Stuck

Sometimes, it is impossible to get out of the pit we are in.  Stuck in a rut, stuck in a toxic relationship that repeats the same outcomes again and again, stuck in addictions--even ones one would never specifically name as addiction.  It is not simply the obvious addictions to food or drugs or work or liquor or sex.  We can't the brain to stop, but we use the same old obsessions to abate the pain we may be in.  We can’t get out of our own way.  And often, no number of affirmations or cognitive therapy can cut through what trauma has programmed into us, running like a broken record in our brain. 

What some of us have had to do or use to survive provided some essential need of respite from the trauma of abuse. We were drawn like a magnet to whatever would bring some relief.  The brain is programmed to the dopamine affect.  However, the drugs or work or food or sex went sideways into something harmful. Trauma is the seed of addiction.  It is the injury that causes a split inside because of hurtful events whether catastrophic or ongoing over years. 

Trauma fractures connection to ourselves and to the world around us.  Trauma, especially early trauma, affects our body, our health, our emotions, our development. It can distort our view of the world and connection with others and ourselves in unspeakable ways.  

It is easy to get stuck on any manner of substances or habits to seek relief from the excruciating experience of being in one's own skin. 

The brain mechanism that would have created bonding, emotional closeness was highjacked long ago by extreme social and emotional distress, the trauma of neglect,  betrayal--or abuse.  And honestly, the profound experience of isolation and loneliness was perhaps more devastating than physical or sexual trauma --so it became a habit of living. 

Addiction replaces the warm bath of love or connection that often was lost in the abuse or the neglect.  The desperate attempt for relief of addiction is the result not the cause for the lack of love (Gabor Mate, The Myth of Normal, Trauma, Illness and Healing in a Toxic Culture: Penguin, Random House, 2022). The cold judgmental part became a default setting, repeating on the inside the lack of connection experienced early on.  Even shame and self-contempt become the ecosystem and another addictive defense. 

Addiction is a defense against suffering and a response to the injuries in an attempt to survive even if it kills you.  Any trauma survivor who has struggled with addiction can identify what it fulfilled as an essential human need. 

But what if we looked at this struggle today, not as a source of intractable bondage, but perhaps as a teacher?  What if we meet the addiction without blame?  That doesn't replace responsibility in the present.  But what if we were asked about the pain that continues, the injuries of childhood, the intergenerational trauma, poverty or violence, or gender or racial oppression instead of demonizing the addiction?  What if we could find respite in connection and safety in all of this even if we don't necessarily have the words to describe them, so we could heal and truly recover?  It would mean getting to the root of the original pain with compassion and support.

You see, our brains are programmed to repetition and habit.  Our bodies follow.   And here is where being in deep recovery, we do our own brain surgery.  

What if we listen to the feeling or the craving of addiction as a young part of the self that is trying to send a code for safe care. Imagine asking the young one what they really need, what they truly longed for in the first place.  This is not to give the demon the driver's seat any more than we would give a child the wheel.  We must bring in the distress, thoughts, impulses and dreams from the "demons' that hold us back to the space of recovery and the possibility of freedom with safe space and deep support.  

The heart, not just the intellect, has its own nervous system.  Consider letting it speak (Mate pg. 364).   

Even when there are parts of ourselves in conflict with other parts, can we re-member some of what the child inside lacked with some compassion, or at least respect, for all they went through?

Do you have to love this self?  Perhaps not yet.  But consider what you have been through at all the ages you were.  Then allow your heart to open to the wounded child instead of hating or ignoring them. You and I need to know we matter.   It takes courage and support to do this.  We cannot do it alone.

It is the most important step to freedom.

I don't have to love myself, do I?  No, you don't--(not yet) You just have to love the kid inside ( Janina Fisher: Anatomy of Self Hatred: Learning to Love our Loathed Selves, Psychotherapy Networker).   

We Are the Ancestors

We Are the Ancestors

At the center of all my sorrows,

I have felt a presence that was not 

mine alone.

      Susan Griffin


This morning, I wake with a sob and a cringe from a dream. Dreams sometimes make no sense or are erased upon awakening.  But then later, a reaction or a comment falls out of my mouth, a pain in a place I cannot track --Where does this all come from?  Triggers can sprout out of a comment, a taste, or a smell. It can often seem there is no damn reason why we do or feel the way we do.   

Memory holds the cognitive roadmap of our life, but there is a deeper and older imprint written in the ecosystem of this body.  From birth, even before we have words, we possess an instinct for attachment and safety, and unconditional love.   But what happens to us even in utero, may be the opposite of that.

Violence, neglect, or unprocessed sorrow is recorded in the developing body and can create tension and a constant hyper-vigilance. Our early non-verbal experiences are not necessarily conscious.   Emotional and neurological imprints are wordlessly embedded in the cells and nervous system.  

This should be a call for a compassionate understanding and respect for the exquisite recording mechanisms lodged inside.  Perhaps it could be one of the most overlooked pieces of repair and recovery.  

But perhaps, we are not programmed to have such respect for ourselves.

We may have enough evidence and support to sort out our history.    But there may be a buried sorrow we cannot determine that goes beyond our conscious grief. 

 War, the Holocaust, slavery, poverty, rape, violence, sexual abuse, and neglect are all embedded in our DNA. We hold this legacy of trauma.  But we also hold the story of our survival.  Our history, including resilience, power--even our shadows--were the survival tools crafted out of trauma over generations, even if they no longer serve us.  

Reckoning with what we come from, including the shadow side of what we have inherited, gives us another tool to understand how we can respond to the world and to ourselves with compassion.  

And there is the other end of lineage:  our own children and descendants yet to be born.  Part of recovery is not repeating what was done to us, or even what happened to our ancestors.  The deep work of healing honors these elements of our lives, respecting what we have inherited for survival even as we create a new imprint.

Within a hundred years, our bodies will eventually go back to the earth.  Few will remember who we are today or what we did.

But imagine pressing your hand against this earth recognizing we will one day be the ancestors. We will leave a trace of our lives through our DNA to our descendants, and in the very ground we inhabit.  

The deep courageous work of recovery embodies our growth in brain, body, and soul. It can change the inner template of generations of trauma.

 It is our gift to those who go after us.

A Message for Spring

Message for Spring 

Joy is the justice

we give ourselves...

Joy is the sunrise

breaking through night’s remains,

bright shone new

on a shell-wracked shore...

the silent spring....      

                                                      J. Drew Lenham



This topsy turvy world ....  We embody all of it:  pain, uncertainty, and the constant drive to grow.  

What we have lived through, and how we grapple now is a deep part of our story, but not the whole story.  Our journey encompasses the gamut of sorrow, loss--and the possibility of joy. These are the edges of life that we cannot shy away from.  

In recovery, our resilience is wider and stronger than simple resistance and muscling through alone. 

This Spring, consider connecting to community as well. 

It is a risk worth taking. 

The Edge

The Edge

Our journey of recovery is undeniably an edge⎯an edge full of pain, peril and promise.

When our own bodies present illness or mortality, we reckon with our vulnerability. When our memories are overwhelming, we must grapple with the past as we grow into the present.  Easier said than done.

When we lose people or animals or those we love because of death or trauma, it can feel like we have toppled to the edge of the world.  Grief is the process that we need not rush or push away from.

When we are overcome with fear or rage or toxic hatred, we can come to the edge of our ground, our true center.  We can lose power.  We may lose stability.  We might lose the certainty that we’ve carefully crafted to stay safe.

Then there are edges that may not be recognized as edges at all. The edge of work and commitment can have steep shadow cliffs: addiction, hyper-focus at the expense of others, hardness of heart.

The edge of love, compassion and connection can degenerate into over-investment, burnout, resentment or codependence. 

The edge of having to face our own blindness and mistakes, when they are made known to us, can challenge our hard work of recovery and can bring us down with old inward messages from past neglect or abuse.

We come to this dangerous edge when we experience or even passively contribute to violence, disrespect, or deceit. Shame is often on this cliff, and it can be dangerous⎯especially if we have betrayed or failed another ourselves. 

We cannot always fix the situation. 

But here is the greatest edge: to honor the attempt to repair and whatever response we get, without succumbing to the toxicity of self-contempt if it doesn't succeed.  

We do the best we can with the other and ourselves. It takes courage and tender self-regard, which is quite different from self-pity. We may not see the results at first, or ever.  But it is a critical edge in healing.  The edge of any failure can be a worthy gift. And goodness, as humans, we may fail in so many ways in life. 

We practice. We rest. We practice again. We forgive ourselves with honesty, humor, grace...and some respect for ourselves and the struggle. When we stand at the edge, we are at the threshold of change, whether we like it or not.  

This edge is where we grow. Where possibility for compassion and kindness lie--and even joy.

Life is uncertain.  There is no doubt about that. 

Recovery and the edge of growth are about setting ourselves free.   

Thankfully, it is a lifelong process.

-Mikele Rauch