Life isn’t perfect? Hold the Phone.
It’s taken me 45 years to admit this, but life isn’t perfect. I’m not even sure it’s supposed to be. For my kids’ sake, I wish it was. There are challenges in life and then there is trauma. Unfortunately, most people experience both. Challenges give us opportunities to rise above, to show ourselves and the world what we are made of. But trauma leaves a deeper, often invisible, wound. Trauma is a shock to the system, a betrayal that leaves us feeling unsafe in the world, unworthy of love, or both.
It’s not uncommon to use alcohol or drugs to mask the pain, to try and forget, or to cover over that which we are not yet ready to look at. I know I’ve done this. If I’m honest with myself, I started drinking as a teenager to mask pain I felt from trauma. It was an escape, and still is sometimes, when life gets rough or overwhelming. We are all unique and so we experience trauma, the emotional scars, and the need to cover them up to varying degrees. For some, it’s a minor coping mechanism. But for others, it becomes a way of life, at least temporarily.
There is plenty of research on addiction and homelessness. Sometimes homelessness is a precursor to addiction and sometimes it’s a consequence. For others, they are homeless and sober. The disease model of addiction purports that the brain actually changes in some people who use substances, creating a strong drive such that at some point, they may not be choosing to drink or do drugs. However, there are also many of stories of recovery, of people who decided enough is enough. So, when thinking about addiction, we can both empathize with a person’s current situation and also hold onto the belief that when they are ready they can choose something different.
I remember the moment in therapy when I chose not to fully address my trauma. I was 24 and my therapist invited me to really look at the situation, the pain it caused, and to have compassion for myself. I couldn’t do it. Something inside of me wasn’t ready. Maybe I was too young or maybe I would have to admit to things I wasn’t ready to deal with, or maybe the pain had become my identity and I didn’t want to let it go. I don’t know. I just know that I sat and stared at the invitation, hanging in the space between me and my therapist, and chose not to accept.
When I was 30 I burned all of the journals I’d written to that point. They contained the stories of what happened to me, who did it, and how it felt. I wanted to be done with it. I was ready to move on. So, a friend and I took the journals to a beach at the Oregon coast, and burned em’. I watched them go up in flames and become ashes, wishing all the pain and trauma away. It was a beautiful ceremony, but it didn’t work. The trauma and emotional pain got pushed down so I could get on with the next phase of my life: marriage, career, kids. But underneath all of that, my inner child still wanted me to look at the pain, to acknowledge that it wasn’t fair and that indeed I was worthy of love.
Around 40, I made a different choice. I gave myself permission and the space to deal with my past. I used a lot of different tools to help me uncover the layers, ones I felt personally comfortable with. I chose to look at it all. It was dark, scary, painful, and sometimes hurtful to others, but I did it anyway. I chose to take responsibility for my pain and the way it made me behave. I may not be responsible for the original trauma, but I’m responsible for the erroneous conclusions I came to about my self-worth because others around me were also traumatized and wounded or couldn’t be there for me the way I wanted.
It’s been 30 years since the original trauma and now I know that life is not supposed to be perfect, that there are challenges we have to overcome and traumas we have to heal. And that we are the only ones who can choose to do the work. When I see someone struggling with substance abuse or addiction, I wonder about their story and all of the factors that led them to where they are today. I may not know the details of their pain, but I know that all humans have intrinsic value and worth. I know that all humans are strong enough to overcome their personal challenges. And I can hold space for them to choose to recover when they are ready to do the work.
As a community, we can have compassion, not because we pity people, but because we know what it’s like to feel bad and to do whatever it takes to make that feeling go away. We can make sure that those around us know that when they are ready to make a different choice, we will be there with open arms.
