Shaking the Family Tree

Shaking the Family Tree is the title of my book that will serve as a backdrop for blogs, excerpts from the book, and guest postings by those affected by the disease of alcoholism.  Those victims include the alcoholic,  Adult Children of alcoholics, and family members and loved ones who suffer the shared consequences.

The book itself touches on other addictions as well, and is a double genre personal memoir/poetry offering that looks at the disease from a layman’s point of view.  It explores the genetic predisposition, as well as the skewed relationships of Dallas as she navigates the rocky road from addiction to recovery.  It is not a horror story,  but rather an honest look at the disease and its effects, minus any embellishments.  Shaking the Family Tree is a story of denial, hard learned lessons, and in the final analogy, a message of hope and recovery.

So I am extending an invitation to all of those who may be questioning their own use,  those who are currently recovering, and all of those family members and loved ones hoping to gain some kind of insight to the disease to stay tuned.




I’ve trudged many miles to get to this; my vanishing point. I have not traveled alone. I drag behind me generations of my kind. We often travel in packs, keeping others at bay, hoarding our secret. The vast terrain that has claimed many of us is strewn with the souls of those who sought escape from poverty, abuse, low self-esteem, and life in general. We found a magic elixir. It became our family’s coat of arms.



hides inside a Goddess

venus flytrap


For a while, it erased our fears and insecurities. We gulped greedily from its promise as it seeped through the cracks in our armor. We dressed in layers of false courage, fluffed our feathers and strutted across life’s stage, immune to the snickers of a disgusted audience. We cast aside our problems and they became the property of those we loved. Then, without warning, It betrayed us.


heir declines offer

cannot afford to pay

inheritance tax



How does one measure loss? In increments of currency, in a log of failures penned in stained tears, or perhaps, on the pages of our calendars crammed full of wasted years? I used to think that once important things were declared lost, they were gone forever. But, I am living proof that sometimes those things we hold most dear can be retrieved in even better condition than they were when we so carelessly misplaced them.







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