Answer Addiction

Tag: trauma

  • Finding Meaning in Tragedy: Addiction, Trauma, and Activism

    Finding Meaning in Tragedy: Addiction, Trauma, and Activism

    Turning grief into activism is a powerful way to process and give meaning to the pain of traumas like the death of a loved one who struggled with addiction. It is on the heels of tragedy that we can make voices of change be heard.

    Grief is complicated, individually experienced, and universal. And humans are not the only creatures on this planet who mourn their dead. Scientists continue to debate how complex the grief of non-human animals is, but the evidence points to many species grieving the loss of their kin and mates.

    For millennia, scholars have been searching for a way to explain the depths of human grief. Plato and Socrates mused on what death and dying meant and philosophized about the grieving man. Sigmund Freud, often considered the father of modern psychology, began psychological research into mourning in his 1917 essay “Mourning and Melancholia.” In 1969, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross published her influential book, On Death and Dying. The popular five stages of grief were born from her work.

    Social Media Affects How We Grieve

    Loss can be traumatic. Whether expected or sudden, close or removed but symbolic, grief can take hold when we lose someone or something significant. We mourn and ritualize loss as a means to process it. There are culturally distinct rituals for mourning families; processing the emotions that come with grief can be guided by these rituals. These customs help us find meaning in our grief, even when we don’t consciously recognize it.

    As social media continues to become a more ingrained aspect of modern life, people are developing new rituals to mark tragic loss. The social norms of these rituals (such as posting photos, posting on the wall of the recently deceased, or sharing a status that talks about special memories) is always in flux. But one norm that is constant in the age of social media is our immediate collective knowledge of loss. There is an urgency to information and the negotiation of emotions in a shared space. This immediacy is changing the old social norms of letting some time pass before talking about causes of death.

    There is another related but distinct way people sometimes process grief, and that’s by turning tragedy into a call for activism. Smithsonian Magazine published a powerful piece titled “The March for Our Lives Activists Showed Us How to Find Meaning in Tragedy.” The author, Maggie Jones, describes the instant response students had because they knew “time was not on their side.” With on-demand information, the collective conscience quickly moves from one tragedy to the next as new headlines take over. These Parkland students were not being inconsiderate in their quick call to activism, they were creating meaning from tragedy and were bolstered by the collective grief that took shape immediately, in large part because of social media.

    The Trauma of Drug-Related Deaths

    Across the United States, drug overdose deaths have been on the rise, particularly those involving synthetic narcotics (primarily fentanyl). Overdoses caused by the most commonly used drugs are tracked by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). And deaths due to overdose are underreported and misclassified. The stigma that surrounds addiction and the prejudice against people with Substance Use Disorder (SUD) relegates many overdose deaths to the world of whispers and rumors.

    My life has been marked by traumatic losses due to the effects of SUD. People close to me have overdosed, some survived and some died. I’ve also lost people to complications due to a lifetime struggle with Alcohol Use Disorder. Only recently have I seen these losses become conversation starters, where people will openly talk about the battles once fought by the brave folks who lost their lives to disease. Maybe that means we’re turning a corner in addiction stigma. Maybe we’re opening the door for people to feel less shame in talking about their struggles while they still have a chance to change the course of their lives. We can pay homage to our lost loved ones by sharing their stories and removing the stigma that may have kept them from receiving the help they needed.

    Recently a person in recovery told me that their co-workers do not know about their history and they will never tell them because multiple times they have made comments like “drug addicts are scum and should be shot” and “addicts are worse than rabid dogs.” The negative perceptions of people with SUD grated on this person and fed their alcoholism in a detrimental way. They believe they are simply a bad person who does not deserve help because addiction cannot be cured. This is a falsehood perpetuated by ignorant and fearful people.

    When we lose people and we share the entirety of our memories about them, from childhood to work life, and we share the truth of their battles with addiction, we are combating these dangerous preconceptions and prejudice.

    Overdoses aren’t the only way addiction kills. According to drugabuse.gov, “drug-related deaths have more than doubled since 2000 [and] there are more deaths, illness, and disabilities from substance use than from any other preventable health condition.” SUD is a diagnosable and treatable condition that deserves as much recognition as any other health issue for which there are awareness campaigns and funds devoted to find treatments to save and improve lives. Substance use disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental and behavioral disorder.

    Tragedy as a Call for Activism

    In a world where so many people process aspects of their grief online and where tragic events unfold live for millions of people around the world at the same time, finding meaning in tragedy is necessary for our mental health. When we experience trauma, we are at risk of developing post-traumatic stress. Trauma can manifest as a strong psychological or emotional response to a distressing or disturbing event or experience. We can be traumatized when we lose someone; we can even be traumatized when we hear that someone we care for went through a terrifying ordeal. If our ability to cope is overwhelmed, that is trauma. When someone develops post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), their sense of self in relation to the world around them has become damaged. Trauma has the potential to shatter our beliefs about our place in the world and our sense of safety.

    Finding meaning in tragedy can go a long way in preventing the development of post-traumatic stress and can be a marker in recovery from PTSD.

    In our changing experience of bereavement, tragedy is a call for activism. It is on the heels of tragedy that we can make voices of change be heard. Tragedy creates space in which people listen. Frequently, we want to connect with others when we experience loss; sharing grief reduces its intensity. Turning grief into activism is a powerful way to process and give meaning to the pain of traumas like the death of someone who struggled with addiction.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Can 12-Step Programs Treat Dual Diagnoses?

    Can 12-Step Programs Treat Dual Diagnoses?

    Effective treatment needs to include both the substance use disorder and the co-occurring disorder in an integrated approach because the two conditions build on each other.

    Thirty-three percent of people with mental illness also have a substance use disorder (SUD); that number rises to 50 percent for severe mental illness. Fifty-one percent of people with SUD have a co-occurring mental health disorder. Effective treatment needs to include both the SUD and the co-occurring disorder in an integrated approach because the two conditions build on each other. People with mental illness may turn to substances to alleviate symptoms and severe substance misuse can cause lasting psychological and physiological damage.

    12-step programs are free, prolific, and available throughout the world. These mutual-help organizations are designed to facilitate recovery from addiction, but are they suitable for treating the large segment of people with addiction who also have other mental health conditions or psychiatric diagnoses?

    A 2018 meta-analysis  undertook a literature review on 14 years of studies related to dual diagnosis and Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). This extensive quantitative look into the effiicacy of AA for people with dual diagnosis found that participation in AA and abstinence “were associated significantly and positively.” The research supports the clinically-backed notion that an integrated mental health approach that encourages participation in mutual help programs is the best approach for treating patients with comorbid SUD and mental illness.

    Does it Depend on the Dual Diagnosis?

    There is enormous variation in mental illnesses, so does the potential effectiveness of 12-step programs change based on the type of disorder or diagnosis? The co-founder of AA, William Wilson (known as Bill W.), was afflicted with a co-occurring disorder. Wilson struggled with “very severe depression symptoms” and today his mental health issue may have been diagnosed as major depressive disorder.

    A study published in the Journal of Substance Abuse Treatment followed 300 alcohol-dependent people with and without social anxiety disorder who went through hospital-assisted detox followed by participation in AA. Social anxiety disorder is characterized by an intense fear of being rejected or disliked by other people. This study found that there was no significant difference in relapse or abstinence rates between the two groups and concluded that social anxiety disorder was “not a significant risk factor for alcohol use relapse or for nonadherence to AA or psychotherapy.”

    Do Sponsors Matter?

    People with dual diagnoses tend to participate in 12-step programs like AA as much as people with just SUD and receive the same benefits in recovery. Those people with co-occurring conditions may actually benefit more from “high levels of active involvement, particularly having a 12-step sponsor.”

    In many 12-step mutual help organizations, people enter into an informal agreement with another recovering person who will support their recovery efforts and hold them accountable for continued sobriety. This one-on-one relationship of sponsor and sponsee has been compared to the “therapeutic alliance” that is formed between patients and their clinicians. The therapeutic alliance is positively correlated with treatment outcomes and abstinence.

    The therapeutic alliance is one of the most important aspects of effective psychotherapy, as it helps the therapist and the patient to work together. The relationship is based on a strong level of trust. Patients need to feel fully supported, and know that that their therapist is always working towards the best possible outcome for the patient. In the sponsor-sponsee relationship, a similar level of trust and belief is essential if sponsorship is going to be beneficial. 

    As with therapy, it may take many tries with many different people to find the right fit. Not all people are suitable to be sponsors and not all sponsorships go well. A sponsor is generally expected to be very accessible to their sponsee, and available at any time, day or night. They are supposed to help with completing the 12-steps, and they often provide advice and suggestions from their own experiences. It’s a lot of responsibility.

    A strong therapeutic alliance has been found to be an excellent predictor for treatment outcomes. Does that mean a failed therapeutic alliance could derail treatment? In short, the answer is yes. Trust is critical to healing from any mental illness.

    Trauma and the Therapeutic Alliance

    Traumatic events have a serious impact on mental health. People with mental illness are at a higher risk of being further traumatized and people who are traumatized are at a higher risk of developing mental illness than the general population. Childhood trauma “doubles risk of mental health conditions.”

    Recovery from trauma is based on empowering the survivor and developing new connections to life, including re-establishing trust. Judith Herman, a leading psychiatrist specializing in trauma is adamant that recovery is not a solitary process. This may be why 12-step programs have been successful in helping some people recovery from trauma. 

    Being a sponsor to someone who has been traumatized requires a fine balance between listening and giving space. Herman explains that survivors need to know they’re being heard when telling their story. At the same time, “trauma impels people both to withdraw from close relationships and to seek them desperately.” Meaning that when the sponsor does not go away, their motives may seem suspect in the eyes of the survivor. Yet, if the sponsor doesn’t stay, it can reinforce negative self-appraisal and stoke a fear of abandonment.

    Individuals with psychological trauma can struggle to modulate intense emotions, such as anger. A sponsor or therapist has to have healthy boundaries with a sponsee/patient if the relationship is going to work. Providing good sponsorship is a huge undertaking that requires a firm commitment.

    The good thing about the 12 steps is that they are considered a long-term program which encourages revisiting the steps many times to sustain successful recovery. This is useful in terms of trauma recovery because most trauma is never fully resolved. A traumatized person will likely experience reappearance of symptoms; traumatic memories can surface in different stages of life. Stress is a major cause of these recurrences and having a place to process these events as they come up is important.

    Do 12-Step Programs Have a Role in Treating Dual Diagnoses?

    Integrated holistic treatment that addresses how the two conditions interact and affect each other will provide the best outcomes. Ultimately, what we want is to improve quality of life and to return to ordinary life with an open door to future support when necessary. The research shows that when the principles of 12-step programs are integrated with other treatments, we see improvements in self-esteem, positive affect, reduced anxiety, and improved health.

    Further research is necessary to compare 12-step programs with other emerging mutual and self-help organizations, as they have been around for less time and there are fewer published studies on their efficacy. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • I Don’t Always Feel Better After a 12-Step Meeting

    I Don’t Always Feel Better After a 12-Step Meeting

    Why would someone continue to go to something that they don’t always like and don’t feel immediate relief from? I’m playing the long game.

    I can’t seem to figure it out, the sinking feeling in my gut, the feeling that I am too visible, too likely to be ogled and leered at by some man old enough to be my father. What the actual hell is this feeling in my gut? I call it a homesick feeling. Maybe it is something else entirely, but it makes me want to cloak myself in a protective layer, strip myself of sexuality and erase the sexualized parts of myself. I feel a deep shame and am overcome with a sorrowful lonesomeness as if a hole has cracked into existence and swallowed me whole. I feel stripped naked: Too visible. Too human. Too vulnerable.

    It happens almost every time, at almost every 12-step meeting. I want to disappear. There is a black hole in my gut, a homesick longing that begs me to give in, and I would, if I knew what it wanted. I fear it wants to swallow me whole.

    An Emptiness Inside Me

    I don’t always feel better after attending a recovery group meeting; sometimes at the end I feel worse than I did before I got there. I don’t share the experience of always feeling supported and comfortable that seems to echo through the rooms. At nearly every 12-step meeting, someone invariably says, “When I walk into the rooms, I feel immediately at ease and at home.” 

    Well, I don’t.

    There are times when the entire affair goes swimmingly. I’ll laugh and relate and feel at ease. I will connect to other people’s shares and fully articulate my own. It will all be very nice and fun. It will feel really good, on all fronts. Then, as soon as I leave, a pit in my stomach opens and I can feel myself falling in. Other times the aching lonesomeness begins as soon as I step inside the room.

    Dangerous Adaptability

    I survived my life because I could change according to outside circumstances. It has always felt dangerous to do anything other than adapt. For much of my life, it was dangerous.

    From my adaptations have sprung multiple versions of me. Other people are privy to the Light-Hearted Jokester and the Loud and In Charge Diplomat. Being honest when sharing about my experience with addiction and recovery means another part of myself might become visible. I have spent a lot of time with Depressed Me and revealing her is scary. The Quiet One fears she makes people uncomfortable with her silence. She’s acutely aware that she is not the Jokester and doesn’t want to be noticed and doesn’t want to slip into Depression in public.

    My defenses are up in spaces where I’m allowing unvetted people to know something real about my life. I begin to feel unworthy and not good enough: proof that my worst enemy is my own mind. My instinct tells me: Don’t reach out for a while. Don’t be early for the meeting tonight, go late to avoid chitchat and leave early. My brain fills with excuses to avoid discussions and socializing.

    Getting to know me means you may grow to understand who I am in all my contradictions, which will make it harder for me to adapt. I know that facilitating communication between all of myself is necessary for healing. But the truth is, sometimes it’s really difficult. It’s difficult to be seen, to be open. Yet each time I attend a meeting, that is exactly what I’m doing. I’m expressing myself with complete honesty. I am trusting the process, despite my fear and discomfort.

    I can no longer neglect the parts I’ve long tried to keep hidden. Together we must heal. Together is the only way we can heal.

    Playing the Long Game in Recovery

    Why would someone continue to go to something that they don’t always like and don’t feel immediate relief from? I’m playing the long game. Seeking immediate relief is what I did in active alcoholism. In recovery, I’m learning to resist that behavior. 

    Over time I have seen the subtle and dramatic improvements in my mental wellbeing and quality of life. I can see the changes in my life outside of those meetings. The people around me notice my rediscovered joy, my grounded perspective, my newly formed boundaries. I go to the meetings because it’s part of a treatment plan that works for me. It’s a commitment I made to myself. A commitment to heal from trauma, because I deserve to experience a better life than I once lived. 

    I feel inspired by the possibility that if I keep trying, the healing work will be able to fill the hole that is always there; the emptiness which has eternally been ebbing and flowing in strength, making me happy and fearful in turn. I’m aiming for a stable emotional baseline. 

    It’s not going to happen overnight, but it is happening over time. The inspiration itself comforts the sorrow.

    Progress Not Perfection

    When I first got sober, I was in a very dark place. I was trapped in my own head and despite having survived everything, I couldn’t feel safe. I could only feel the pain from the past. I thought I was alone. I believed I was too broken, too sick, too lost. Finding anyone else who could truly understand what I was going through seemed out of the question. I didn’t think I was unique or special in my pain, I just believed I was hopeless. 

    Then I found a therapist, a psychiatrist, and 12-step meetings. All of which worked in tandem to lead me from the darkness.

    Today I’m not feeling that despair or sorrow. I feel content more often than I feel abject depression. I used to cry every single day and now I laugh every day. I used to swing from one overwhelming emotion to another, with no control over where my mind was taking me.

    Climbing out is an ongoing effort, but what kept me down—one of many things—was that I expected myself to be just be “better.” I thought I had to be different than I was. I now accept that this is hard work, but the results keep me doing it. It isn’t supposed to always be easy. I have to continually work on dismantling the defensive walls that have become maladaptive in their formations. 

    So, I let myself be, I take breaks to enjoy the view that is coming into perspective as the stones of my fortifications are disassembled. Sometimes I get scared, and put back a stone that was particularly heavy, afraid to lose such a significant tool of protection. That’s okay, too. I try not to judge myself. It’s a journey of progress, not perfection.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Losing Nanny: The Collateral Damage of Addiction

    Losing Nanny: The Collateral Damage of Addiction

    I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been if my mom’s addiction didn’t suck up and spit out every relationship and person it touched. 

    The few pictures I have of my nanny are stowed away in a cardboard box buried in the back of my bedroom closet. And while I don’t want to throw them away, I feel no urge to dig them out and display them in a faux-wood frame from Target that has the word family written in cursive ribbons around the edges. Although my nanny wasn’t the alcoholic, at least in my life, my relationship with her was just as fraught as the one I had with my mom, the alcoholic. And sadly, it was because of my mom’s addiction that my relationship with my nanny became what it did, and ultimately what it didn’t. 

    Nanny was born Katherine, but the adults called her Kitty. She was thin and never without a cigarette in hand. Her hair was charcoal black and full of thick bulbous curls. She lived on Indian Queen Lane in East Falls, Philadelphia on the first floor of a house she rented and shared with my pop-pop. I don’t know if they were ever legally married, but they had five children: my uncles Tim, Mike, and Larry, and my mom. Dot, the oldest, had a different father, which may be why she never became a drug addict or alcoholic like the rest of them. 

    Nanny and Pop-pop Drank Heavily and Fought Frequently

    According to my mother, when Nanny and Pop-pop were young, they drank heavily and fought frequently, and their public displays of destruction eventually caught the attention of social services. In one fell swoop, my uncles, my mom, and aunt Dot became orphans and were parceled out to stable families. But Nanny fought and got her kids back, which I assume is when she put down the drink for good. Pop-pop, although he retired his fists, died an alcoholic, his tattooed body hijacked by cancer. 

    After my parents divorced when I was four, my mom and I moved back to East Falls. Initially, Mom planned to move in with Nanny until she could afford to rent an apartment for us, but my pop-pop objected because he didn’t want us, “those two bitches,” eating all of his food. Instead, we moved in with my uncle Mike, who lived in an apartment under the Roosevelt Expressway on Ridge Avenue, an eight-minute walk from Nanny’s. I recall my mom and I having to sleep on the floor because Uncle Mike didn’t have furniture. Instead, he had a refrigerator full of Budweiser.

    Eventually, my mom found work waiting tables and Nanny took care of me during the day, walking me to Mifflin Preschool in the morning and picking me up in the afternoon. For lunch, she made ham, orange cheese, and potato chip sandwiches on white bread with mustard. And dessert was a handful of Oreo cookies from the frog-shaped cookie jar she kept on the kitchen table along with a cold, tall glass of full-fat milk. Apparently, Pop-pop was okay with me eating processed cheese and ham; as long as I didn’t dare go near his fried steak and potatoes.

    By the time my mom pulled together the money to rent an apartment, my nanny had assumed the role of default caretaker. My mom’s schedule became an endless stream of barely making it to work during the day, getting plastered at the bar at night, and hanging out with my alcoholic soon-to-be stepfather. Instead of my mom picking me up after lunch, I stayed with Nanny and watched her favorite soap opera, General Hospital, while she sucked backed cigarettes and ironed Pop-pop’s work pants. I sat at the kitchen table at night while she prepared dinner and then examined her every move as she scrubbed and dried each pot and plate. After my bath, I’d sit with her on the edge of the bed and watch M*A*S*H, a show about an American medical unit during the Korean War. 

    Damn It, Why Do I Have to Take Care of You?

    One night she brought in a bowl of black licorice balls and insisted I try one. Never a kid to turn down candy, I popped a ball in my mouth and quickly discovered how much I hated the taste of black licorice. 

    “How’s it?” Nanny asked without taking her eyes off the T.V.

    As saliva filled my mouth, the taste of licorice coated my tongue and slipped between every tooth, reaching the flesh of my cheeks and the back of my lips. Afraid of what would happen if I opened my mouth, I nodded my head yes and walked down the hall to the bathroom. In there, I leaned over the trashcan next to the toilet and spat the ball out. In an attempt to hide what I’d done, I grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the roll and threw it in over the black goo in the can. I don’t know why I did it, but when I got back to Nanny’s room, I sat on her bed, reached into the bowl, and popped another licorice ball in my mouth. I waited a minute, went back to the bathroom, and spit the ball out, just as I did with the first, covering it with toilet paper. I did that at least twice more before Nanny noticed and screamed, “Are you spitting that licorice out?” Terrified, I nodded my head. 

    “Why you doing that?” She asked.

    Still terrified to speak, I answered with a timid shoulder shrug.

    “Damn it, Dawn!” She wailed. “If you don’t like the goddamn things then don’t eat them.”

    Oddly, this was the only kind of interaction I recall having with my nanny. I’d do something typical for a little kid such as trip on my shoelaces, cry when I had to get shots, or accidentally pee on the toilet seat, and she’d scream “Damn it, Dawn!” She’d always follow that up with something like “It doesn’t hurt,” or “Stop being so dramatic,” or “What’d you do now?” 

    I’ve always wondered if what she really wanted to say after “Damn it, Dawn!” was “Why do I have to take care of you?” Looking back, I can’t say I’d blame her if she did.

    Nanny didn’t balk when my mom and I moved in with my stepdad or when they eventually married, even though he was glaringly wrong for her. Under my stepdad’s roof, my mom didn’t have to work, which meant she should have had time to look after me. But her love for alcohol and my stepdad’s penchant for violence made that nearly impossible. 

    Chaos, Instability, and Abuse

    The three of us lived together for four long and terrifying years, marked by a level of chaos, instability, and abuse that I’m still working out in therapy. I can only imagine how much more screwed-up I’d be as an adult if I hadn’t distanced myself from my mom at a young age. And although estrangement has been good for my mental and emotional well-being, it didn’t come without a cost. Cutting off contact with my mom meant severing ties with aunts, uncles, and cousins on that side of my family, relatives whose faces and voices I wouldn’t recognize today. That collateral damage included my nanny. 

    I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been if my mom’s addiction didn’t suck up and spit out every relationship and person it touched. 

    Like Pop-pop, Nanny died of cancer a handful of years ago, but because I was estranged from my mom, I never learned what kind of cancer she had or how long she had it before she passed. I didn’t go to her funeral because I knew my mom would be there and likely not sober. Even as an adult, concern for my own safety was stronger than my desire to pay my respects. I don’t regret that decision. 

    Regrets and Puzzle Pieces

    But I do regret the things I’ll never know about my nanny. I regret not knowing her maiden name, or what county in Ireland her parents were from. I’ll never know if she finished high school, if she had any aspirations beyond motherhood or if she resented having to take care of me when my mom couldn’t. Maybe these questions sound trivial, but for someone whose family has been battered and divided by addiction, the answers become the missing pieces to a puzzle you want to finish but can’t. 

    I still have some pieces, though: memories of potato chip sandwiches on white bread, a fat ceramic frog full of Oreo cookies, and a cardboard box of faded pictures buried in the back of my closet that I can’t throw away. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • HBO’s “Euphoria” Explores Addiction, Trauma, and Gender…in High School

    HBO’s “Euphoria” Explores Addiction, Trauma, and Gender…in High School

    Teens today have access to the world in a way many of us never experienced in our formative years. The drugs, sex, relationships portrayed in the show are absolutely something we see on the regular.

    It’s no wonder why HBO’s new drama Euphoria has already been renewed for a second season—the riveting series is a no-holds-barred look at overstimulated teens who use drugs, deal with childhood trauma, and have sex; it’s a perfect recipe for “must-see TV.”

    As gut-wrenching as it can be—scenes and images are raw and uncensored, eliciting visceral reactions—the vibrant ensemble cast led by Disney Channel star Zendaya and transgender model-turned-actress Hunter Schafer lights up the screen, making for electrifying viewing. 

    Creator Sam Levinson Struggled with Addiction as a Teen

    Executive produced by rapper Drake and based on an Israeli teen series, much of what is seen onscreen was inspired by creator Sam Levinson’s personal experiences struggling with addiction.

    “I spent the majority of my teenage years in hospitals, rehabs, and halfway houses,” Levinson told the audience at the premiere screening in Hollywood. “Some time around the age of 16, I resigned myself to the idea that eventually drugs would kill me, and there was no reason to fight it. I would let it take me over, and I had made peace with that.”

    But then Levinson discovered a quote in a book that would change his life: “’In the end, we are nothing more than an amalgamation of our actions, and that’s ultimately what defines us.’ …that really spooked me in a sense that, if I were to die today, who would I be? I’m a thief. I’m an addict. I’ve been shitty to almost every person in my life that I love,” Levinson acknowledged.

    “There was this voice that was clear as day that said, ‘stop fucking doing drugs.’ I’ve been clean for 14 years.”

    While there are numerous irate people on social media accusing HBO of being too extreme, what the show describes is not all hyperbole: Teens who are using drugs are often self-medicating stress or trauma with untested high-potency chemicals. It’s an environment ripe for addiction or overdose.

    “What we are witnessing with the availability of drugs and the viciousness of marketing aiming at normalizing use in younger and younger populations is a tragedy of immeasurable proportions,” said Daniel Ahearn, a certified addiction specialist and meditation counselor, who has worked with adults and teens in trauma clinics and rehabs for the past 16 years and also runs PTHWRK, a Buddhist-based meditation program.

    Teens Use Drugs to Deal with Stress and Trauma

    “Children are dealing with enormous stress in environment and influence on a daily basis. They are suffering and the drugs are becoming their outlet,” Ahearn told The Fix. “The real problem is the drugs work. They work for a while. Then things tend to get bad. Real bad. We are seeing record numbers of overdoses in younger and younger people.”

    Ahearn is happy to see that at the end of each episode, HBO provides information on where to get help. “It’s important that Euphoria is offering an outlet of health and wellness resources. It’s hopeful that people are having this discussion and the series is contributing to this in a real way.”

    Beck Gee-Cohen, director of LGBTQI+ Programming at Visions Adolescent Treatment Center, believes what is being portrayed is a “mirror” to the real world.

    “Many parents/adults do not want to believe this is actually happening in the life of teens. However, those of us who work in the field of addiction/mental health see it regularly, and many times it’s worse. A show cannot capture all the pain/trauma that a person goes through; when we watch it from a 2D standpoint we can separate ourselves from it, because it doesn’t feel real,” he said.

    “The trans character in the show has given an amazing narrative to what life can be like for a trans teenager today. Her being trans is not the main conversation. We are actually just starting to hear the word trans in the third episode and how it is relevant to her navigating a possible sexual relationship. In the past, a TV shows’ main focus would be about her being trans. Instead, we get to see her character’s depth, strength, and struggles, just like any of her cisgender peers.”

    Transgender Youth Have to Deal with an Added Layer of Oppression

    In working with trans youth, Gee-Cohen noted that gender is only one piece of the puzzle. “These teens are navigating a world that is coming at them at light speed. They have access to the world in a way many of us never experienced in our formative years. The drugs, sex, relationships that are being addressed in the show are absolutely something we see on the regular in teens today, despite gender. When it comes to trans young people, there is an added layer of oppression and struggle that needs to be addressed in order to help them find their way. As professionals, it is our responsibility to get educated in best practices and creating affirming environments for these young trans people to thrive.”

    In the series, Algee Smith (The Hate U Give), plays a football star adjusting to college life: “Euphoria is a must-watch because it’s truth and reality that we live in today. It’s important for us to know the state of many people dealing with these same issues. If we don’t talk about it, we can’t help fix it.”

    He continued: “We have so many different characters from different walks of life that a lot of people will relate to. From the life of teenage Rue (Zendaya) to the very adult life of Cal, every character has their own secrets that they live with.”

    Eric Dane (Grey’s Anatomy, The Last Ship), who has had his own struggles with addiction in the past, plays Cal Jacobs, a married man with a secret: “I don’t think anyone will look at this and think drugs are cool. This is not a series that glamorizes drug abuse in any way, shape, or form. It’s done so truthfully that it shows a lot of this stuff for what it really is. There is an honesty and beauty to the eventual redemption.”

    One of the standout performances in Euphoria is Barbie Ferreira, who plays Kat, a high school student dealing with body image issues and sexuality. 

    “Playing Kat really allowed me to [understand] how the exploration of sexuality can come in any and all forms. The role brought me back to how I navigated the world as a curious teenager, with internet access and a chaotic amount of free time to spend diving into the niche worlds of the web. I wasn’t really into many hobbies outside of the internet, as a true Gen Z baby.”

    Sex, Drugs, and Social Media

    In an early episode, Kat has an unimaginable breach of privacy that left the character feeling vulnerable and exposed. 

    “She immediately reacts by making extreme decisions that make her feel the power she had lost,” said Ferreira. 

    “The fact that one person with an iPhone can take away Kat’s precious and strongly guarded anonymity that so many of us cling to is a frighteningly real fear and anxiety that is growing in modern society and continues to be brushed under the rug with little conversation about it. I love Kat because although her decision to be a cam girl is far from healthy, it’s a step into owning her power and feeling her worth.”

    Kat’s relief and excitement at finding something outside of her real life rings true for everyone who uses the internet as an escape or sanctuary, to feel a sense of importance and understanding, noted Ferreira.

    “Her need for escapism in fics and fan culture hits home for me and millions of other self-professed outsiders, who felt community with strangers via text posts and gushing over people we will never meet.”

    Watch Euphoria on HBO.

     

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How It Feels to Be the Reality Show Villain: An Interview with Kari Ann Peniche

    How It Feels to Be the Reality Show Villain: An Interview with Kari Ann Peniche

    Those shows continue to haunt me and do me damage in my personal life. I was portrayed as this crazy person, and that portrayal is something I find myself having to fight against on a regular basis.

    Kari Ann Peniche was thrust into more scandals before the age of 30 than most fictional Hollywood starlets. She was crowned Miss Teen USA 2002 before her 17th birthday, then in 2004 the title was taken from her after she appeared nude in a celebrity pictorial for Playboy magazine. Then, from 2009 to 2010, Kari Ann appeared in succession on the reality shows Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew, Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, and Sober House. Set up as the troubled bad girl by the producers, Kari Ann received little help and lots of negative press. She was also the subject of tabloid celebrity stories covering her volatile engagement to Aaron Carter in 2006, a nasty public quarrel with the late singer Mindy McCready in 2009, and the leak of a controversial nude home video that included married actors Eric “McSteamy” Dane and Rebecca Gayheart in 2009.

    With hard work, Kari Ann moved on from that chapter and today she is happily married with two children. She found her true calling as an interior designer and creative director, and in 2017 she launched DAF House, a “luxury design, fashion and art firm.” 

    The Fix recently had the pleasure of speaking with Kari Ann about her journey. 

    After appearing nude in the November 2004 issue of Playboy magazine, you were stripped of your crown. Why did you decide to appear in Playboy? Since Hugh Hefner was still alive at this point, I imagine you spent time at the Playboy mansion.

    When Playboy was introduced to me, I didn’t really know how I felt about the idea. All I knew was that it was a nude magazine that my Dad had kept hidden in a drawer when I was growing up. I thought it was weird to even consider the idea at first. Then, the agent went on to tell me about all these iconic women who had posed for the magazine in the past: Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Farrah Fawcett, Sharon Stone, Shannen Doherty, Drew Barrymore, and many more. I thought, “If they posed for the magazine, then I definitely want to pose for the magazine and do a celebrity pictorial because I will be in such good company.”

    So, I agreed to do it, and I did spend time at the mansion. I lived there for a couple of months, and Hef was always very nice. He taught me how to play backgammon, and he let me stay in the guest house. I don’t think it was too much for me, but it definitely opened my eyes to a world that I hadn’t been exposed to before.

    In an interview with Steppin’ Out magazine, you revealed that you had been raped twice before you turned 18, first by a neighbor when you were 13 and later by a U.S. military officer when you were modeling in South Korea. You also had a series of abusive boyfriends that took advantage of you and introduced you to hard drugs. How difficult was it to be in the national spotlight while dealing with such extreme trauma?

    I know now that being busy with modeling and Playboy and all the attention that I was getting at that time really helped to distract me from that trauma. At the same time, I never really dealt with what happened. I just pushed everything aside because I was too busy to stop and really think about it. I would tell myself that I was fine, I’m not a victim, and those things aren’t about me. The ones that did those things to me, they’re the ones that need help and they’re the sick ones. They should deal with it, and I don’t need to deal with it because I’m just fine. That was my attitude about all that back then.

    When I did the Steppin’ Out interview, I was starting to kind of crumble, and I was reaching out for help. Everything had slowed down, and suddenly I had a lot of time to myself. Finally, being with myself allowed me to reflect on what had happened. I realize now that I shared stuff that they didn’t even really ask me questions about. The interview really captured where I was emotionally and mentally. I was breaking down, and it felt like everything was falling apart. It happened to be the same time that I got the calls to do the reality shows. I knew I needed something so I thought it made sense: I would help my career and help myself at the same time, but that’s not what ended up happening.

    You went on Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew because your manager thought it was a good idea. Today, you say that you were never a sex addict. Instead, would you describe yourself back then as a love addict or a relationship addict?

    I like to say that I had more of a shopping problem, I mean, I didn’t even know what sex addiction was and I didn’t know why I was going on that show. I was the first person cast for that show, and I had only been intimate with a handful of people. Never had I ever had a one-night stand or hooked up with people I didn’t know. I was never promiscuous in that way, but I knew how to play that part in a weird sense.

    I do know that I used sex as a kind of protection. I would use sex as a way to ward off guys that I thought were trying to make moves on me. I thought that being graphic or explicit would intimidate my guy friends and keep them in line. I always had people over at my apartments and my houses. I would buy sex toys and bondage stuff that I would have in my bedroom and on my bed, but I had never even used these things before. It was all like some kind of strange decoration, and it was my way of protecting myself. I don’t know if that makes sense, and I know it sounds kind of confusing, but it actually worked really well. Rather than use sex toys and bondage equipment, I really just shopped for them and displayed them, and that’s why I like to refer to it as more of a shopping problem. My goal was to make guys think, “I’m not even going to try to hit on her because I am inadequate. I won’t be able to keep up with a girl like her.” In truth, it was all one big illusion. I had been through so many bad things in the past, and I needed to have a way to protect myself.

    When you were on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew and Sober House, it seemed like the producers cast you as “the villainess.” Did you feel unfairly portrayed on these shows?

    When I did those shows, I had really bad management, and I was coached to be a certain way by the producers. I was told that VH1 was looking for a new starlet to come out of these reality shows, and the cast was going to include Tom Sizemore and Dennis Rodman. We had big names on the show, so I thought it made sense to be a part of that group; I thought it would help my career.

    I do feel unfairly portrayed because the producers did a lot of things to provoke negative behaviors. I could have behaved differently, but so much of what happened wasn’t shown. You saw the reactions but never the provocations. We’re being filmed 24 hours a day for 21 days, and all that’s aired is 47 minutes once a week for ten weeks. Obviously, a lot of the story is edited out. They never showed the full story of what led to my outbursts on the show.

    I also felt like they were digging things up and putting words into my mouth that weren’t true about my drug use and past trauma. At first, I would just say whatever they wanted me to say. I didn’t really know the answers to the questions they were asking.

    As time passed, I knew I wasn’t being true to myself. It really started to bother me, and I started regretting a lot of the things we had filmed earlier. I didn’t want to be there anymore, and I knew that doing the show wasn’t right for me. At the same time, I also knew that I needed some kind of intervention because I was going down a bad path in my life. I really wanted to be helped, and it was a struggle to try to get something positive out of the experience when I also felt manipulated and not properly cared for.

    At the end of the day, we were just a cast, and our pain didn’t matter. All that mattered was them getting the material that they wanted. They were creating characters, and I hated the character that they created for me. Rather than help me get well, it felt like it was designed to do just the opposite.

    If you could sit down and talk to the producers of those reality shows today, what would you say? Should behavioral addictions like love addiction, relationship addiction, and sex addiction be used as fuel for the engine of the entertainment machine?

    I would first thank them for the experience because I did learn a lot. However, I don’t think they were fair or considerate. Rather than manipulate those experiences, they should have let things unfold naturally. If they had done it naturally, I believe they would have had great content anyways. There already are enough things that unfold in rehab anyhow. I don’t understand why their focus wasn’t helping the patients as opposed to doing things to provoke the drama.

    The producers and people on the show used our addictions and our traumas in these therapy sessions as entertainment, but they didn’t provide any follow-up care. It was a bad idea, and it caused a lot of hurt for my family and for me because they opened wounds without trying to heal them. It was like pulling off psychic scabs, and they would be blaming my mom or my dad for what had happened to me when I wasn’t even blaming them. I have never blamed them for anything. I was an adult, and I made those choices on my own. I knew better, and I knew I shouldn’t have put myself in those situations or done those things. Rather than help, they made me more confused.

    After those shows, I left each one of them feeling worse than I had before I went on them. They had ripped off those scabs, and I left filming with all these open wounds and no one to help heal them. Even today, those shows continue to haunt me and do me damage in my personal life. I was portrayed as this crazy person, and that portrayal is something I find myself having to fight against on a regular basis.

    I don’t think those settings should be televised. Everyone comes off poorly, and it’s not a good message. It does more harm than good.

    On the DAF House team page, you are quoted as saying, “Change is possible no matter who you are, what you’ve done or where you’ve been. It starts with creativity.” How did your creativity help you overcome the trauma you experienced as a girl and young woman? When did you realize that it was time to change and how did you change?

    I believe we are all artists in our own way, and we are all here to create, whether we are creating art or music, writing or designing, building or financing, marketing or selling. It all depends on our identity, but everything can be done creatively. For me, the quote on the DAF House website refers to that chapter in my life. There has been so much said about me that’s honestly not true, and I had spent four or five years honestly embarrassed about who I was or even who I am. I was afraid of anyone Googling me and finding out about what had happened because the reality had been so twisted. I was scared about what was going to happen.

    I recently went through a tough time in my marriage where my husband and I spent almost two years divorcing. It was really ugly and crazy in retrospect because we never got divorced, and we are still together. During that time, everything from my past before I was even married and before I was ever a mom was being brought up in court. I was being portrayed as a bad mother because I was an addict, and I had been on those celebrity rehab shows. It was all in the past and completely irrelevant to my being a mother or being married at that point in time. It was so in the past, but still, the judge ordered me to do random drug testing where they go in the bathroom with you and watch you pee three times a week. It was awful, and during that period, I did over 80 drug tests in a six-month period, and every one of them came back negative.

    Look, I was happy to do those drug tests because I knew I had nothing to hide, but never did any of that get publicized. Only the negative headlines are focused on by the eyes of the world. My husband’s lawyer brought forth a torrent of allegations against me, all this bad stuff that had happened long before we were married and all this bad stuff that was untrue. What was so disturbing is that the false picture that lawyer tried to paint of me kept coming out in the press and being published as truth. I cannot tell you how hard it was to go through something so awful.

    My husband and I did manage to reconcile, and we have done our best to repair our marriage. He was going through his own crisis mentally at the time, and the divorce had little to do with me and our relationship. However, given my celebrity and the scandals in my past, I became the punching bag of that process. He was influenced by a lot of outside people, and he let those people dominate his perspective. For a long time, all I could do was love him from far away and do my best to let him know that I wasn’t playing games. I wouldn’t say anything mean about him because I knew it was all going to be public record. I didn’t say anything about him being a bad father because it wasn’t true. He’s always been a good father, and I would never say such things about the man I love.

    We have been married for nine years, and we have put that behind us. For me, that quote is about focusing on the present and the future, leaving the past behind. I am trying to create a new picture of who I am for the public so I can be seen for who I really am.

    This interview was edited for length and clarity.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Mistakes I Made on My Journey Toward Self-Compassion

    Mistakes I Made on My Journey Toward Self-Compassion

    The emotional and physical abuse had cost me every last ounce of self-respect I had. But I refused to see myself as weak, a victim.

    John is escorted into the courthouse wearing a dirty ochre jumpsuit, cuffed at both the wrists and ankles. He looks straight at me in the wing and then quickly lowers his eyes, while I follow him boldly with my gaze, as if this is a staring contest I intend to win.

    I notice the public defender right away, a small bald man who pulls his briefcase behind him like a suitcase. He is wiry and can’t sit still, either hopped up on coffee or cocaine. The district attorney has instructed me not to get emotional. “This is just a hearing,” she says, “there’s no jury yet, and judges don’t like it when you seem like an unreliable narrator.”

    I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to get emotional,” I say, “It’s not my thing.” She tells me she has seen public defenders get hostile, make accusations, try strategies to get a victim discombobulated, to contradict herself, to look mentally unstable.

    Not me.

    When I received the subpoena to testify, I was also given a victim’s packet, a small handful of pamphlets informing me of shelters, therapists, and resources available to petition for restitution. I threw them away. I refuse to be a victim.

    They call me Jane Doe and I am satisfied with this identity. I would rather be anyone than who I am: a survivor of his raging chaos, the predictable woman who positions herself as collateral damage in a psychodrama in which she envisions herself the savior. I internally restructure my story to cast myself as a resilient hero, an arbiter of the complicated events of my life that have somehow made me stronger, clearer, more potent in my circuitous journey.

    I tell myself John was an opponent, not my perpetrator. A perpetrator is an illusion, a false dichotomy of black and white hats. He didn’t beat me up, I beat myself up. He was my sparring partner, and I wanted to know my weaknesses and where to grow stronger. Like Clouseau with Cato, I gave him access to my home, my body, my mindset, my skill-set. I gave him my weapons and the keys to my personal kingdom. I asked him not to use them against me, but God knew we would eat of the fruit and gave us access to it anyway.

    I run through the ways I never trusted John, as this is proof that I couldn’t have been betrayed. Either I don’t believe I deserve happiness, or I generated my own ultramarathon training session. I suspect it’s the former, but I try to convince myself it’s the latter. I may lose a battle, but I won’t lose the war. I repeat this to myself as I sit in the DA’s office, waiting to be called to the stand.

    “Did anything the defendant do frighten you?” she asks.

    Very little the defendant has done the past four years has not frightened me. To be more precise, the emotional and physical abuse have cost me every last ounce of self-respect I had. But I refuse to see myself as weak, a victim.

    “No.”

    She doesn’t shake her head in disgust, but rather acquiesces, as if she has seen this over and over.

    ***

    The first time John broke into my home, I was at work. When I got home, he was on the balcony with a kitchen knife he’d used to cut his hair. When he saw me, he pressed the knife to his throat, just slightly, to make an indentation without blood. He stared at me until my fear softened to compassion. I hadn’t seen him in months, but I didn’t call the police. I just calmly talked him down the stairs, as if he were a negligent child, and reminded him that he could have seriously hurt someone. I politely asked him to please not break in again.

    “Okay,” he said.

    When his mom hadn’t heard from him in over ten days, she called me to ask for help. I researched addiction symptoms online, and searched local arrest records until I found him. Since his arrest had nothing to do with me, I convinced myself I could be of service and made an appointment to visit him in West Valley Detention Center. The weeks that followed were a jumble of court proceedings and miscommunications.

    He was released in less than a month with a misdemeanor and a punch card for Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

    I saw him as the victim of a system that didn’t understand his illness and I was defensive and proactively defiant. I spent his first night out of custody in a motel room with him, nurturing his wounded spirit.

    Then I helped him get his car out of impound, let him borrow money, helped him get medications and appointments, helped him get back into school and into a part-time job, and genuinely believed we would fight the madness with surefooted logic and love.

    No matter how deep into the rabbit hole of illness he descended, through the drinking, cocaine and hallucinogens, and even when his numerous arrests would sometimes lead to jail and eventually prison, nothing shook my loyalty.

    “I love you,” I reassured him, “As long as you exist in any form, anywhere, I will find you. I will always come to you. Wherever you are, I will be there. There is nowhere I won’t look. In life or in death, I will come for you.”

    And I meant it. I loved John irrationally, with an intensity I didn’t have for myself or my well-being. I loved him in all the ways no one loved me, and I nurtured his brokenness like I wish someone had nurtured mine. I couldn’t go back and hold myself as a little girl, so I clung to him, and to the idea of rescuing him.

    I didn’t ask him to change, I didn’t even know what change would look like. I loved him without regard to what he did. I loved every muscle and hair on his body, every nuance of his mouth: the way it silently shook instead of making noise when he laughed, the wide sardonic grin, and even pursed with displeasure. I loved his deep voice and his dramatic anger, louder and more direct than anything I am or could ever display.

    I loved him for his ability to fall apart.

    When he broke into my home again, the consequences were more dire.

    ***

    After John was convicted, I broke all communication with him and got myself into therapy. After the hearing, the judge insisted on a protective order for me and my children. Shaking, I took the papers into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, a skeleton of a woman, 25 pounds thinner than I was when I was first subpoenaed. I didn’t recognize the frail woman looking back at me. All I knew is that I needed to change.

    I was raised to turn the other cheek. If someone takes your cloak, give him your shirt. If he imposes on you for one mile, go with him two.

    My mother taught me if a man tries to abduct you, pretend you adore him, and you won’t get hurt. I never fought back. I was raised to respond to aggression with a smile.

    I was drawn to people with addictions the way I am drawn to sugar, metabolizing them quickly and easily, with a counterintuitive calm. I was drawn to the way they let me play a supporting role in their life drama, so I didn’t have to recognize my own drama. With someone chaotic and wild and suffering, I didn’t have to think about myself. There was always somewhere to hide.

    I thought turning the other cheek made me a good person. I didn’t care how many slaps that got me or how much it hurt. I just kept turning the other cheek.

    My therapist recommended a daily yoga practice, so I began the journey of learning to listen to and trust my body. Through yoga, I learned to pay attention to my body. I began to recognize I could feel, and that I did feel, and I learned to be more honest with myself about the trauma lodged in my body.

    Before yoga, I didn’t even recognize trauma.

    It took sitting in my pain, rather than working to fix everyone else’s, to teach me to pay attention to my own needs. The process started with breathing mindfully, and then moving mindfully. Eventually I learned to feel my body, then recognize its pain, and eventually, recognize desire.

    I am a recovering enabler. I had to unlearn self-abnegation to understand that you can’t really be empathetic until you know where you end and someone else begins.

    Meeting my own needs serves as an example for others to meet theirs. When we show compassion and care for ourselves, we give others in our lives implicit permission to find wholeness in themselves, without needing or relying on us.

    Now I begin every morning with sitting in stillness, listening to my body, and paying attention to what comes up, even if it’s painful. Especially if it’s painful. Since I’ve committed to this daily spiritual practice of ruthless self-honesty, I haven’t had time to rescue anyone else. I have enough to rescue right here.

    Listening to the wisdom of my body has healed the cognitive dissonance once lodged in my psyche. I can now talk lovingly to the demons inside, rather than projecting them onto other people, trying to heal in others what I didn’t know was wrong in myself.

    Letting someone hurt you in the name of love hurts them too.

    Before we can be in a healthy relationship with another, we need to be self-aware enough to know who we are, and to identify what we want and don’t want. And we can’t do that when we spend all our time running around trying to fix other people.

    I no longer want to be anyone’s light or hope or savior. Now, I’m committed to being my own best friend.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How I Stopped Hurting Myself in the Name of Love: Tales of a Recovering Enabler

    How I Stopped Hurting Myself in the Name of Love: Tales of a Recovering Enabler

    The emotional and physical abuse had cost me every last ounce of self-respect I had. But I refused to see myself as weak, a victim.

    John is escorted into the courthouse wearing a dirty ochre jumpsuit, cuffed at both the wrists and ankles. He looks straight at me in the wing and then quickly lowers his eyes, while I follow him boldly with my gaze, as if this is a staring contest I intend to win.

    I notice the public defender right away, a small bald man who pulls his briefcase behind him like a suitcase. He is wiry and can’t sit still, either hopped up on coffee or cocaine. The district attorney has instructed me not to get emotional. “This is just a hearing,” she says, “there’s no jury yet, and judges don’t like it when you seem like an unreliable narrator.”

    I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to get emotional,” I say, “It’s not my thing.” She tells me she has seen public defenders get hostile, make accusations, try strategies to get a victim discombobulated, to contradict herself, to look mentally unstable.

    Not me.

    When I received the subpoena to testify, I was also given a victim’s packet, a small handful of pamphlets informing me of shelters, therapists, and resources available to petition for restitution. I threw them away. I refuse to be a victim.

    They call me Jane Doe and I am satisfied with this identity. I would rather be anyone than who I am: a survivor of his raging chaos, the predictable woman who positions herself as collateral damage in a psychodrama in which she envisions herself the savior. I internally restructure my story to cast myself as a resilient hero, an arbiter of the complicated events of my life that have somehow made me stronger, clearer, more potent in my circuitous journey.

    I tell myself John was an opponent, not my perpetrator. A perpetrator is an illusion, a false dichotomy of black and white hats. He didn’t beat me up, I beat myself up. He was my sparring partner, and I wanted to know my weaknesses and where to grow stronger. Like Clouseau with Cato, I gave him access to my home, my body, my mindset, my skill-set. I gave him my weapons and the keys to my personal kingdom. I asked him not to use them against me, but God knew we would eat of the fruit and gave us access to it anyway.

    I run through the ways I never trusted John, as this is proof that I couldn’t have been betrayed. Either I don’t believe I deserve happiness, or I generated my own ultramarathon training session. I suspect it’s the former, but I try to convince myself it’s the latter. I may lose a battle, but I won’t lose the war. I repeat this to myself as I sit in the DA’s office, waiting to be called to the stand.

    “Did anything the defendant do frighten you?” she asks.

    Very little the defendant has done the past four years has not frightened me. To be more precise, the emotional and physical abuse have cost me every last ounce of self-respect I had. But I refuse to see myself as weak, a victim.

    “No.”

    She doesn’t shake her head in disgust, but rather acquiesces, as if she has seen this over and over.

    ***

    The first time John broke into my home, I was at work. When I got home, he was on the balcony with a kitchen knife he’d used to cut his hair. When he saw me, he pressed the knife to his throat, just slightly, to make an indentation without blood. He stared at me until my fear softened to compassion. I hadn’t seen him in months, but I didn’t call the police. I just calmly talked him down the stairs, as if he were a negligent child, and reminded him that he could have seriously hurt someone. I politely asked him to please not break in again.

    “Okay,” he said.

    When his mom hadn’t heard from him in over ten days, she called me to ask for help. I researched addiction symptoms online, and searched local arrest records until I found him. Since his arrest had nothing to do with me, I convinced myself I could be of service and made an appointment to visit him in West Valley Detention Center. The weeks that followed were a jumble of court proceedings and miscommunications.

    He was released in less than a month with a misdemeanor and a punch card for Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

    I saw him as the victim of a system that didn’t understand his illness and I was defensive and proactively defiant. I spent his first night out of custody in a motel room with him, nurturing his wounded spirit.

    Then I helped him get his car out of impound, let him borrow money, helped him get medications and appointments, helped him get back into school and into a part-time job, and genuinely believed we would fight the madness with surefooted logic and love.

    No matter how deep into the rabbit hole of illness he descended, through the drinking, cocaine and hallucinogens, and even when his numerous arrests would sometimes lead to jail and eventually prison, nothing shook my loyalty.

    “I love you,” I reassured him, “As long as you exist in any form, anywhere, I will find you. I will always come to you. Wherever you are, I will be there. There is nowhere I won’t look. In life or in death, I will come for you.”

    And I meant it. I loved John irrationally, with an intensity I didn’t have for myself or my well-being. I loved him in all the ways no one loved me, and I nurtured his brokenness like I wish someone had nurtured mine. I couldn’t go back and hold myself as a little girl, so I clung to him, and to the idea of rescuing him.

    I didn’t ask him to change, I didn’t even know what change would look like. I loved him without regard to what he did. I loved every muscle and hair on his body, every nuance of his mouth: the way it silently shook instead of making noise when he laughed, the wide sardonic grin, and even pursed with displeasure. I loved his deep voice and his dramatic anger, louder and more direct than anything I am or could ever display.

    I loved him for his ability to fall apart.

    When he broke into my home again, the consequences were more dire.

    ***

    After John was convicted, I broke all communication with him and got myself into therapy. After the hearing, the judge insisted on a protective order for me and my children. Shaking, I took the papers into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, a skeleton of a woman, 25 pounds thinner than I was when I was first subpoenaed. I didn’t recognize the frail woman looking back at me. All I knew is that I needed to change.

    I was raised to turn the other cheek. If someone takes your cloak, give him your shirt. If he imposes on you for one mile, go with him two.

    My mother taught me if a man tries to abduct you, pretend you adore him, and you won’t get hurt. I never fought back. I was raised to respond to aggression with a smile.

    I was drawn to people with addictions the way I am drawn to sugar, metabolizing them quickly and easily, with a counterintuitive calm. I was drawn to the way they let me play a supporting role in their life drama, so I didn’t have to recognize my own drama. With someone chaotic and wild and suffering, I didn’t have to think about myself. There was always somewhere to hide.

    I thought turning the other cheek made me a good person. I didn’t care how many slaps that got me or how much it hurt. I just kept turning the other cheek.

    My therapist recommended a daily yoga practice, so I began the journey of learning to listen to and trust my body. Through yoga, I learned to pay attention to my body. I began to recognize I could feel, and that I did feel, and I learned to be more honest with myself about the trauma lodged in my body.

    Before yoga, I didn’t even recognize trauma.

    It took sitting in my pain, rather than working to fix everyone else’s, to teach me to pay attention to my own needs. The process started with breathing mindfully, and then moving mindfully. Eventually I learned to feel my body, then recognize its pain, and eventually, recognize desire.

    I am a recovering enabler. I had to unlearn self-abnegation to understand that you can’t really be empathetic until you know where you end and someone else begins.

    Meeting my own needs serves as an example for others to meet theirs. When we show compassion and care for ourselves, we give others in our lives implicit permission to find wholeness in themselves, without needing or relying on us.

    Now I begin every morning with sitting in stillness, listening to my body, and paying attention to what comes up, even if it’s painful. Especially if it’s painful. Since I’ve committed to this daily spiritual practice of ruthless self-honesty, I haven’t had time to rescue anyone else. I have enough to rescue right here.

    Listening to the wisdom of my body has healed the cognitive dissonance once lodged in my psyche. I can now talk lovingly to the demons inside, rather than projecting them onto other people, trying to heal in others what I didn’t know was wrong in myself.

    Letting someone hurt you in the name of love hurts them too.

    Before we can be in a healthy relationship with another, we need to be self-aware enough to know who we are, and to identify what we want and don’t want. And we can’t do that when we spend all our time running around trying to fix other people.

    I no longer want to be anyone’s light or hope or savior. Now, I’m committed to being my own best friend.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Parkland Students Find Ways to Cope with Trauma of School Shooting

    Parkland Students Find Ways to Cope with Trauma of School Shooting

    The survivors of last year’s horrific school shooting are creating their own channels of healing.

    In the aftermath of the Parkland school shooting, some survivors have created unique outlets to channel their pain.

    Many are still haunted by what happened on February 14, 2018 at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.

    The impact of the horrific event lives in each survivor, many of whom are struggling to cope with the trauma of what they witnessed. This year, two Parkland survivors died by suicide—16-year-old Calvin Desir and 19-year-old Sydney Aiello, who graduated last year. 

    To bring awareness to the mental health challenges of trauma survivors, People magazine recently caught up with six Parkland students. While they are each battling the trauma within, some have transformed their pain to help others.

    Carlos Rodriguez, 18, created Stories Untold, a Twitter-based platform for victims of gun violence to share their stories. The platform has created a community of support and activism for not only Parkland survivors, but anyone affected by gun violence.

    Eden Hebron, 16, is processing the trauma with a therapist. It has helped her, but unfortunately, she says, not everyone is open to therapy. “Some families still consider it, like, ‘Oh, it’s a shrink. Are you going to talk your feelings out?’”

    Hebron has created a mobile app to help people find ways to cope with stress, anxiety and depression. With her app, people can learn ways to address these symptoms.

    “So many kids have anxiety,” Hebron told People. “This shooting impacted people all over the country. This app is a way to give them the tools to help themselves.”

    Kai Koerber, 18, launched Societal Reform Corp, a non-profit organization working to establish mental health programs in schools. “We need to put mental health on equal standing with gun control,” said Koerber.

    Today, the need for mental, emotional, and trauma support is greater than ever. These young people are leading the charge and doing the work to provide themselves and others with effective coping strategies.

    “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget what I saw in that classroom,” said Hebron. “You can try to imagine, you can try to sympathize… but nobody understands how it feels to be in a room and literally feel, ‘These are the last moments of life.’”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Are the 12 Steps Safe for Trauma Survivors?

    Are the 12 Steps Safe for Trauma Survivors?

    When the 4th and 5th steps are done without support for the symptoms of PTSD, they have the potential to retraumatize.

    Trauma is a current buzzword in the mental health world, and for good reason. Untreated trauma has measurable lasting physiological and psychological effects, which makes it a public health emergency of pandemic proportions. Trauma is an event or continuous circumstance that subjectively threatens a person’s life, bodily integrity, or sanity, and overwhelms a person’s ability to cope.

    PTSD and Substance Use Disorder

    Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a condition caused by experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event. Symptoms include nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety, intrusive thoughts about the trauma, hypervigilance, and avoidance of triggers which remind you of the event. Substance use disorders (SUD) are frequently co-morbid (co-occurring) with PTSD. Many people with PTSD self-medicate with mind-altering substances to alleviate symptoms but getting high or drunk only works for so long. Substance use disorders often evolve from using substances as a maladaptive coping tool.

    There are many physiological correlations between psychological trauma and SUD. For example, there are similarities in gray matter reduction for both the person with PTSD and the person with an alcohol use disorder. Although the neural mechanisms of addiction in PTSD patients are not fully understood, research has found that in the prefrontal cortex, dopamine receptors may be involved in both conditions. Memories related to fear and reward are both processed with the help of these specific receptors. It could be that the processing of traumatic memories affects the dopamine receptors, making them more sensitive to reward-triggering substances.

    Sometimes, people with a dual diagnosis of addiction and PTSD find their way to 12-step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous. These programs are widespread, free, and require no commitment, which makes them more accessible than other types of treatment. AA’s worldwide membership and lasting existence has caused the program to be of interest to researchers for decades. Previous research has found positive correlations between AA participation and abstinence. There is less research on how 12-step programs interact with trauma recovery.

    Studies on relapse factors have found that common predecessors to relapse in adults include anger, depression, and stress, among others. Recalling traumatic experiences, for someone with PTSD, can cause intense physiological and psychological reactions characterized by these same feelings: anxiety (stress), depression, anger, and frustration. It’s a combination that puts people with both trauma and addiction at a higher risk of relapsing.

    Guilt, Shame, and AA

    There are two sets of steps in 12-step programs that involve memory recall and direct involvement with others: Steps 4 and 5 and Steps 8 and 9.

    Step 4 says: “Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.” That step is followed up by sharing that inventory in Step 5: “Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.”

    Later, Step 8 says: “Made a list of persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.” To deal with that list, Step 9 directs people: “Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.”

    The gist with these steps is that they look at both the resentment/anger the person feels towards others (which always involves taking responsibility for part or all of the event that caused the resentment and anger), and also the “harms” the person caused others. But there is no direct guidance on how to ensure a realistic and safe assessment of past events is made. The AA book presents this step as if someone with a substance use disorder has the tendency to blame others. People with PTSD are wracked with self-blame, and it is self-blame and shame which fuels many people’s addictions, but shame is not explicitly addressed in the steps.

    Guilt is very commonly experienced by people with PTSD. Survivor guilt can be a bit of a misnomer; PTSD develops from situations that are subjectively experienced as traumatic, but these circumstances don’t have to involve death (although they certainly can and do for many people). Simply surviving can feel like something the person is not worthy of. They may feel guilt when they don’t stay in the pain and anxiety.

    Shame is also common in trauma survivors, especially in people who have been sexually assaulted. Trauma survivors must restore a positive sense of self to find healing. Judith Herman, the author of Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror, explains that “the survivor needs the assistance of others in her struggle to overcome her shame and to arrive at a fair assessment of her conduct.” It becomes important, as the trauma reveals itself, to see it clearly for what it was so the person can integrate those experiences into their individual life stories.

    AA literature is very focused on decreasing ego and on disrupting the selfishness of the person with the addiction. This is not necessarily a helpful baseline for traumatized folks; it can be harshly critical. The feeling of being judged can deepen the rift between the survivor and others. Herman writes, “Realistic judgements diminish the feelings of humiliation and guilt. By contrast, either harsh criticism or ignorant, blind acceptance greatly compounds the survivor’s self-blame and isolation.”

    The primary text of Alcoholics Anonymous (the “Big Book”) suggests alcoholics review their past sexual life when creating a life inventory in Step 4. For the overall inventory, the book suggests that the reader completely disregard “the wrongs others had done” and to look only at “our own mistakes.” Even in situations where a person caused harm to the reader, the reader should “disregard the other person involved entirely” and find “where were we to blame?” These suggestions can be dangerous for survivors of intimate partner violence or child abuse who have been told that they were to blame for the abuse they suffered.

    The book further details what to ask yourself when making an inventory of your sexual conduct:

    “Where had we been selfish, dishonest, or inconsiderate? Whom had we hurt? Did we unjustifiably arouse jealousy, suspicion or bitterness? Where were we at fault, what should we have done instead?” It is worrisome that a sex inventory is taken to find out how “we acted selfishly” when one-third of women and one-sixth of men have been sexually assaulted or raped. An estimated half of women who experience a sexual assault will develop PTSD. One study found that 80 percent of women with SUD who seek inpatient treatment have been physically or sexually assaulted and nearly 70 percent of men have experienced either physical or sexual abuse.

    How the 12 Steps Can Harm People with PTSD

    Because remembering past traumas makes the brain’s reward center more receptive to the effects of drugs, Steps 4 and 5 need to approached with extreme caution for people who have experienced trauma. Ideally, these steps jumpstart healing; but when they are done without support for the symptoms of PTSD, they have the potential to retraumatize. As the person shares their trauma with someone else, hopefully the listener is compassionate and willing to point out where things were not the addict’s fault—at all. A child survivor of molestation had no agency in the assault, and it is unconscionable to tell that child, now grown, that they need to determine where they were at fault. It is not possible to “disregard the other person involved entirely” when an event only occurred because of the other person. Sometimes we need to recognize this fact and say to ourselves (or hear from someone else): “You had no part in this, you were a victim at that time.”

    In Steps 8 and 9 we are to list and resolve harms done to others. If step 4 and 5 didn’t properly address where our fault doesn’t lie, we may be inclined to list abuses and harm done to us as wrongs we did. It says not to make amends if it will cause harm to others, but we need an additional specification not to make amends if it will cause harm to ourselves. If you owe an abusive ex-partner money, are you supposed to pay them back if you’ve cut off all contact? These are issues that require careful consideration. Sharing both lists with a compassionate person has the potential to help survivors recover. Sharing both lists with someone who is too harsh in their suggestions and assessments has the potential to push those in recovery back into active addiction.

    The care of a loving, compassionate, and knowledgeable supporter, like a sponsor, can help sort out these dangerous triggers. Since such a large percentage of people in 12-step programs have experienced trauma, sponsors should be able to provide trauma-informed care; otherwise, going through the steps may end up retraumatizing their sponsees and leaving them vulnerable to relapse. Yet, there are no qualifications for sponsorship, and no way for someone new to the program to be aware of these potential pitfalls. There are so many variabilities to the 12 steps and how they are implemented. The way in which someone interprets the language of the steps can change how people understand themselves and their history. Trauma-focused recovery can be lost in the mix and deserves more explicit attention.

    View the original article at thefix.com