Dysfunctional Families (Wisdom of the 12-Steps)

Bottom line: Don’t give up. We’re all capable of healing and recovery, but we have to reach out for the support that awaits.

We’ve heard the term, but what does dysfunctional mean, anyway? Merriam-Webster dictionary defines dysfunctional as “not functioning properly: marked by impaired or abnormal functioning.” It may be difficult to pinpoint, or put into words, what’s dysfunctional in a family or individual, but generally we know something’s amiss on a gut level.

Growing up with a father who frequently binged alcohol after cashing his Friday paychecks, then arguing and physically abusing my mother when she confronted him, I knew things were out of kilter. Their fighting scared and saddened me. I felt torn during those years between wanting to escape and avoid my confusion, hurt, sadness and my helplessness over their turmoil. I worked to steer clear of the intensity of Dad’s rages. At the same time, I wanted to prevent harm to Mom, as I was terrified of losing her altogether by Dad’s hand. In spite of, or because of, my feelings—doesn’t matter which—I searched for clues as to how I could intervene and stop the periodic madness.

As a young boy, I couldn’t explain normal . . . not to myself, and not to anyone else. Nor did I know how other fathers acted towards their children, except from glimpses I could get here and there. But my feelings told me that my nuclear family situation was wrong, wasn’t healthy, and desperately so. Like when I burned a finger after touching a hot stove, or scrapped a knee from a fall, I knew if something caused pain, then that something wasn’t good. And I knew to avoid repeating behavior which caused pain. I didn’t know what I could do to change my dad’s drinking, my parents’ arguments over it, or Dad’s abuse of Mom. I didn’t have the tools to communicate my feelings with others. Some invisible wall of silence had been erected, which trapped my mom, my brother and me, and prevented us from seeking effective assistance to change the equation. I couldn’t intervene physically. The best I could do? I hunkered down, observed, and empathized with Mom when I could. I calculated how, and moreover when, I might intervene . . . while at the same time pursuing my boyhood interests at school and during visits to my grandparents.

Visits to my grandparents, particularly my maternal grandparents’ farm, became my saving grace. The unconditional love I received there from extended family members uplifted me. Dad didn’t drink around my grandparents, that I knew of anyway. Moreover, my parents didn’t argue or fight while there. And so, those visits provided me a safe harbor, a place to anchor myself, lower my vigil, absorb healthier life lessons, and experience the closer-to-nature lifestyle of subsistence farming.

It’s been said that all families are dysfunctional in their own way. And at best, it’s probably a rare few who would claim they didn’t grow up dealing with chaos or experiencing trauma. Who among us can claim they grew up unscathed? Beyond that, none of us can claim we’ve never suffered a loss. Loss is an inevitable part of life.

Some individuals and families, without doubt, are more toxic and dysfunctional than others. And some individuals are harmed more than others. Children in particular are more likely to suffer to a greater degree as they have fewer resources to cope and escape. But we all have opportunity to reach out for support, even in small ways, to avoid further damage and begin our healing journey.

If you don’t have friends or family to whom you can reach out, Twelve-Step meetings are a safe place to start, particularly if counseling/therapy isn’t an option.

Years ago, my healing journey involved reaching out while in undergraduate school when suicidal thoughts threatened to consume me. So, reach out and connect with others. If nothing else, start with a phone call or a remote meeting. There are others out there who can relate and are willing to listen. Unburden yourself of your secrets. You’re only as sick as they are. Drop the public mask you hide behind and let down your walls. Learn to trust others. Learn to love, and accept yourself in spite of your warts and imperfections.

You can read more about my journey by visiting my website (my name .com) and reading my memoir, Once Upon a Kentucky Farm: Hope and Healing from Family Abuse, Alcoholism and Dysfunction (released early 2022).

I leave you with this quote from an unknown source: “You don’t have to save me, you only need to hold my hand while I save myself.”

Photo Credit: Quang Nguyen vinh (Quangpraha) - Pixabay

Isolation (Wisdom of the 12-Steps)

Bottom line: Like the sun's rays, human connection brings life-giving energy. So, reach for the light . . . hope waits there.

I recall an early morning, some years ago, which serves as a stark lesson for me.

I’d arrived on time, 6:30AM, before dawn had wiped away that winter’s morning darkness and the sun’s rays had chance to warm the air. My part-time counseling cohort had followed me into the Methadone Maintenance Clinic by a minute or two.

We may have exchanged hellos, I don’t recall, but he soon launched into his news, “I found a guy laying by the tracks as I came in. Checked him out. He was cold.”

I hadn’t noticed anything amiss as I approached the front door. The clinic and railroad tracks ran along opposite sides of the intervening city street. But then, I’d made a bee-line in order to avoid the cold . . . and the street out front wasn’t lit.

“Dumped?” I said.

“Yeah, probably, after an overdose.”

“Somebody dropped him there, not wanting to be implicated in drug use?” I said. Hurriedly abandoned along a railroad track like a bag of trash, I thought.

“My bet,” he said.

Damn. “What a way to go!”

Working around opioid addicts struggling to get and stay clean, the facility treatment staff were all too aware of the frequency of relapses. Known as “recidivism,” many “patients” turned serial repeaters. Such is the nature of opioid addiction, one of the most difficult of addictions to overcome, as I understand.

I could only appreciate the withdrawal process, never having done it myself. “There, but for the grace of God, go I,” as is frequently said in recovery circles. But, I knew all too well the psychological and emotion difficulties in stopping a drug habit. I’d already worked in residential drug and alcohol rehab facilities for years.

Intense counseling coupled with utilization of 12-Step program meetings offered the best option for those in recovery, as I had come to believe. Once clients “graduated” residential treatment, they were expected to continue out-patient counseling, as well as attendance of 12-Step meetings. However, in the Methadone Clinic out-patient setting, the tenuous leverage we held as staff to drive home the import of 12-Steps program participation, the need for deep introspection and emotional work, became the weak link in the patient’s recovery potential. Most arrived before the birds awakened, got their “doses” of methadone and counselor contact, usually a session of nor more than fifteen minutes before they scooted off to join the morning traffic rush on their way to scattered locations across the SF Bay Area.

Sure, the titrated (decreasing) methadone dosing regime prescribed by the clinic doctor, helped minimize withdrawal symptoms, but even with staff contact and support, relapse was as common as trees in the woods. It wasn’t impossible for a patient to succeed, but many hurdles needed to be negotiated by each patient, such as their physical discomfort and “stinking thinking” when alone. In addition, they’d need to navigate—total avoidance, unlikely—their twenty-four hour, seven-days a week environment filled with the negative peer pressure of using acquaintances or pushers, as well as other daily issues and situations, which likely got them into their predicament in the first place.

Try changing an ingrained routine, even a “simple” one entwined with a deep emotional need, and in the face of a contrary environment.No easy task, “sweat equity” required . . . an absolute necessity.

The most difficult, and disheartening, aspect for me was the work with patients in relationships with other addicts. Picture two drowning individuals clinging to one another. Yet, in the face of their obstacles, their journeys needed to be taken, and I did what I could at each contact and learned to look at the long-term, as each individual’s progress could be slow and fleeting.

So, I wasn’t too surprised to learn that someone’s time had run out.

I wonder now—as I did then—about his life as a parade of questions cross my mind. What passed through his mind as he “nodded off” into oblivion? While sprawled on the cold steel track? My best guess? He’d hoped for, and welcomed, the release from his inner turmoil and psychic pain. Maybe, even longed for the permanent escape through death. I will never know, nor will any of us.

The whole situation quite sad, I wonder if he’d felt cared about or loved . . . or who grieved or marked his loss.

I’m thankful I’d reached out when suicidal, and taken my first step towards recovery from my brand of physic pain and inner turmoil. I recall that isolation vividly. I don’t wish to die enveloped in that isolation, and now know I won’t need to do so. And it’s not that I prefer people suffer my final departure, but expect that some will, contrary to what I say or think. For me, my connection to others and relationship with the universe creates the foundation on which I stand.

The 12-Steps bookend the issue of isolation, and step meetings help counter it. Step One establishes the need to reach out, while Step Twelve emphasizes the importance to continue to do so. All the while meetings, and sponsors, support and assist those in navigating their “stinking thinking” as they work through the steps. (More on sponsors, later.)

Photo Credit: pexels - pixaby

Expectations (Wisdom of the 12-Steps)

Bottom line: “Suit up and show up,” and “Keep coming back.” To a writer that means, Sit down and write, temper your expectations, submit more work and accept the rejections . . . then, rinse and repeat.

Our expectations abound in life. We expect the sun to rise tomorrow, whether we observe it or not. We expect gravity to pull us towards mother earth, even when we prefer it not. We all share a common set of expectations in life. Then, there are expectations less commonly shared.

Here's my encounter with one of mine, to which I suspect you can relate on the general level, if not specifically.

A few months ago, near completion of my website design, I found myself in a funk and wondered, What’s this about? My consultant, Rachel Sarah Thurston, had impressed upon me the importance of branding myself. (Though, heaven forbid, not in the sense of ranch hands tattooing cattle with hot iron!) In a very real way, I'm a novice in branding and marketing myself as a writer, at least in a conscious, deliberate manner presentable as a professional image.

I’m talking “brand,” that which differentiates one company from another, or music band from another, etc. It’s a marketing thing, and essential when you want, you need, to get noticed, to stand out from the crowd and highlight your “product.” We used to refer to brand as "your bag," and expressing yourself as “doing your own thing” or “letting your freak flag fly.” Those phrases passe, now, of course.

But it’s not easy for me to be specific and narrow myself—like voluntarily confining myself in a box—I’m a jack-of-all-trades kinda guy. When it comes to me as “the brand” . . . well, it feels superficial, like I’m trying to convince somebody of my worth. And I HATE that. My inclination is to take a trip to Rantville and cop an attitude, Hey, see me . . . I’m an earthling. Isn’t that f***in’ good enough for ya? But apparently, among the seven-billion others of us, that won’t likely generate interest in reading my work. And I’ve heard you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar! You know, the finesse approach.

So considering the bigger scheme, the long term, I pondered writing a blog about the12-Steps of Recovery, create "brand" around that, along with a theme of hiking the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail). But from what angle would I write about the 12-Steps? Would I even need an angle? Been done, that street corner claimed? I’m not saying I’m the end-all, know-all about the 12-Steps of Recovery, but I know a fair amount as a result of working in alcoholism and drug addiction treatment for twenty-five years.

Rachel suggested, “Start your own Facebook group,” among a number of encouragements. (More on this saga at a later date?)

My initial thoughts? Sure, then what? I gotta make rules, manage, monitor, patrol, police my group? I want to live and let live, not chase down bad behavior.

Instead, I searched for Facebook groups regarding the 12-Steps, found several, each with similar rules: no spam, no solicitations, no self-promotions.

Damn . . . can’t use those groups to promote my work? Can’t suggest? Mention? Hint? So, then what?

At a somewhat dead-end, I stumbled onto one group based on sharing humor related to 12-Steps.

I need some levity. Don’t we all, now and then? Oh, what the hell? Yeah, join that one. At least, maybe that one isn’t always serious.

But, joining that FB group didn’t suffice. My inner writer squirmed and my fingers twitched, finally compelling me to sit and write . . . something . . . anything. The realization dawned—step 10, "Continued to take personal inventory. . . ."—my own “stinking thinking” fear of rejection had created my virtual dead-end.

And with that, I inched forward on my healing and writing journey, and posted the first blog of my series on the “Wisdom of the 12-Steps.”

Photo Credit: Pexels - Sergei Akulich