I grew up not knowing that my dad was an alcoholic. His behavior was 'normal' to me. I didn't know any better. (Perk of being homeschooled) 

I never really saw him sober. When he got home from work, he would hit the bottle.

I realized it in my teen years, when he tried quitting a few times, that it wasn’t normal—that his behavior WAS affected, and I finally saw sober vs. drunk.

He fell off the wagon again a few weeks ago—after about 6 months sober, the longest time in my memory.

He called me when I was at the store and wanted me to buy him beer. He hasn't started the hard stuff back up yet. 

And I told him no. That I loved him, but I couldn’t support this behavior.

He was fine with it, there was no explosive rage like there would have been when I was younger (“No” simply wasn’t a thing you told him.)

Setting that boundary really shook me up and made me feel like a bad daughter. 

I know I’m not, and that it was a healthy thing to do, but I’m still dealing with emotional and physical abuse that my Dad put me through as a child, realizing that what I experienced wasn't normal, and it wasn't healthy and it actually did affect me pretty deeply.