ONE

Collateral Damage: Growing Up in
the Force Field of Addiction

What we don’t let out traps us. We think, No one else feels this way, I must be crazy. So we don’t say anything. And we become enveloped by a deep loneliness, not knowing where our feelings come from or what to do with them. Why do I feel this way?

—Sabrina Ward Harrison, Artist and Author

We’re doing a great job of giving attention to addicts these days. The paparazzi are keeping scarved, hooded, and sunglassed celebrities on the front pages of newspapers and magazines, their hands outstretched to block the probing glare of cameras and careening, meddling microphones.

As they head to treatment.

It’s easy to capture addiction’s image. It wears a certain dis­heveled, hung-over look that we all recognize.

But no one is snapping many pictures of the people they left behind. The rest of the family.

Because how do you photograph a broken heart or a shattered self?

What happens to the kids, the wives, the husbands, and the parents whose lives are devastated by the disease of alcoholism/addiction? Those who are left dazed, numb, and in silent, secret pain because they’ve used up all of their resources—emotional, psychological, and financial—on getting the addict into ­treatment?

How do they get well? Is the fallout from living with addiction like inhaling years of secondary smoke? Are they somehow at risk too?

Probably. Especially impacted are children, whose personality development is affected by growing up around the dysfunctional, interpersonal relationship dynamics that surround addiction. These dynamics become incorporated into their concept of self and self in relationship and get played out when they become adult children of alcoholics/addicts (ACoAs) with partners and families of their own. Consider these statistics:

• One out of four children is a CoA.

• Fifty-five percent of all family violence occurs in alcoholic/addicted homes.

• Incest is twice as likely among daughters and sons of alcoholics/addicts.

• Alcohol is a factor in 90 percent of all child abuse cases.

• ACoAs are four times more likely to become alcoholics/addicts than the general population.

• 50 percent of ACoAs marry alcoholics.

• 70 percent of ACoAs develop patterns of compulsive behavior as adults. These may include abusive patterns with alcohol, drugs, food, sex, work, gambling, or spending.

That was the bad news; here’s some good news. CoAs often develop valuable life skills that benefit them throughout their lives. They can become purposeful, strong, and resolute adults who are great at toughing it out and being creative, clever risk-takers. Because they’ve developed unique strengths while meeting the challenges of their childhoods, ACoAs often go on to become independent and resourceful adults. They are CEOs and entrepreneurs, teachers, philanthropists, and politicians, and they flood the helping professions. They can be tireless overachievers. Yet, while CoAs and ACoAs are often full of talent, competence, and humor, they may find themselves marching double-time in life, fueled by a need to somehow right a childhood wrong, and they may pay a price for this both in physical health and comfort in relationships.

Birth of the ACoA Movement

Though it may be difficult for those who grew up later to imagine, until 1980 none of us who were ACoAs knew it. We just thought we were maybe a little more complicated, perhaps a little darker than some of our friends. Maybe we knew that our parents drank a bit too much alcohol—a way bit too much perhaps—but we didn’t know that was anything but a childhood experience that should be “forgotten about.” None of us really knew that it was a syndrome or that we’d been traumatized. We were clueless about the pain that we didn’t feel a right to have. The trauma we were left with did not easily show itself. Sadness or fear might be hidden under a variety of veneers in the ACoA; not only the obvious hurt or angry face but also a less obvious sweet, wistful (if not vacant) smile. An ACoA might also be someone hiding behind a mask of feigned complacency and functioning while being good and quiet and ­productive.

When the ACoA syndrome was given a name and face, it allowed those of us who were still reverberating from the pain of growing up with addiction to finally “exhale.” To everyone’s amazement, ACoAs became a movement almost overnight (Wegscheider-Cruse 1980, Black 1981, Woititz 1983, Middlton-Moz 1985). Thousands upon thousands of us poured out of the woodwork, breaking our isolation and embarrassment to connect with others who might understand, encouraged by the fact that we were not alone, nor were we crazy to be carrying childhood scars well into adulthood. We were ACoAs; we had a name. And there were a lot of us. A whole lot. We cried, felt our anger, met our heretofore-banished “inner children,” and told them they could stop hiding. And we came to feel a renewed sense of hope and empowerment. Perhaps if we could know what was wrong with us, we might have a chance at correcting it.

Today we know that ACoAs’ reaction to living in a chaotic environment, this unrelenting “waiting for the other shoe to drop,” for life to rupture or betray us all over again, actually has a name: it’s hypervigilance, and it is part of a syndrome called post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). When a person is unable to get away from a highly stressful situation—that is, if their survival urge to flee toward safety is thwarted—they are more likely to develop PTSD than if they can discharge their physiological urge to run or protect themselves. Those of us who grew up with addiction fit this description perfectly. How could we flee from our own homes? Where would we go? And the very people we wanted to flee from were our parents who we needed and loved. The very people who we would have gone to for love, understanding, and protection were the ones who were traumatizing us. Our parents yelled, raged, or passed out in front of us, and we stood there frozen in fear, like deer in the headlights, revved up for fight or flight but unable to move a muscle.

But the feelings we stuffed did not disappear. Our mind/body held onto them in a quivering silence. When ACoAs get triggered as adults, we return to those feelings and the mind/body we lived in at those childhood moments (van der Kolk 1994). We stand there, stress chemicals coursing through our bodies, looking like grown-ups but feeling on the inside like helpless, frightened children. Naming and defining the ACoA syndrome gave us a way to finally understand ourselves, to feel our way out of our frozenness so that we could finally grow up on the inside.

Many of us became deeply empowered by the ACoA movement. And many of us have made it our life’s work to develop theory and research that flesh out exactly what it is that happens to the body, mind, and hearts of children who grow up with addiction and with the dysfunction and mental illness that are its ­constant bedfellows. The work that we have done over the past thirty years has moved from instinct and intuition to some of the most exciting research to emerge in the mental health field. Studies on trauma, neurobiology, and attachment, have more or less proven what we were beginning to understand from our clinical observation: that the shocking, humiliating, and debilitating experiences that accompany living with addiction do, in fact, literally shape our neural networks. And that the personality complications caused by this early pain and stress can and often do emerge years and years after the original trauma. This is what the ACoA movement was all about; a post-traumatic stress reaction. Long after children leave their alcoholic homes, they remain ensnared in repeating relationship patterns that are the direct result of having been traumatized in childhood. Old pain keeps remerging in new relationships. The names and relationships may have changed, but the pain is always the same.

Those of us who work in the field see daily that this problem has only gotten bigger. And because it has only gotten bigger, many of us feel that it is time to reintroduce these concepts to the general public. We have come a very long way in our understanding of this syndrome and our ability to treat it. Studies on resilience have even taught us to value many of the adaptive qualities that ACoAs develop along the way, such as inventiveness, creativity, and humor (Wolin and Wolin 1993) as well as how CoAs learn to mobilize support within their young worlds so that they can thrive (Luthar 2006, Yates 2003). With a deeper understanding of ACoA issues, trauma, and neurobiology, we are much better able to help people recover from it than we were when this movement began.

Three Types of ACoAs

In my experience, there are three types of ACoAs. The first type seems to feel that their alcoholic home did not affect them all that much and since they are no longer living in it, they are fine. This group can be rather oblivious to the impact that they are having on those around them. They tend to act out their unresolved pain in controlling, enmeshing, or even abusive ways and to have either overly intense emotional reactions or suspiciously low levels of reaction, having developed a pattern in childhood of alternating between intense emotional states and shutting down.

The second type of ACoAs are fairly aware but don’t truly want to do the tough emotional work it will take to really deal with the pain they carry; it makes them feel too vulnerable and helpless to experience those difficult emotions, and/or they feel disloyal breaking the family “secret” that all was not so perfect. These AcoAs are confusing to be close to. They sound like they understand what dynamics may be at play in difficult interactions but they go back and forth in terms of changing their own behavior. They give enough “insight” to make you want to come back for more but not enough behavior change so you can really relax.

The third type wants to look at their past and are willing to do the work that it takes to do so. They learn to be different on the inside and they experience enormous bursts of passion, creativity, and energy as they free up emotional, psychological, and physiological frozenness. They make significant personal changes that also translate into interpersonal changes. They may still be affected by their past but they know what to do when their feelings become stormy and their self-esteem takes a hit. They can adopt healthy ways of managing life circumstances. This group often comes to feel grateful for a painful past as it leads them to an enhanced awareness of life and love; they often report a deepened ability to engage with life, relationships, and their own spiritual path.

Defining the ACoA Trauma Syndrome

The ACoA trauma syndrome is a post-traumatic stress syndrome in which suppressed pain from childhood reemerges and is experienced, re-created, and lived out in adulthood. It is the direct result of growing up with the traumatizing dynamics of addiction or adverse childhood experiences (Anda 2006). Years and years after leaving their addicted homes, ACoAs carry the pain of their past relationships into their partnering, parenting, and workplaces. Childhood feelings that were never identified, worked through, and understood get triggered and projected into their adult relationships or sink into the body, where they increase chances of many illnesses from hypertension to heart disease. (Anda 2006). But often, ACoAs don’t know why any of this is happening or that it’s happening at all. Years after the stressor has been removed they live, in a way, as if it were still there (van der Kolk 1987). Years after they have left their childhood living rooms, developed careers, married, and had their own children, they remain hypervigilant: they wait for the other shoe to drop, for the people they love to betray, hurt, or humiliate them all over again. They carry their living rooms with them. When triggered, the present dissolves and gives way to “remembrances of things past,” and suddenly, they are that hurt child all over again, frozen in place, not knowing what to say or do to bring this childhood “feeling state” into adult intelligence and language. They’re trapped in an immature feeling state that belongs to a different time and place, but the unfelt needs, resentments, and wounds seem very real and about the present. And because they are in that state, they read the person or situation that triggered them as, in a sense, bigger than they are. They have little or no awareness of how their wounds from the past may be bleeding into their present. And possibly their future.

It is a cruel reality that the craziness, the sick and twisted emotional and psychological patterns of the addict, can be contagious. You cannot live with this illness without catching it. Psyches, brains, and neurological systems are built to be porous and adaptive. Our neurological networks are shaped by those we are raised by; who they are seamlessly becomes who we are through neurological patterning. Phenomena like limbic resonance or mirror neurons (Rizzolatti, Fabbri-Destro, and Cattaneo 2009) are being increasingly understood by research. We are actually biologically wired to pick up on and incorporate the rhythms and behaviors of others so we can learn habits, experience others empathically, and feel deeply connected. This is part of the phenomenon of attachment; we need to have the capacity to attach between parent and child and partner and to pair bond so that we can raise children successfully into adulthood. These emotional patterns are wired into us by nature, no longer nature vs. nuture; research reveals that both form the brain/body templates from which we feel and behave. This deep attachment cuts both ways. It means that we share our joys and pains and help each other through them; it also means that the thinking, feeling, and behavior of a disease like addiction gets “caught” and mirrored by the whole family.

The War at Home

Research on Vietnam veterans has revealed how trauma from a past, relatively short period of time can hold soldiers—and, effectively, all the people around them—hostage for the rest of their lives. Though most soldiers make a successful readjustment according to research, there is a significant group who continue to exhibit signs of post-traumatic stress. Left unchecked, psychological wounds related to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) can alter a soldier’s temperament and leave him with problems such as generalized anxiety, depression, occupational instability, marital conflicts, and family problems. Moreover, veterans with PTSD are more likely to report marital, parental, and other family adjustment problems (including violence) than veterans without PTSD (Jordan et al. 1992). This is a phenomenon that can cause large psychic wounds of war to reemerge at a later date long after the war is over. This reliving and re-creation of past pain in present-day relationships is what a post-traumatic stress reaction is all about. The soldier coping with PTSD might rage or become violent with his spouse or children because violence has become, we might say, part of his psyche and his nervous system. He might withdraw into a preoccupied, confused world of his own because he knows no other way of managing his huge emotions or his paradoxically flat, shutdown inner world. He cycles back and forth between unregulated extremes, moving from numbness to rage in literally the blink of an eye. He may turn to drugs or alcohol or sexual acting out to medicate the emotional pain and flashbacks that burden and disturb him. Not surprisingly, the soldiers who are the most vulnerable for developing PTSD from war are those who experienced childhood trauma in the home (Kulka et al. 1990a, Kulka et al. 1990b).

For the past three decades, the mental health field has been witnessing similar symptoms in those who grew up with adverse childhood experiences (Anda 2006) such as abuse, neglect, and particularly, addiction in the home. The phenomenon of adult children of alcoholics and addicts reveals its own version of pain from one part of life emerging long after the “war” is over. Children who grew up with adverse childhood experiences, who could not express or even experience their own emotional pain because their circumstances did not allow for it, may re-create in their adult relationships the painful experiences from their primary relationships in childhood.

On the outside, ACoAs often have things well under control. On the inside, however, they may experience a low hum of negative feelings about the self, such as insecurity, inadequacy, phoniness, unlovableness, anxiety, or confusion. In times of chaos and crisis, ACoAs can be very composed and function well but they may have trouble when things go normally, too slowly, are not under their control, don’t go their way, or don’t go as they expect. (Woititz 1983).

ACOoAs and Intimacy

Soldiers who have PTSD may duck at the sound of a car backfiring, unconsciously fearing that it is the sound of gunfire. Even though they are no longer anywhere near a battlefield, they carry the scars and the fear that make that loud sound still feel ­threatening.

For ACoAs the battlefield is oftentimes intimate relationships, and the loud sounds or triggers can be as innocuous as a fight in the next room, a sudden change of mood, or a tense or aggressive vocal tone. Because they were traumatized in their home and by the people who they loved and depended on for care, nurturance, and even basic survival, ACoAs’ fear and hypervigilance tend to reemerge when they create families of their own. Intimate relationships such as partnering, and parenting are common ACoA triggers that reactivate childhood fears. As adults, when we encounter situations that feel similar to ones we experienced as kids, our fear gets triggered but we don’t really understand why because we never figured it out in the first place. We go back into a state of hyperarousal and hypervigilance and all of the tangled mess of confused and conflicting feelings we experienced as kids seem to swarm around our heads but we don’t know what got us there or how to get out of it. Often, we erroneously link our feelings of fear to whatever is around us at the moment. Actually, it isn’t so much those situations in and of themselves that are scaring us; we’re afraid that those situations will trigger unconscious and unprocessed ­feelings that we won’t be able to handle or make sense of. Beneath the level of our conscious awareness, we become a scared child all over again. Triggered by something that reminds us of a time in our lives when we might have felt helpless, scared, and vulnerable, we become lost in a wordless web of unprocessed or disequilibrating emotions, not knowing how to sort them out or come back from them. Many adults when in this state do what they did as kids: they freeze like a deer in the headlights; they try to become “invisible” until their feeling of danger passes. It is part of the natural fear response: if no one sees me, no one will hurt me.

How many times have I heard clients describe themselves as having felt invisible in their own homes? Was it that no one saw them, or did they find home a scary place? Were they invisible, or were they frozen in fear and experiencing themselves as “disappeared”? Still another part of the trauma response is aggression or withdrawal: triggered ACoAs may either intimidate people or avoid them in an attempt to avoid feeling vulnerable.

Of course these same intimate relationships can be the ACoA’s path to healing as they learn to back up when triggered and understand that within those triggered memories is the key to their ­unlocking and understanding just what hurt them most.

When Pain Goes Underground

Think of it this way: you’re a seven-year-old kid in a home where Dad gets drunk and rages. Mom stands, exhausted, and tries to protect you some of the time, gives up and hides in her room some of the time, and joins Dad in raging some of the time. You, the kid, are scared and quite trapped: you can’t really run away; this is home after all. If you talk back—or worse, try to fight—you might get hit or sent to your room, or worst of all, made to stay and live through one of those humiliating, soul-pounding lectures about how bad you are. Or you might get ignored and feel yourself literally dissappearing. So you feel helpless and you sort of collapse and go numb. Or you freeze, you “go away” somewhere into your imagination while your body still stands there.

In this scene, there is a power imbalance for sure, and you’re at the short end of it. You have little access to outside sources of support; you are, after all, only seven. And the person or people you would generally go to for comfort and solace are the ones who are hurting you. All of these factors make this a traumatizing moment for a child. And to add to it, you are making sense of it all through the eyes of a seven-year-old. You may wonder, as children do, what went wrong and how to fix it. You may feel inept at helping or blame yourself. So you can feel not only hurt but also confused, responsible, at fault, and unable to do anything about it. In other words, you feel helpless. And you may not have people you can go to for a quick “reality check.” So you swallow this scene whole. The picture gets frozen right there, and so do the feelings surrounding it . . . and that picture doesn’t necessarily change much over time. It lives inside the psyche where it becomes double- and ­triple-exposed with other similar pictures, and many of these scenes get blended together in a sort of inner portrait of the self and the self in ­relationship.

Later, these “inner pictures” get played out in our adult relationships. They template further experience. (So do the good pictures, by the way; they just don’t give us as many problems so we don’t worry about them). This is the dilemma of the ACoA, the dilemma that we will explore in more depth throughout this book.

Leaching and Leaking of Buried Pain

When we grow up and have families and relationships of our own, those inner pictures of the self and the self in relationship reemerge. Neatly filed feelings, actions, and imagery that we imagined were well hidden fly out of their envelopes and folders straight into and onto everyone’s faces. And those pictures have incredible detail. It is amazing just how carefully the unconscious records, remembers, and re-creates what has gone before. A random familiar smell, texture, or a few bars of music and we sail back into a forgotten moment of time in the blink of an eye. Past becomes prologue. At that moment when we are triggered, we become trapped by our own unresolved history and set up to repeat it. Though we may occupy an adult body, we return to this child-place inside of ourselves. In addition to the ­psychological and emotional bind we may find ourselves in when we’re triggered, our bodies are also reliving the trauma. Our breath gets short, our hearts may pound, our stomachs flip- flop, our throat goes dry, and our muscles tense up. We feel helpless and unable to make decisions all over again. In this way, the ACoA trauma syndrome involves both the body and mind and healing from it is a mind/body process.

Recovering from PTSD is just as important as recovering from addiction and needs to be taken just as seriously. ACoAs need to sober up emotionally and psychologically so they do not live out the sort of “dry drunk” patterns that mirror addiction-related thinking, feeling, and behavior, even when alcohol and drugs are not in the picture. Trauma and PTSD invariably become intergenerational. Even if the ACoA or traumatized adult does not become an addict (though many do), he or she passes on the kind of emotional and psychological thinking, feeling, and behavior that can engender trauma, addiction, and dysfunction in subsequent generations.