works. I just wanted to be considered "good," and for me, "good" meant abstaining. What no one tells you is that when you do start drinking, you might get drunk faster than your peers, not just because you're petite, but because of underlying conditions like FAS.

What's up with my birth mother & me?

My mom and I have been locked in since the womb. #mommyandmedrinkingbuddies #whitegirlwastedinthewomb Anyway, when I was in school Officer ‘Friendly’ implored us not to do drugs. Meanwhile, at home, my birth mother, in more words, explained that she made the decision already… for the both of us…. A dark joke, perhaps, but it underscored the constant dueling emotions inside me. There was anger that her choices—not mine—had irrevocably impacted my cognitive and physical development. She'd often conclude our conversations with a vulnerable, "Do you still love me?" And yes, despite everything, I always did. But before I ever had a chance to fully embrace that love, her actions would inflict irreversibly invisible wounds.

One particular memory haunts me: at my brother’s funeral, a church elder, seeing me with my now-husband, admonished me. "You need to show your mother more respect," she insisted. "Your mother could have killed you, but she gave birth to you and raised you. That might be your boyfriend, but you should be sitting with your family!" This statement echoes back to me, especially given the grim reality that alcohol consumption during pregnancy significantly increases a fetus's risk of miscarriage. I often wish I could go back and ask her precisely what she meant by "killed": through abortion, or through a silent, alcohol-induced death? It’s a chilling "would you rather" question.

My birth mother and I, for reasons I'll get into in later posts, no longer have a relationship.

What does the future hold?

When I mention that I no longer drink alcohol, the immediate assumption is often pregnancy. I'm not currently. Despite my love of a cold Corona with lime or a Blue Moon, I've just chosen not to drink anymore. My sincere hope is that any aspiring parent who reads my story will make every effort to abstain from alcohol during pregnancy. This personal decision is deeply informed by my own experiences, leading me to a complex perspective as an adult: I believe individuals who struggle with alcoholism deserve grace.

Please do not misinterpret my words. To be absolutely clear, this sentiment does not mean I desire a relationship with my birth mother. What I am asserting is that addiction is a disease that compromises a person's capacity for sound judgment, including the choice to drink while carrying a child. For me, understanding this helps me hold two seemingly opposing truths simultaneously: that grace and accountability exist in the same reality.

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Resources

• Video Series: Lived Experiences with FASDs by CDC

• Neonatal abstinence syndrome by Medline Plus

• DARE Campaign

• Alcoholism