- Alcohol
- Drugs
- Friends & Family
Before I went to substance abuse treatment in 1988, I felt guilty for all the harm I was causing my family. I was ashamed of how dishonest I was, but most of all I condemned myself for giving my children back to their father to raise. More alcohol and drugs calmed these emotions. What many people did not understand was that I wasn’t using to cause more harm; I was using more to stop my hurting if only for a few hours.
There were individuals in my life who would bravely comment on my use despite knowing they would receive a scathing remark in return. When the subject of my use was brought up, I would become defensive and retreat further into my armor. I believed that if I were protected, what people said to me couldn’t add to the negative feelings I had about myself. However this armor only kept a little out and didn’t allow for any of the inside emotions to leave. Yes, the armor deflected criticism, but it did not allow me to dissipate any of the negative feelings I had about myself. It was an insidious trap.
I wanted someone to tell me how to take off my armor and heal. I could not and would not hear the care and concern in people’s words when they talked about my use. I only heard condemnation which in turn added another layer to the armor. I knew that I hurt underneath the defenses. I felt fragile, wounded and vulnerable to comments, but I did not understand that this vulnerability would be my salvation.
Five caring individuals staged an intervention on September 30, 1988. I could not and would not put them or myself through more drama, so I just asked them what I needed to do. They said I had to enter treatment that night, so I did. The preferred method of treatment in 1988 was to “peel the onion” and expose the addict to everything he or she was denying. There is nothing more demoralizing than having six to eight people ripping off whatever defenses they perceive you to be using. I told the intake worker that I only wanted to get better, but she dismissed these comments and asked me how much I still wanted to use.
Treatment consisted of being asked questions regarding my behaviors. With each subsequent answer, I felt my armor crumbling and felt more exposed, defenseless and helpless. In retrospect I’m surprised more of us did not explode or implode in this seemingly hostile environment.
Today there is a gentler approach. We can remove our defenses and experience vulnerability in stages. Over the years I’ve gotten comfortable with talking and writing about what I did. This is not because I am proud of my actions in my addiction or because I don’t acknowledge the harm I caused. It’s because sharing my mistakes and shortcomings opens the door for others to recognize and concede theirs, a practice which is beneficial for both the talker and the listener. There is nothing new under the sun; there is someone, somewhere who shares your experience and the way out.
When I chose to expose my story, I found others with similar life experiences. They were not all women, not all mothers, not all Caucasians and not all my age. However the story was the same. By being vulnerable and telling my story and asking for guidance, I found men, women, young people and senior citizens who were willing to listen and guide me. They offered various methods to help me find forgiveness, make amends, choose alternative behaviors, thoughts and feelings and discover renewed joy in living. When actively cooperating with people trying to help me, my armor slowly came down. If I had stayed trapped in that armor, I would never have experienced healing. Yes I felt protected, but it also meant that no one trying to help me could reach me, and that was short-sighted and at odds with my statements that I wanted to get better.
Some directions I could clearly understand. If I was uncertain with others, I would still follow the directions exactly. That was the key for me. When I found people who were genuinely helpful, had correct directions and were willing to share them, I started trusting them. If they demonstrated good judgment, I started relying on them for guidance. Did it still feel exposing? Yes, but it was this choice to be vulnerable that allowed me to begin healing.
I realized how lonely, frightened, and prone to relapse I would be if I stayed in the armored place. The armor felt like protection, yet it could become yet another prison. Recovery gave me an opportunity to tear down the walls and dispose of the armor. By being vulnerable I demonstrated my courage to heal and embrace recovery. I was able to ask for and receive help and guidance from others.
Let today be the day you take down one or two bricks, remove some of the armor, show others that you are open to their suggestions and directions. After all you have nothing to lose and may gain far more than you can imagine when you allow yourself to be vulnerable to trustworthy people. Help spread the word that recovery is possible.
In 1990 I opened a women’s recovery home to provide a safe, structured environment where women could heal from abuses, traumas and subsequent addictions. This house won several awards over the years, and while it was open, I developed a client-centered recovery system. After it closed in 2011, I co-created a talent show to display the talents of recovering individuals. I continue to advocate and write for the addicted population.