Am I Doomed? The Truth About Alcoholism and Heredity

Why Alcoholism Isn’t Written in Your DNA

There are black-and-white photos from before I was born—the “golden era” of my family.

In one, my mother is perched on the arm of my father’s chair, head thrown back in a full-body laugh. One hand rests on his shoulder, the other holds a stemmed glass filled with something shining.

I never saw my mother like that. Not once.

By the time I came along, those cocktail parties had faded. Girl-babies—me and my sisters—arrived one after another, and the house shifted. The laughter grew tighter. The air felt heavier.

The photo of that carefree woman with her head thrown back became a relic of another time.

Looking at those photos, you might think I grew up in a house where alcohol flowed—that it “explains” my story. That, like most people ask when they find out I’m a recovered alcoholic, my family must have been alcoholics.

But that’s not my story.

And yet, nine times out of ten, the very first thing people ask me is:

“Does alcoholism run in your family?”

The Heredity Myth (and the Half-Truth Behind It)

Yes, there’s research showing genetics can account for about 50% of the risk for alcohol use disorder. Twin studies, adoption studies, and the massive Collaborative Study on the Genetics of Alcoholism (COGA) have shown that some people inherit a greater vulnerability — things like a blunted reaction to alcohol or a brain that lights up faster from the first drink.

But heredity isn’t destiny.

Read that again. You are not doomed by your DNA.

As the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism puts it:

“Genes are responsible for about half the risk for alcohol use disorder; the rest comes from environment, trauma, stress, and learned behavior.”

Half. That’s it.

Which means the other half?

Is life.

What I Did Inherit

My parents’ blue eyes and great, thick brown hair—now turned silver.

My mom’s crooked fingers and my dad’s height.

They also taught me to be socially aware, to support my community, to help others. They taught me to study hard, to appreciate and enjoy the outdoors, and to go to church.

What I didn’t inherit?

Alcoholism.

My mom drank one glass of wine a night — a single glass, nursed for hours, often from dinner until bedtime.

My dad? He had maybe two beers a year — and stopped even that when his blood pressure crept up. He was a health nut, a Jack LaLanne type, practicing yoga before yoga was a trend.

I didn’t grow up stepping over empty bottles or watching anyone drink themselves sick.

But I did grow up absorbing a quieter inheritance:

Stress? Have a glass.You need to relax? Pour something.

Not a spoken rule — just an unspoken ritual.

It was subtle, almost invisible. But it was there. And for me, that “one glass” example didn’t turn into one glass.

It turned into a bottle.

And then more.

The Role of Genetics

While it’s not as simple as inheriting your mother’s blue eyes or your father’s height, research is clear: alcoholism has a strong genetic component.

Studies show that genetics contribute to about half of a person’s risk for developing an alcohol use disorder. This doesn’t mean there’s a single “alcoholism gene” — there isn’t. But there are genetic variations that can affect how we respond to alcohol:

• how intensely we feel its effects,

• how rewarding (or numbing) it feels in the brain,

• and how easy or difficult it is for us to stop once we start.

  
  

But here’s the crucial truth: genes are only half the story.

They can load the gun — but they don’t pull the trigger.

The other half is written by the world you grow up in: the pain you experience, the coping skills you’re given (or not given), the culture you’re born into, and the beliefs you inherit about what alcohol is “for.”

When “Hereditary” Is Really Cultural

I’m Irish, Scottish, French, Pennsylvania Dutch, and Native Lenape — and except for the Mennonite side, I come from cultures almost synonymous with drinking.

If you grow up in Ireland, where pubs are gathering places and binge drinking is a rite of passage, it will look like “everyone in the family drinks.” And in a lot of families, it does — but that doesn’t automatically make it genetic.

What seems hereditary is often cultural.

That matters — because it means what you’ve seen isn’t always what you’re stuck with.

Cultural norms dictate not just if people drink, but how, when, and why. Some cultures pour wine at dinner as casually as water. Others make drinking part of weddings, wakes, and every weekend in between. That modeling gets passed down like a family recipe — not through DNA, but through what’s considered “normal.”

Research backs this up. Studies on ethnocultural diversity in alcohol use show stark differences in who drinks, how much, and with what consequences. Cultures can broadly be seen as “wet” (high consumption, drinking woven into daily life) or “dry” (where abstinence or temperance is the norm). If you’re born into a “wet” culture, drinking will feel inevitable — but that doesn’t mean you were genetically doomed.

Even within the U.S., this plays out: Euro-Americans report the highest rates of drinking overall, while Native Americans show the highest rates of binge drinking — but Asian Americans have the lowest rates of both. Why? Genetics explain some of that, but not all. A huge factor is cultural acceptance — or rejection — of alcohol.

When alcohol is a social expectation, heavy drinking becomes “just how things are done,” and the pattern looks hereditary: everyone’s uncle drinks, everyone’s grandfather drinks, and so on.

But in cultures or religions where alcohol is frowned upon or outright forbidden — Orthodox Jewish, Muslim, some Asian traditions — you see far less alcohol misuse, not because the gene “skipped them,” but because the glass wasn’t handed to them in the first place.

When first my mother-in-law and then my father-in-law passed, my Jewish husband and I invited the mourners to lunch. The bill was never high because no one on his Jewish side drank. My few Euro-dominant friends and family attending made up the small bar bill.

Now switch that scene to my Irish/Native/Scottish side of the family. When my father’s sister died, her son — my cousin — invited us all back to his house. Barry and I walked into a backyard full of cousins sprawled on chaises, guzzling beer, laughing — some heading off for pontoon boat rides with coolers of wine and beer. Barry looked at me in disbelief.

I just shrugged and said, “Irish wake.”

What we inherit isn’t always addiction. Sometimes we inherit rituals. Sometimes we inherit beliefs. Sometimes we inherit the story that alcohol is how we relax, how we celebrate, how we grieve.

That’s not heredity — that’s culture.

What I've Experienced with People in Recovery

In my world of recovery, I’ve met women from every background you can imagine. There was the teacher who drank to quiet the pressure of being perfect. The nurse who numbed the grief of losing patients. The grandmother who hid vodka in her teapot, ashamed that she couldn’t be the strong one anymore.

Some grew up in chaos — the kind of homes where bottles rattled in the trash and tension was in the air before anyone said a word.

Some had parents who barely drank, or never touched a drop.

Some had picture-perfect homes: matching holiday pajamas, smiling photos on the wall — but inside those walls, there was pressure, silence, or pain no one would name.

Others lived through trauma that would break anyone — loss, abuse, abandonment — the kind of wounds you don’t “get over,” you just try to survive.

And then there are those who can’t point to one Big Thing at all. No headline-making trauma, no obvious culprit — just a quiet, gnawing unease they carried for years, like they were born with skin two sizes too small.

But there’s a common thread.

At some point, every one of us didn’t feel right in our own skin — and we reached for something to make that feeling stop.

That’s what connects us.

Not a gene.

Not a family tree.

The ache of feeling wrong, unsafe, or “too much” in our own bodies.

Genes Load the Gun. Pain Pulls the Trigger.

Genes may load the gun.

But pain pulls the trigger.

Shame pulls the trigger.

Loneliness pulls the trigger.

Alcohol wasn’t my disease.

It was my medicine.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the pain it caused became worse than the pain it “cured.”

And yes — once I became a “pickle,” I couldn’t go back to being a cucumber. I can’t drink “normally” now, any more than someone can “un-catch” cancer. The wiring changed. But calling it “hereditary” doesn’t tell my story. And calling it “just a disease” doesn’t either.

The truth is simpler — and harder.

I was in pain. And I didn’t know how to hold it.

If alcoholism were purely hereditary, it would mean some of us are born broken.

But we’re not.

We’re born whole — and then we get hurt, disconnected, and handed stories about how to cope.

The good news?

Stories can be rewritten.

Coming Back to You

If you’ve been wondering whether you’re “damaged by DNA,” hear me: you are not doomed.

You may have inherited some vulnerability.

You may have inherited habits or rituals.

But you also inherited the ability to change.

To heal.

To return to yourself.

Take a breath. This is the moment you get to write a different story.

That’s why I created The RETURN (to Self) Method — to help strip away the stories, the shame, and the masks we’ve worn for too long, and bring you back to the you that’s still there.

The part that isn’t broken.

The part that isn’t gone.

The part that’s been waiting for you all along.

Learn more about the RETURN Method here.