Why aren’t more people talking about America’s alcoholism?

I come from a family of alcoholics. Sarah, my first cousin, was the most recent to die of complications from alcoholism, at age 41. Before her, seven people in our extended family, including her father, my father and our grandfather, died from alcohol-related problems. At one Thanksgiving, my grandfather passed out drunk into his gravy and mashed potatoes. My cousins routinely had to steady their father out the front door after Christmas dinner. My dad spent a New Year’s Eve in detox.

My family’s drunkenness was so unbelievably sad, my college boyfriend wrote a “Twilight Zone” episode about my dad called “Kentucky Rye.” In the show, the main character kills someone while driving drunk and is punished by spending the afterlife inside the prison of his own tavern. When my dad was 32, he killed someone while driving drunk back to his own tavern.

Everyone knows someone who drinks to excess, especially with 29 million alcoholics in the United States. Holiday gatherings often feature at least one person who “has a few” before they arrive. They slur their words at the table or fall asleep early in the recliner. Maybe their drinking problem is whispered about in the kitchen while someone carves the turkey or plates the pumpkin pie.

Their behavior is accepted, and maybe even expected, in our culture. The United States ranks fifth in countries with the highest rate of alcohol use disorder behind Latvia, Belarus, Russia and Hungary.

The number of people addicted to alcohol in the United States is 14 times more than those addicted to opioids. More than twice as many people die annually from excessive drinking than from opioids. Why doesn’t our country’s alcoholism garner more attention?

Chasing ‘good times’

In 2021, the online site 24/7 Wall St. compiled a report on “The 50 Drunkest Counties in America.” Wisconsin, where I grew up, claimed 41 of the spots on that survey. My home county of Manitowoc claims an excessive-drinking rate of 28.4% of the population, the 10th highest in the United States.

I’m no angel. When I was young, I drove drunk and danced drunk on a bar. But I escaped Manitowoc. Not my family. Dad’s straitjacket couldn’t hold him down as he yelled at purple spiders crawling on his legs while going through delirium tremens. Mom developed Korsakoff’s syndrome from alcohol withdrawal and lost her short-term memory. My childhood friend died in a motorcycle accident after a day of drinking.

Alcoholism has a genetic component, but with early awareness and prevention, there’s a chance to stop it. Why don’t we?

America’s alcoholism is celebrated. Drunken behavior is entrenched in our society. Maybe we are stuck in the fantasy of the “good times” shown in alcohol advertising and can’t be bothered with the slow, invisible deaths happening off-screen. When we laugh at the person who is always drunk at the holiday party, we turn our backs on the emotional pain to their family who loves the person committing slow suicide.

Alcohol-related deaths are increasing, but concurrently, there is a growing trend of drinking less or not at all. The sober-curious and Dry January movements buoy the 41% of Americans who planned to drink less in 2024 to improve their mental, financial and physical health, as reported by marketing data firm NCSolutions. That number may grow because of recent research that shows a strong connection to cancer from drinking three or more alcoholic drinks a day.

The cost to families

Like other addictions, alcoholism affects families. Children of alcoholics enter adulthood damaged, not launched; they figure out on their own how to make a safe landing. Some don’t make it. A study published in 2012 in the medical journal Drug and Alcohol Review found that 33% to 40% of children affected by parental alcohol problems develop a substance-related disorder themselves.

Both my parents were drunks. (A recovering alcoholic told me that “people who go to AA meetings are alcoholics. If you don’t go to meetings, you’re a drunk.”) In early adulthood, the repercussions of being a child of alcoholism attacked my mental health, but I escaped the cycle by moving away, obtaining an education, entering therapy and finding a new definition for family. I dug in hard to get out but can’t ever completely escape. My life expectancy as a child of an alcoholic is still lower than a child born to parents who loved them more than alcohol.