The more we idealize the past and refuse to acknowledge our childhood sufferings, the more we pass them on unconsciously to the next generation.
Alice Miller
The object of therapy is to restore the individual to himself, to help him regain his spontaneity, and find his centre of gravity in himself.
Karen Horney, The Therapeutic Process
In the absence of relief, a young person’s natural response — their only response, really — is to repress and disconnect from the feeling-states associated with suffering. One no longer knows one’s body. Oddly, this self-estrangement can show up later in life in the form of an apparent strength, such as my ability to perform at a high level when hungry or stressed or fatigued, pushing on without awareness of my need for pause, nutrition, or rest.
Gabor Maté, The Myth of Normal
Most of our tensions and frustrations stem from compulsive needs to act the role of someone we are not.
Hans Selye, The Stress of Life
Many years ago, I came across Alice Miller’s groundbreaking exploration of growing up in families in which our childhood needs were not met, contained in a book entitled `The Drama of the Gifted Child´ (1979). In it, she describes the emotional and psychological consequences stemming from such adverse childhood experiences and how these can be successfully confronted and amended in adult life.
Though not obvious at the time, my encounter with Alice Miller’s magnum opus set a train of recovery in motion which is still moving forward to this day.
I first came across exotic terms such as `dysfunctional family´, `family systems´, and `family of origin´ in the early eighties. Having just recently emigrated from Ireland to Germany, and dealing with demons of my own, I had begun to turn to the field of depth psychology for answers. This was also partly in response to my own efforts to get to grips with the many losses which had already piled up in my life by that time.
The most recent had been the death of my mother, aged 52, in 1982, when I was 21 years old. My conclusion was then — and remains to this day — that she died of a broken heart, mourning the loss of her beloved husband (and father of their ten children) to cancer five years earlier. His earthly innings had lasted a mere 51 years. Our family, with six children still under 18 years old at the time of his death, was devastated.
Some losses, such as the death of a loved one, are obvious while others are more subtle. Loss pertaining to emigration, for example, the uprooting from familiar soil to a completely strange cultural environment, is often underestimated. The ramifications of this in my own life have only become clear to me very gradually, over the subsequent decades.
My late teens, twenties, and thirties were characterised by the endeavour to establish a functional life, by spiritual searching, and by the unconscious pursuit of an assiduous pain avoidance strategy. I was on the run from my pain. This is where alcoholism, exacerbated by addiction to other drugs, came into play.
The fact that, as a highly functional addict, I was able to maintain the appearance of a productive life, probably prolonged my downward spiral. It was in 2003, at the age of 42, that my world came crashing down. I sought help, got clean and sober, and a new chapter began. This is when the journey of recovery started in earnest.
Several years into this process, once abstinence had been established, the deeper exploration of losses began to beckon. It was then that the critical role of adverse childhood experience became evident.
It was not necessary to do this work all alone. A fellowship, which had been established in the 1930’s in the United States had, by the year 2000, spread around the world. Known as AA, it applies a structured programme of recovery and self-actualization called the Twelve Steps, to return alcoholics to sanity and a life of purpose and abundance.
These same Twelve Steps are now applied in countless related fellowships, still growing in number, to address many of the wide variety of substance and process addictions known to humanity today.
Since alcoholics can never drink safely, solid and prolonged abstinence is the intended goal of the initial phase of recovery. When the building is burning, it’s wise to get out! Once established, we may move through this portal of abstinence into Recovery Phase II, the next phase of development. This is where emotional sobriety may be achieved and maintained.
In this second phase of recovery, we explore deeper within, to find and ameliorate the root of our malady, an ingrained state of restlessness, irritability, and discontentedness with life, which prompted us to keep `zoning out´ in the first place.
This exploration takes us back to the formative years of life when our default programming was established. Most contemporary experts in childhood development would argue that the initial groundwork, the default script, so to say, is more or less completed by our fourth birthday!
This presents challenges in my case. I have very few memories, if any at all, from this earliest phase of my life. Luckily, we have sources such as dreams, imagination, and intuition upon which we can draw as we engage in this inner work.
The processing of these contents will help us heal and grow towards our full potential. Professional medical or psychological support using some of the many modalities now available, used in conjunction of a self-actualisation programme such as the Twelve Steps, often proves very beneficial in addressing the root causes of our difficulties.
Thanks to dedicated innovators such as Alice Miller, and the many more explorers of the human condition who went before and came after her, we now have a much better understanding of the long-term effects of early emotional neglect, abuse, and trauma.
In accessible language supported by case studies from her clinical practice, Miller was among the first to write for a general audience, shedding light on how societal expectations and parental behaviour shape a child’s psyche, often leading to a life shaped by a `false self´.
Her work represents a foundation upon which subsequent generations of seekers and professionals have successfully built. This body of work invites us to confront the dynamics of a childhood imbued with adversity and offers a path toward emotional healing and reclaimed authenticity.
Recent discoveries in neuroscience, especially regarding the plasticity of the brain, have provided the welcome reassurance that these default scripts can be modified and even overwritten, right though to old age, correcting the earlier erroneous assumptions that we were forever stuck with what formed in the first seven years.
The giftedness of the `gifted child´ is not about academic or artistic talents but refers to children who — like me — are highly sensitive and perceptive to the emotional states of others, especially their parents, caregivers, and figures of authority.
When, as children, we encounter adversity, in the form of neglect, abandonment, abuse, high levels of everyday stress, or suppressed grief, we often adapt our behaviour to meet parental expectations, sacrificing our own emotional needs to gain the approval and love we so desperately need. This ability to attune to others’ emotions can become an unconscious habit, leading to feelings of emptiness and a loss of self as we grow older.
The process of early childhood adaptation, even with its considerable downsides in the long-term, can be viewed as one of the wonders of evolution. Without this capacity to adapt, we would not have survived childhood. The price, however, is invariably high. It is the loss of our true identity, the development of the `false self´.
In order to protect ourselves from rejection or disapproval, and to garner the acknowledgement, affection, and approval that all children need, we begin to suppress our true feelings and construct a persona designed to fit in with the expectations of our parents and other representatives of authority.
When we relinquish our true self in this manner, we lose touch with our centre of gravity, in emotional and spiritual terms. This is akin to building our house on a patch of sand in our neighbour’s garden. We become dependent on outside factors for our sense of self and well-being.
When we lose touch with our authentic self, we begin to suffer the consequences of psychological struggles such as alienation, depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem. We become dependent on the opinions and approval of others for our self worth. Children who run this gauntlet tend to be susceptible to addiction.
Because we do not learn how to handle our feelings we choose the only available other option, repression. Repressed emotions, such as anger, sadness, grief, or fear, inevitably bubble up to the surface and manifest in destructive ways later in life.
Once, by means of establishing sustained abstinence, we have arrested the addictive dynamic in later life, these buried emotions and childhood wounds (trauma) beckon our attention. Compassionate, mindful, and solicitous treatment is indispensable for genuine healing.
When we engage in this exacting inner work, we become cognizant of how our parents — often unaware of their own unresolved traumas — had projected their unmet needs onto us as children. As the contemporary spiritual teacher, Fr Richard Rohr points out, the only two options are transfer (to the next generation) or transform.
Our parents had far less information, resources, and opportunities to transform their childhood wounds than we have at our disposal today. We were, therefore, often expected to fulfil roles that compensated for our parents’ emotional deficiencies, which further complicated our sense of identity and muddied our perception of reality.
My experience over the past two decades of recovery has demonstrated the need to catch up in many areas of development which came up short first time around. Two that come to mind as essential to recovery, growth, and healthy development are cultivating compassion and setting healthy boundaries.
Emotionally mature parents can tune into their children’s emotional needs and provide them the unconditional love they need in order to thrive. Under such circumstances, our children are more likely to develop a strong and stable sense of self. This stability expresses itself in compassion for self, others, and circumstances, and the ability to engage in healthy (internal and external) conflict.
The absence of compassion, especially towards self, and an aversion to conflict, on the other hand, leave a lasting void that we carry into adulthood.
Recovery in the Twelve Steps now offers hopeful perspectives on overcoming the effects of childhood trauma. This is especially true of Twelve Step communities which encourage growing beyond mere abstinence towards emotional sobriety. I have found such encouragement in pockets of AA and especially in related fellowships such as ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) and CoDA (Co-Dependents Anonymous).
The Twelve Step Programme of ACA advocates for reconnecting with one’s Inner Child and acknowledging suppressed emotions as essential steps toward emotional freedom. Through Twelve Step recovery, combined with therapy, meditation, a mental fitness practice, and self-reflection, we can begin to dismantle our false self and uncover, re-discover, and recover our authentic, true self.
Such Twelve Step communities provide a safe space for non-judgemental sharing of our stories where societal norms that prioritize obedience and conformity over individuality and emotional expression are held in abeyance. Here we learn to listen. Here we can experience the healing power of sharing our stories, our new-found hope, and our recovery experience.
Our rooms are oases of vulnerability and authentic emotional expression, an antidote to the mainstream norms that perpetuate divisiveness and emotional repression. Such norms are the embodiment of the collective denial pervasive in our society today, denial of the ubiquitous addictive societal dynamics of our times which, though sinister, are so deeply embedded they are almost impossible to see.
In that sense, we may all need to recover.
