Addiction's Complex Impact

Cycle breaking family traumas through empathy

When you’re in therapy, do you ever wonder: Why am I the one who is here? I can think of 20 other people in my life that SHOULD be here, yet here I sit.

That’s kinda how I feel in therapy. I’m an emotionally sensitive person, and I feel EVERYTHING. When I listen to people’s stories about how they got a broken bone, I literally FEEL it in my body. I will physically feel ill, because they describe it so well. It always feels like I’m there, breaking my own bone in the process.

I grew up in a family where emotions were not talked about. Alcohol soothes, so we don’t really talk, we just drink! As a kid, you can’t really drink, so naturally, you want to talk about it. However, when I wanted to talk about my emotions, I was told that I was either “too much” or “too sensitive.” After that is repeated so many times, you start believing it.

I knew, deep down, it wasn’t true. I always knew it was my super power. But, it still affects how you bring stuff up. Especially now. After a lot of therapy, and after a lot of emotions have been dealt with in ways that… well, aren’t the greatest. I am learning how to tend to those emotions. And, I think I’m doing a fucking fantastic job! Haha 🌸

So… here is my attempt to heal this wound I have inside me. Maybe writing about it and sharing it will help me process it. Maybe it will help you too. But, I’m not writing it for you. I’m writing it and sharing it for me and my inner child. She needs to share it, and let it out.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Addiction:

Addiction runs rampant in my family. It has affected me personally with a binge-drinking father: a functional alcoholic / substance abuser.

And it has also affected my cousins. My cousins were like my siblings at one point

…until they weren’t.

When I was younger, at 15, my cousin’s mother died from addiction. She OD’d. I grew up in a very small town, so I didn’t understand many of these concepts - I was very innocent, pure, and incredibly naive. But, when I learned about OD’ing… all I knew was that my 16 and 14 year old cousins suddenly didn’t have a mom.

“We all saw this coming.” - I heard this so many times from my family members. But … when you see your almost-sister cry and almost-brother go numb / silent from the pain of grief…. those words are the worst possible things you could ever say to anyone.

A Specific Memory

I remember when I was at a family Christmas. This was routine, every year, but for some reason, this one stands out to me the most.

Before going to my grandparents’ place, we got the talk from our mom. “Your cousins will be getting a lot of presents, but it is because they don’t do our Christmas in the morning like us. They do everything at nana and papa’s.”

It was drilled into both of us, my brother and I, to understand that they would get more than us because of family circumstances. It made sense at the time, but children don’t have the same understanding or emotional regulation as adults. I was expected to carry a very adult trait at a very young age. I was given a burden that was never mine to carry.

As we sit and open presents, I remember being overwhelmed by their excitement and joy. I was always a very sensitive child, so other peoples emotions always became my own - as I said before. My mother and father always taught my brother and I to respect and cherish our belongings. I had a great sense of pride with my personal responsibility with my things. I took care of them and everything had a place.

When my cousins got all of their cool toys and things, they discarded them all and moved on to the next thing without a blink. I was mortified and confused. How could they move from one thing and onto the next without taking care of their items that they got? Everything was strewn over the floor in a disastrous mess, and the adults were cleaning everything up. I was flabbergasted. Why was I taught about this personal responsibility and expected to be so many things, and they weren’t? We came from the same family… we all shared the same values. So, why was this so different? As a child, this contradiction felt like a huge injustice. One, I could never voice at that age without being labelled as selfish, greedy, whiney, ungrateful, or a big complainer.

I knew that I had privilege where my cousins didn’t at a young age. I knew that my mom and dad were together (not a healthy relationship, but it was consistent and they provided shelter and physical safety). My cousins grew up moving between their mom, who was a drug addict, and their father. [Now, I have my own issues with my uncle that transcend this conversation - but for the sake of keeping it short], their father is an emotionally abusive person. He discarded his children and neglected them. It made sense that his children would do the same with their toys / items. They were never taught how to stick with something and take care of it.

The Complexity

Now that I have shared my empathy’s depths, the backstory on addiction in my family, and a specific memory, I want to discuss how complex trauma works and feels like as an adult.

What this memory taught me, was that I was supposed to swallow up the injustices of that moment because the comfort of our family dynamic was more important than my own needs. If I brought up my emotions or issues like - I was jealous! I wanted toys! I only got clothes and how lame is that when you’re a kid lol! but also, the anger… I was so mad at my cousins! How could they discard their things so quickly. Also, the unfairness of it all, why was I the one held and bound to all these high expectations when they weren’t? Other people were allowed to be normal and ordinary, but I would be the child that got yelled at the most for doing anything out of line. Because, I was the child that cared the most. And, the adults in my life knew this. Unconsciously or consciously, they knew.

I learned not to step out of line. I learned to be incredibly cautious, a huge worry-wort, and I hated hanging around other kids. If I hung out with them, I’d inevitably get into trouble. That’s why hanging out with adults was safer, and they always praised me for being an old soul. A wise one.

So now, as I step into my authenticity as a writer, a creative - something I was born to do for lifetimes - I hesitate. My body has been recoiling in fear, shedding these old stories. My throat is finally cracking through the anxiety that has bound it shut. I was never allowed to say any of these words aloud. But now, I can say them. I can scream them, yet time as gifted me so much more. It has helped me release the emotions, it has helped me see the gift that these moments have given me.

I used to be a victim of abuse in my family. I was gaslit constantly, my reality was questioned daily. I brought it up to my friends, and was always reminded that my reality was real. I always thought I was insane for thinking I was a victim, because other people had it way worse than me in the world. And they do. That is an objective fact.

However, believing that is also a great excuse to avoid your problems. If other people have it worse than me, then my words don’t matter. Want to know what story that perpetuates? What everyone told me my entire life as a child.

Which isn’t true. We all matter, and we all have a place in this world. I was taught that my voice didn’t matter because it made people uncomfortable. It carried truths my family didn’t want to face: That they’d put too much on me, and hadn’t handled their own responsibilities as adults. It was easier to silence a child than to confront the real problem… how to navigate conflict.

If anyone had said to my Uncle, “Hey, you need to teach your kids how to do ___,” conflict would’ve erupted. Still, I can’t help but wonder if he’d gone through something similar when he was young. Maybe his explosive reactions to criticism were never addressed, maybe they were just brushed aside. Which is heartbreaking, really, when you think about it.

We all have our shit. We all have to deal with conflict. We all need to deal with our wounds. Because if we don’t, everything will get recycled in different ways. For me, I was told to shut up and I was ignored. Just like my Uncle was brushed aside with his explosive outbursts. Did we have different ways of dealing with it? 100%, but we both had similar issues. I dislike this man immensely, he continues to cause so much pain and suffering in the family, but he is not the problem. The problem is the cycle, the unsaid or unseen ghosts and demons that linger within our family. The fear that runs rampant. The lack of accountability.

I am choosing to take accountability. I am choosing to tell my story. I know that my story is GOING to look different from yours. It is GOING to resonate for others. The point is, I need to share it. We all need to share our stories because we create alchemy when we process the stories that have bound us to the invisible force of fear.

Healing

Now, I choose to heal.

I have radically forgiven these people in my life. Does this mean I am free from fear? Hell no! Fear doesn’t disappear. I continue to deal with anger, fear, and anxiety. I fear being seen, and when I am seen, will people yell at me? Will people tell me that my words don’t matter? In order to understand fear, you need to face it. You need to have a conversation with it every time.

I am learning that everyone’s comments reflect who they are right now, and their healing process. If someone is mean - it typically means that they are unhealed. If someone comes through with understanding and love - I know that they are on their own self-love path.

I also can choose to listen and trust external inputs, and believe in their fearful perspectives; or I can choose to trust myself. I can choose to love myself so much that fear has no place there. Instead of feeling uncomfortable when love pours in, fear gets to feel uncomfortable. Which is what it is designed to do. Fear was supposed to teach us how to survive, love is teaching us how to thrive.

I now trust myself to be seen. I have a support group that wants the best for me. They see how much work I put in, and we all can see the expansive love and success that comes with investing in yourself.

Addiction is complex. If there is addiction in your family, remember that every person plays a role within it. We are more interconnected then we can fathom when we are in unhealed states. When we choose to heal our individual paths, we are able to become more loving and kind. We can expand beyond our own pain to practice curiosity. It doesn’t mean we have to befriend everyone, it means that we can hold compassion for unhealed people while also honouring detachment.

To heal is courageous. To choose yourself is brave. To tell your story is to become free.

I choose freedom.