My dad moved out of our apartment when I was around nine. I don’t remember much from that time, just small glimpses from my childhood spent with him. I never really saw him as a bad father. He was creative and attentive, writing poems and creating books with me. He put together carnival games in our living room and used Monopoly money to teach me math. Because of him, I could multiply by first grade. At the end of our days, there was always a good meal on the table, thanks to his experience in culinary school. But the good memories do not erase the ones I can’t ignore. I remember my mom yelling and my dad promising to get better, only to take me into liquor stores the next day, claiming he was buying alcohol for our struggling neighbor. I remember the same neighbor laying drunk on our floor while my mom was at work. There were nights where my dad would lock my mother and me out of the bedroom. After he left, alcohol became something I wanted to control. I wouldn’t let my mom drink. I made her send back the cocktails she ordered at restaurants. I couldn’t stand the strong, pungent smell of alcohol. As I get older, the discomfort stays, but I begin to lose the ability to control it. In relationships, I set clear boundaries, asking my partners not to drink. While this has been manageable enough in high school, I worry about maintaining such boundaries in college, where drinking seems to be more prevalent. For a while, I struggled to explain why I felt so uncomfortable. There didn't seem to be much rational reason; one drink does not make someone an addict. The closest explanation I could give is that my early experiences left an imprint that I haven’t yet healed from. My fear deepened last year when my ex-boyfriend began college. He lied about drinking and ultimately cheated on me after a night of intoxication. The experience reinforced my association between alcohol and hurt. At some point, I began to ask why. Why did the thought of my friends being tipsy make my stomach hurt? Why did my dad go down such a path? I am not mad at my father for how he raised me. It was much more than alcoholism that contributed to his behavior. Unresolved trauma, ingrained by his abusive family situation, left him with mental illness, including bipolar depression. His pain led him to alcohol, which worsened his struggles. My own harsh childhood and experiences with depression have taken an impact on me as well. Instead of turning to substances, however, I was pushed in a more positive direction. I became inspired to help children who had tough upbringings. I want to be the kind of adult I didn’t have: a stable, supportive role model for children. Through studying psychology, I hope to better understand how early experiences shape development. That way, I can better help kids. I plan to earn a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, eventually working my way up to a Ph.D. to pursue a career as a child psychologist. I love my father, and I sometimes wonder who he could have been if someone was there to help. His addiction influenced my beliefs, relationships, and sense of safety in ways I am still learning to navigate. But it also gave me direction. It showed me the impact people can have, and inspired me to become someone who helps children feel seen and secure.