Dear Happy Asses,
As an adult, believe it or not — even though I can be playful, energetic, and sometimes “a lot” — I really don’t like to be embarrassed. I have come to realize that this isn’t just a personality quirk; it has roots in my childhood.
Growing up in a completely unpredictable environment due to alcoholism in my father, I had many early experiences with embarrassment and shame. Thankfully, most of the lessons I learned at the hands of that disease have shaped me in ways I am proud of — they grew my empathy, softened my heart, and ignited in me an extreme desire to build a life of deep meaning. Still, if I am honest, I can see how those same experiences sometimes made me people-pleasing, over-achieving, and burdened with what I used to call “radical responsibility.”
I wouldn’t call myself outspoken; I am far more often passionate, but careful — a reader of rooms before I reveal my cards. That, too, is a legacy of growing up in chaos.
A word about radical responsibility. I now believe wholeheartedly that radical responsibility is a beautiful thing — but it must be for our own lives, not for the lives of others. We can care. We can guide. We can love. But we are not responsible for other people’s choices. It took years of 12-step programs, prayer, and a loving, compassionate husband to help me fully understand that truth.
When I was about ten years old, I remember standing terrified and mortified that my dad — who had just been arrested for a DUI — was about to be in the newspaper. Somehow, in my desperation, I found a way to call and beg the paper not to print it, to please not make it public. I was already embarrassed because every time I had a party and begged him not to drink, he still showed up drunk. That shame was only amplified when other girls at school passed me notes making fun of me because of my dad.
There is another memory I can now laugh about, though it certainly wasn’t funny then. Our family had a very kind friend who was an OB-GYN, and when my dad needed to dry out, he would put him on the maternity ward floor. Times were different back then — there was far less red tape, and a lot more improvisation.
At the same time, I also remember how kind so many adults were to me. Many of them knew that my daddy was, at his core, a gentle and sweet man with no malice or cruelty. He wasn’t mean — he was sick. He truly wanted to be sober, and I always believed that he loved me and our family. Around my 13th birthday, he did get sober, and he remained that way for 18 years — a remarkable stretch of recovery.
And yet, sobriety did not “cure” him. Like so many who struggle with addiction, he eventually forgot that alcoholism is a disease with no cure — only a daily reprieve based on one’s spiritual condition. I will save the full story of his later years for another day, but I will say this: as an adult, with the help of people I trusted, I made the heartbreaking decision to remove life support when his body finally succumbed to the many illnesses addiction had brought upon him. Addiction doesn’t just take over a life — it can take over a brain, a body, and sometimes there is no turning back.
Looking back now, I can see how that chaotic childhood both wounded me and shaped me. It made me tender. It made me determined. It made me deeply compassionate. And it planted in me a fierce desire to build a life filled with meaning, light, and love — not just for myself, but for others too.
Perhaps the greatest gift of those tender, painful lessons is that they turned my shame into compassion — and my chaos into purpose.
Out of that chaos grew my heart, my hustle, and my hope — and for that, I am strangely grateful.
With extreme gratitude for the life I have today!!!!
Karen Key Smith
Ps. Prayer today for all those that are still suffering from the disease of addiction in their lives and the lives of their families!!!
