Recently, I had the opportunity to participate in the Overcoming Shame & Guilt Online Conference, hosted by Avaiya and Enlightenment Village. During the 7 day conference, doctors, psychotherapists, thought leaders, and others shared their opinions on navigating experiences of shame and guilt and talked about how these two differing-but-sometimes-related feelings can impact well-being, relationships, and the ability to achieve happiness.

I found it really interesting to contemplate the differences between shame and guilt and to hear various perspectives on how encountering each of these feelings impacts our lives. While there were some slightly differing views on whether there are any benefits to shame and guilt and whether you can ever completely get rid of them, the consensus seemed to be that these emotions can be quite destructive, yet also come with some benefits, especially in terms of guiding a person’s moral code and helping us grow.

Guilt vs. Shame

“Guilt says I did wrong. Shame says I am wrong.”

I see guilt as an emotion you experience when you feel bad about a specific thing or event—something you did or didn’t do. Shame, on the other hand, is an overarching feeling that you are inadequate or that you are somehow bad or wrong as a person on the whole. It’s always there, whether you do right or wrong. It’s about feeling fundamentally flawed or worthless as a person. Lisa Burgess summed it up nicely in her interview, saying, “Guilt says I did wrong. Shame says I am wrong.”

How Shame Can Impact Behavior and Mental Health

I do a lot of work in terms of helping individuals improve self-esteem and have seen how shame really plays a role in the lives of people who feel worthless or inadequate. Shame keeps people trapped, preventing them from being okay with who they are or believing they are good enough. Shame can wreak havoc on a person’s self-esteem and ability to navigate the world and relationships in a successful way.

It can be quite difficult to have healthy, authentic relationships when one or both parties experience a great deal of shame. People with shame tend to hide behind a facade, not wanting the world to know how badly they feel about themselves. Bullies, for example, are individuals who often put others down with the flawed belief that doing so will help them feel better, conquering their shame by putting it on someone else. Similarly, narcissism is a defense mechanism for hiding deep-seated feelings of shame and inadequacy. These ineffective, often subconscious attempts to prove the shame away don’t work. Rather, they create dysfunction and unhealthy patterns that only complicate the situation and interfere with one’s ability to have healthy, truly connected relationships.

How Are Shame and Guilt Connected?

People with shame tend to experience a lot of guilt, often stemming from a cycle of these dysfunctional patterns and a downward spiral of behaviors that ultimately make things feel worse. Guilt, on the other hand, is not always synonymous with shame. People with low levels of shame and a healthy level of self-esteem undoubtedly will experience situations and encounters that lead to feelings of guilt; however, they tend to navigate these experiences well and address guilt in effective ways that propel them forward rather than keeping them trapped in a place of self-hatred.

Guilt, when it’s rightfully experienced, can help guide a person’s morals and help people grow and learn from mistakes. For example, if you cheat on a test and feel guilty, you may learn that’s not a way you want to be and decide to make different choices in the future. If you say something to hurt someone’s feelings, you may go on to apologize, deepening the connection in the relationship. But when guilt is unwarranted, irrational, blown out of proportion, or coupled with feelings of shame, it can lead to feelings of more shame and may be an indication of mental health or identity issues that need to be addressed.

I specialize in working with new moms experiencing perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. This population represents one example of how excessive guilt can be a symptom of a larger issue rather than just a feeling that comes during isolated incidents and can be resolved through growth and understanding. Statistics show 1 in 5 to 7 new moms will experience a mental health issue such as depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), or posttraumatic stress (PTSD) during or following pregnancy, and excessive guilt can play a huge role in the struggles shared by this population.

In general, most moms face some layer of “mom guilt” at some point during parenting, but those struggling with untreated perinatal mood and anxiety issues tend to be ridden with overwhelming and irrational guilt—guilt regarding beliefs that they aren’t a good enough mom, that they are doing things wrong, that they are not effectively bonding with their new baby, or guilt because they may have obsessive or unsettling thoughts regarding their baby’s well-being. This type of unchecked, mounting guilt becomes unhealthy and needs to be acknowledged and treated.

Often, conquering shame and guilt involves learning to pay attention to your own internal dialogue and the potentially irrational beliefs and destructive messages that create feelings of inadequacy.

How Can We Overcome Guilt and Shame?

I do think it’s possible to overcome shame and guilt; however, it often takes some work and a willingness to seek help. In cases of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, where guilt is a symptom of a larger issue, medication and/or therapy may be vital and can lead to relatively quick improvements that prevent a potential downward spiral into shame.

Tackling other instances of excessive guilt or destructive shame may take more time and involves exploration and processing of events that created the shame, but working to rid yourself of this crippling feeling is well worth the time and investment involved in therapy and self-discovery. Conquering shame requires an openness to becoming more self-aware and a willingness to make changes. The tools I teach in my building self-esteem workshops and in therapy with the individuals I see in my private practice help people focus inward and gain insight regarding where shame and guilt begin to develop.

Often, conquering shame and guilt involves learning to pay attention to your own internal dialogue and the potentially irrational beliefs and destructive messages that create feelings of inadequacy. People in general, and especially those who have a lot of shame, tend to have a negativity bias, especially when it comes to the thoughts they have about who they are and how they fit into the world. Negative and self-depreciating thoughts, whether conscious or subconscious, can breed feelings of shame.

When we begin to monitor our own thinking and make connections to the experiences or specific messages we hear, assume, or internalize throughout life, we can more clearly recognize where shame stems from, then can ultimately work to challenge, reframe, or shift these messages to allow for a future where we can move beyond shame.

Part of this process involves learning to accept ourselves as we are and recognizing that nobody is perfect. We are going to make mistakes, have flaws, have skeletons in our closets, and have encounters with others who treat us poorly. Despite any of these things, we all are worthy and capable of creating a better future.

The decision to let go of shame versus stay stuck in a place of shame is ultimately a choice. It’s not easy; it takes a lot of strength, courage, and determination to face the ugly shame monster, but doing so will grant us the opportunity to move forward with a happier and more fulfilling future as the veil of shame is lifted.

If you’re struggling with deep-seated guilt or shame, there is hope. Find a therapist in your area who can help you develop healthy thought processes to deal with shame.

Reference:

Gunyon-Meyer, B., Cole, J., Tremayne, L, & Standeven, L. (2018). Perinatal mood disorders: Components of care [Training manual]. Retrieved from Postpartum Support International 2-Day Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders Training.

Blindfolded man with "racism" text on the blindfoldDenial has been said to be the trademark of addiction, and it has been long identified in the field of psychology. Denial is also relevant to experiences of trauma. These include witnessing trauma, inflicting trauma, and surviving trauma. Furthermore, white denial of racial trauma is the breath of racism.

What Is Denial and Why Do People Do It?

Denial is a refusal to accept reality in order to protect oneself from a painful event, thought, or feeling. It is a common defense mechanism that gives a person time to adjust to distressing situations. For example, a person with drug or alcohol addiction will often deny that they have a problem. People indirectly dealing with the addiction, such as family or friends of the addicted person, may also deny the severity of the issue.

It is possible to deny some aspects of reality while accepting other aspects. For example, a person may acknowledge there is an issue (such as addiction) while denying the need to take action (such as quitting the drug).

Denial isn’t limited to individuals. It has also been recognized on a cultural scale. Current examples include conspiracy theorists’ claims that the Holocaust never occurred or the renunciation of global warming.

Some experts theorize that denial occurs in linear, progressive stages. These types of denial include the following:

Denial is initially an unconscious adaptive response. It can also be one of the most primitive, meaning that while it can be very effective short-term, it is ineffective and potentially harmful in the long-term.  Staying in denial interferes with change.

How Denial Can Contribute to Racism

The stigma associated with being racist often fuels white denial—the refusal to accept that racism exists. Racism can be defined as the discrimination and/or oppression inflicted upon individuals belonging to a socially constructed racial category. Racism happens at three levels:

  1. Institutional—Discrimination through laws or social norms.
  2. Individual—When one person discriminates against a minority group.
  3. Internalized­—When a marginalized person believes stereotypes about their group and/or blames themself for any discrimination they face.

Racism requires the combination of prejudice, power, access, and privilege. It has been summarized as a pathology of power marked by ignorance.

The infamous photograph of the horrific lynching of Rubin Stacy in 1935 is a striking example of white denial. The photo shows a white child in the crowd dressed in her Sunday best. She is smiling while looking at the dead body of a black man hanging in the tree.

Transforming and healing the societal trauma of racism must include healing the numbness of people who benefit from racism.The child could be considered a visual representation of how the short-term coping response of denial evolves into a long-term strategy. The photo demonstrates how racism can be embedded in the culture we grow up in (institutionalized). It also shows how our belief system and our physiology can embody racism (individualized and internalized).

Studies on epigenetics reveal how trauma responses can be passed down through generations, not only through learning and conditioning, but also through genetics. One study shocked male mice while exposing them to the scent of a cherry blossom. The mice then showed a trauma response every time there was the scent, even without being shocked. The trauma response was also present in the mice’s children and grandchildren when they were exposed to the scent of a cherry blossom, even though they never experienced a shock. Their genes were altered.

The study suggests that a person may not have to directly experience a traumatic event to enact a trauma response. In other words, a traumatic response to a relevant trigger can occur even when a person doesn’t know what the original stimulus was. Regarding the photo, the loved ones grieving Rubin Stacy’s death could have passed down their trauma response to their descendants. Future descendants of the white child may embody her physiological response as well.

White denial, and the identified physiological response, may be relevant in the concept “the privilege of numbness”.  The term refers to emotional numbness as an adverse effect of racism. This numbness may enable white individuals to ignore or perpetuate a system of racism that benefits them without feeling guilt about others’ suffering. Transforming and healing the societal trauma of racism must include healing the numbness of people who benefit from racism.

When Ignorance Is Intentional

Conscious acts of denying can also appear when people face ethical dilemmas. A study examining shopping behaviors found that if consumers were specifically told that a product was made in an unethical way, the consumers wouldn’t purchase the product. However, when consumers were given the choice to hear the backstory on the product, most people chose to not know.

Researchers asked participants to rank jeans by picking two of four categories to do so:

  1. Style
  2. Color
  3. Price
  4. Whether or not child labor was used to make the clothing

More than 85% of participants did not choose child labor as a category for their consideration. These results suggest the vast majority of participants were “willfully ignorant.”  Researchers found the conscious act of denial was at least in part due to an unconscious fear of being upset by what would be discovered.

Next, researchers asked the willfully ignorant participants what they thought of consumers who chose to research a brand’s labor practices before making a purchase. The response? The willfully ignorant participants tended to degrade the ethical consumers, not just with criticism, but also with character attacks.

Why the hate? Research indicated the participants were unconsciously acting out due to their own guilty feelings. Perhaps even more concerning, a related study demonstrated that willfully ignorant consumers who degraded their ethical peers were less likely to support the social cause in the future.

Addressing Denial Through Self-Examination

Challenging denial is typically an ongoing process of self-examination and radical honesty. Denial is universal—everyone perceives events through personal bias. Therefore, confronting denial often starts at an individual level.

When challenging your own denial, remember to consider the following:

Sometimes confronting personal bias or past mistakes can feel emotionally overwhelming. A licensed therapist can offer confidential support without judgment. You can find a therapist here.

References:  

  1. Aizenman, N. (2016). Do these jeans make me look unethical? National Public Radio. Retrieved from https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2016/01/07/462132196/do-these-jeans-make-me-look-unethical
  2. Aldebot, S., & de Mamani, A. G. (2009). Denial and acceptance coping styles and medication adherence in schizophrenia. The Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease, 197(8), 580–584. doi:10.1097/NMD.0b013e3181b05fbe
  3. D’Angelo, R. (2011). White fragility. The International Journal of Pedagogy, (3) Retrieved from http://libjournal.uncg.edu/ijcp/article/view/249/116
  4. Kendi, I. X. (2018). The heartbeat of racism is denial. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/13/opinion/sunday/heartbeat-of-racism-denial.html
  5. Lewis, T. (2013). Fearful experiences passed on in mouse families. Live Science. Retrieved from https://www.livescience.com/41717-mice-inherit-fear-scents-genes.html
  6. Lynching of Rubin Stacy in Fort Lauderdale, Florida [Photograph]. (1935) Retrieved March 2019 from https://www.alamy.com/stock-photo-lynching-of-rubin-stacy-in-fort-lauderdale-florida-49908098.html
  7. Raheem, M. A., & Hart, K. A. (2019, March). Counseling individuals of African descent. Counseling Today, 61(9). Retrieved from https://ct.counseling.org/2019/03/counseling-individuals-of-african-descent
  8. Winn, M. E. (1996). The strategic and systemic management of denial in the cognitive/behavioral treatment of sexual offenders. Sexual Abuse, 8(1), 25–36. Retrieved from https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/107906329600800104

Woman tending her garden at sunriseThe title of this article may seem a bit strange. Guilt is not an enjoyable experience—how can it be beneficial? The answer is that guilt can help prevent us from engaging in behaviors that may harm others and ourselves. While this is true, it is overly simplistic when left as an argument by itself. It can be maintained that it is better to do the right thing not in order to avoid guilt, but to do what is right.

Guilt does more than motivate us to avoid engaging in behavior that will cause us to feel it. Guilt invites self-reflection. This is the greater potential inherent in guilt, but we must be willing to stay with the feeling to benefit from these possibilities.

Don’t Get Rid of Guilt: Work Through It

Different types of guilt may warrant different approaches to working through them. I will discuss three primary types of guilt: neurotic guilt, reality-based guilt, and existential guilt.

With existential guilt, I will also identify three different subtypes. When we work through guilt instead of trying to quickly overcome or get rid of it, the result is often wisdom and growth. When we try to quickly rid ourselves of guilt, we often are doomed to repeat similar behaviors.

When people express feelings of guilt and regret, a common response from others is to encourage them to “let it go” or forgive themselves, especially when it appears the person is being overly hard on themselves. This is well-intended advice, but it can fall short.

The Three Types of Guilt

Neurotic guilt is based on something for which one ought not feel guilt. It is out of proportion to the event that caused it. It can even be valuable to understand where neurotic guilt is coming from in order to identify its deeper roots. For example, neurotic guilt may be rooted in experiences of being inappropriately shamed for something as a child. Identifying the cause, instead of just working to quickly alleviate the guilt, can help resolve the neurotic guilt at its source.

Actual guilt, or reality-based guilt, may seem easier to understand. If we act in a selfish manner that causes harm to a friend or loved one, it is good to feel guilt, but still important to avoid quick, simplistic resolutions. If we were to quickly apologize and forgive ourselves, we may miss opportunities for deeper understanding and wisdom that may emerge from reflecting upon our guilt.

Rollo May believed that self-awareness is the foundation of ethical behavior. When we accept the invitation to reflection that accompanies actual guilt, we may come to understand ourselves better so that we can make informed changes in our life.

Rollo May believed that self-awareness is the foundation of ethical behavior. When we accept the invitation to reflection that accompanies actual guilt, we may come to understand ourselves better so we can make informed changes in our life.

A third type of guilt, existential guilt, is often unavoidable. It is rooted in the human condition. Rollo May identified three primary types of existential guilt, each connected with different aspects or modes of our existence: personal, interpersonal/social, and the physical world.

The Three Subtypes of Existential Guilt

Existential guilt at the personal level is about not living up to our potential. If we accept the invitation to reflect on this form of existential guilt, we may come to recognize where we are not seeking to fulfill our potential and identify what is blocking us from actualizing it.

At the interpersonal level, existential guilt can easily be confused with actual guilt. However, existential guilt at the social level is focused more on one’s responsibility to others and society in general as opposed to specific interpersonal transgressions (May, 1958). When one is aware of injustice in the world around them but does not do anything to make a difference, they may feel an existential guilt. It is not that they have engaged in a behavior that has caused harm, but rather they feel guilty for participating in a system or culture that is causing harm without advocating for change. This guilt is rooted in an understanding that we are social creatures and have a responsibility to others with whom we share this world.

May believed that existential guilt at the physical world level is the most pervasive and complex. This is rooted in our connection to the physical world and our environment. As an example, neglect of the physical environment can result in existential guilt. The guilt may not be from doing intentional harm, but it may be caused by one’s inaction or neglect.

These different types of existential guilt recognize that we are both independent beings and social beings at the same time. When we deny our nature as individuals or social beings, this results in guilt. It is impossible to actualize all our potentials, speak to every social injustice, and address every environmental injustice. As a result, we are bound to having some degree of existential guilt.

For those who are deeply aware of existential guilt, this can feel overwhelming. The lesson from existential guilt is not that we should try to do everything, but that we should strive for finding a balance in which we engage in our own personal development and responsibility to the social and physical world while accepting that we cannot do it all.

Conclusion

Guilt is a call to reflection. It invites us to reflect upon our lives and the way we are living. It invites us to consider whether we are living responsibly and living in accordance with our values. When we accept the invitation and engage in this reflection, we are often able to achieve deeper wisdom. We become able to live congruently with our values.

For Victor Frankl, this reflection is the key to happiness. He believed that happiness becomes more elusive when we seek it directly and that it is best achieved through living life well. When we live life well and in accordance with our values and principles, happiness ensues.

If you are struggling with feelings of guilt, warranted or unwarranted, a licensed and compassionate therapist may help you work through them.

References:

  1. Frankl, V. (1984). Man’s search for meaning: An introduction to logotherapy (3rd ed.). New York, NY: Touchstone.
  2. May, R. (1958). Contributions of existential psychotherapy. In Existence. Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, Inc.
  3. May, R. (1975). The courage to create. New York, NY: Norton.

Person wearing red scarf and black coat sits on back of bench and looks out at lakeIn August of 2014, in the middle of the night, a phone call came: My son was unresponsive and was being transferred to the hospital. I remember the 30-minute drive to the hospital, trying to get to my son, took forever. I knew nothing but what his friend had hysterically tried to explain over the phone.

When I arrived at the hospital, and they took me to his room, he seemed so small, surrounded by a machine and tubes. The doctors were unsure whether he would make it. At that point, he was only alive because the machine was breathing for him. They didn’t know how much he had taken, only that it was some combination of a deadly mix. His friend repeated over and over, “He was trying to stop the voices. I tried to stop him.”

Thankfully he made it through. After three days in the hospital, he was sent to a “stabilization unit” to receive treatment. Three days later, they released him to his father to took him back to Seattle to get the help he needed. But that help never came. Instead he stayed in a small apartment with his stepmom, smoking weed and snorting coke with shots of vodka. After two weeks, she put him on a plane back home because she didn’t want to be bothered.

I immediately made an appointment with a psychiatrist, who diagnosed him with bipolar 1 disorder and social anxiety. He told the doctor he heard voices and used drugs to quiet them. I asked if the doctor thought this could be addiction as well but was told no.

I struggled to keep him on his medications and encouraged him to find gainful employment in order to be able to care for himself, but he said he felt “better” and stopped taking the meds. After two more inpatient stays that lasted 2-3 days, he was released with a new group of medications that were very expensive. My struggle to keep him on these meds never stopped.

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One night I heard a noise and instinctively went into his room, where I found him hanging in his closet by a belt. I cut him down to find he was still breathing. I had got to him in time, but he was combative. I had to hold him down until help arrived. This led to another inpatient stay, one that lasted 11 days. There was no follow-up care provided, though he was prescribed several more medications that would continue to empty my checking account.

Life Changes

My relationship with my mate ended abruptly because they thought I should do things differently. But frankly, I knew nothing of what I should do. I had no clue of how to fix this situation or keep it from compromising my life. I went on, because I had to, but my lonely path became even lonelier. I was afraid to leave my house other than to go to work. I was afraid to pursue a relationship. I had deemed life with myself as a solo player to be my only option because I had no idea what to do. All I wanted to do was save my son.

Over the next two years, my son would make numerous visits to stabilization units. These always resulted in the same outcome: a month or so of him being stable, then he would go off his medications. I begged for help, from the doctors, from his psychiatrist, from anyone who might be able to help my son.

But no one was able to help.

I spent those two years waking to every sound, feeling like a prisoner in my own home. I worried he would harm me if I didn’t give him money. I was robbed multiple times, and although I called the police and told them the crime was committed by my son, nothing ever came of it. He continued to steal from me, and he would not leave. If he did, he came back when I was gone to steal whatever else he could find, but still, the police did nothing.

My health was affected significantly. I was exhausted, experienced trouble with my bowels, and lost weight and sleep while I tried to maintain my career. I missed work through my efforts to help my son and lost relationships as I struggled to cope with the challenges my son was facing.

I had no one to help me through this dark, lonely world. I watched in fear, with a tortured soul, as my son self -destructed before me. I locked myself in my bedroom, after hiding sharp objects so he couldn’t get to them. My attempts to kick him out failed because he was on my lease and I was too embarrassed to approach my landlord to have him removed. The police would not help me, and professionals shamed me for wanting to walk away, telling me he needed family support. I was losing myself, taking medication to help me stay even.

Trying to Move Forward

The final straw came when a drug dealer showed up at my door threatening to kill my son and his family if he didn’t pay up. I chose to move an hour away, still close enough to commute to work, but far enough away to feel safe from this nightmare. Leaving my son homeless was all I could do at that point, in order to save myself. I pushed on trying to find myself again, though I was full of guilt.

He moved in with his sister, who was experiencing addiction to painkillers after years of kidney disease. Soon enough another call came. She had called the police, knowing he had an outstanding warrant, and he went to jail the night before Thanksgiving. I felt relieved knowing he was safe there, but pained nonetheless. I stand alone trying to fight, not just for him but for myself. I ask myself, what kind of mother turns her back on her children?

He got out of jail right before Christmas with a promise to go to Narcotics Anonymous and a sober living house, but I knew it would never happen. Then another call came. My sweet boy, who would give anyone the shirt off his back, who loved his Momma and said he wanted to get better, couldn’t keep a job and was in and out of his sister’s house. What’s more, he had decided he had no choice but to do drugs. He robbed a convenience store and was charged with robbery in the first degree, a felony offense.

My heart broke at the news. Guilt filled me, and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t think he would survive prison. He wasn’t “tough,” he was a skinny boy who would hurt no one. He would die there, or at least his spirit would .

The judge ordered rehab at a place about an hour away. A place that, if I wanted street drugs I could walk in and get whatever I wanted from the residents, who were supposed to be in a rehab program. The people running the place could care less if these residents succeeded. They didn’t offer meetings to attend, just a pool table and a TV. After 30 days, residents could go to a doctor to get medications, but before that, they were on their own. So, my son, who received no medications for his bipolar or anxiety, surrounded by people trading their psych meds for caps and other things, relapsed. He ended up back in jail after testing positive for Seroquel, and was given another 30 days, after which he would return to rehab.

Continuing the Fight

Meanwhile my health is poor, and my relationships with others are compromised because I can’t cope. I went to see a psychiatrist to try to develop better coping methods, so I could help my son without compromising myself. She told me he was grown and told me I needed to cut him off. She went on to try to dissect my brain, but I received no support on how to cope with and support an adult child with addiction and mental health conditions.

I stand alone trying to fight, not just for him but for myself. I ask myself, what kind of mother turns her back on her children? Meanwhile, I continue to struggle with a daughter who is addicted to painkillers and is going to lose a battle with kidney disease. I tried to separate myself but my concerns for my grandchildren keep me from cutting the ties—she has two small children and a third on the way. I lie awake at night, fearing the call telling me she has passed on. All I know to do is to cut her off and pray for the best, but the thought of doing so paralyzes me with fear for my grandchildren.

My inability to cope consumes me. It affects my ability to live freely, to have a relationship without it being compromised. I do a lot of self-blaming. I ask myself, how did two of my three children end up battling addiction and mental health concerns? I was an attentive parent. They saw me work, attend college, and take care of them. How does this happen? How do I avoid not being consumed with sadness? How do I reduce the effects of my guilt and keep from self-destructing myself?  How can I have a normal life, when my soul is so tortured?

This is a lonely place to be. I have no resources and no support. No other parent is involved, and my only family is an older sister who has young children.

Today, I am facing the destruction of another relationship. I blame myself and can’t cope, and these feelings turn to self-bashing, withdrawing into isolation, and another loss. It can consume me, although I have made huge steps in the last few months. But these aren’t enough to save me from more losses, more sadness, and more darkness that may be what ultimately takes my life. I am afraid the stress will kill me. I have been sick for months and have lost nearly 50 pounds. But I don’t know what else to do.

What can you do, when you have tried everything? I have sought out counseling only to be slapped in the face with, “Cut the ties. They are adults.” From other sources, I hear family support is the key to success for those experiencing addiction and mental illness.

So, what to do? Though I have no help or support, I know I am not alone in this place. I chose to share my story to both try and seek help, and to help others who feel as I do know that they are not alone in their pain, either.

Person in gray skirt suit stands under spotlight, head bowed, in red-toned roomIn biblical lore, Aaron selected a goat on behalf of the entire tribe, cast upon it the sins of all members, and then banished it alone to the wild. The members of the tribe were then at great ease, having been freed from their cast-off sins—whatever those sins may have been.

Everyone felt better, though they had neither identified their specific sins nor atoned for them. They had simply agreed to hang them on the goat. If this spurious logic was obvious to anyone, it was not discussed. Why question an agreed-upon means of making everyone feel better?

Now about that goat. It was selected from the herd and sent forth into the wilderness for reasons having to do with the sins of others. The goat had done nothing to merit banishment. But once the ashes were cold on the rituals of dispatching it, the goat found itself alone in the wilderness, isolated from its herd, in unknown territory, suddenly forced to fend for itself. It faced dangers from predators; difficulty finding food, sustenance, and shelter; and it lived the constantly woeful insecurity of a herd animal without a herd.

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This is the story of the scapegoat.

In dysfunctional families, for reasons similar to those Aaron devised, there can also be a designated person selected for the role of scapegoat. In a family system, the selection process is less overt than Aaron’s. It is done more by consensual and habitual shunning that becomes an unspoken code of behavior: one person is chosen to bear the brunt of any psychological discomfort experienced by the family as a whole. It is justified by repeating the stories that create and then reinforce the image of the scapegoat as being a person who is worthy of disdain and disparagement.

Like the strong goat Aaron selected, the target of family scapegoating is also often the strongest and healthiest member of the family. At first blush, this may sound counterintuitive. But think about it a little more. In Aaron’s case, there would be no group pleasure derived from banishing a weak animal who might easily die anyway, because that would not gratify the needs of the tribe to send off their sins on a robust vehicle, a strong goat who was up to the task of bearing the burden. So it is in families: the targeted individual is often the most accomplished. She—and for the purposes of narrative cohesion, our scapegoat is a female here—must be strong enough to withstand the weight of the shunning voices which might easily and quickly topple a weaker person. The scapegoating would fail if the weight of the sins killed the goat before it could even get chased out of town. Catharsis is the goal. The goat needs to be strong enough to suffer in order that the tribe members do not.

Just as the goat was blameless despite being sent to its lonely death, so is the human scapegoat innocent of all charges. She may not be a perfect human being, but she is no different from anyone else in her range of faults. It is not her character or her actions that have directly caused her banishment. It is the way her character and her actions, and often her accomplishments, have been experienced by the dysfunctional family members, who for their own unexamined reasons need to dispel this person from the family realm in order to avoid looking into their own consciences. They need to punish the scapegoat for provoking by her very existence the discomfort family members are feeling that is actually a result of their own unresolved issues.

If you are being scapegoated in your family, please seek professional help. You are not likely to be able to intervene in a dysfunctional system that treats one of its own members in this way. You may continue to experience the futile attempts at explaining yourself. You may fail to understand the way you are being treated. You may begin to doubt your own version of your life story. The price is too high.

Can a human scapegoat die like the goat of yore? Maybe. If not physically, certainly emotionally. It is difficult for the scapegoat to believe that her family would treat her in this unconscionable manner if she were not guilty of some grave sin. She wracks her brain and her heart to understand, but she cannot. The reasons she is given for being mistreated seem shallow, petty, and incomplete. It is difficult for her to believe these small transgressions could warrant such heavy condemnation.

She begins to doubt her own version of reality, since consensus in her own family supports a narrative different from her own about who she is and what she does or has done. She learns that if she tries to sort this out, she will be accused of “playing the victim” or being selfish, or being a “drama queen.” She is able to hold to her knowledge that this assessment and treatment are not right, until one day, utterly discouraged, she gives up. The full weight of the banishment settles upon her. She is alone. She doesn’t try to understand or explain anything anymore. She has moved into accepting a fate that makes no sense to her.

Good mental health at this point suggests she make her peace with leaving behind the family that fails her so completely. And if she is strong and well-supported with friends, she may be able to do this. She will pay a lifelong price for sins she did not commit, however, because it is difficult and painful to extract oneself from one’s family. It is counter to the most basic of human needs for home, shelter, affiliation. It is a cruel and inexcusable undertaking for a family to scapegoat a member.

If you look at the research regarding the fate of individuals who have been relentlessly bullied, you can draw conclusions about what happens to scapegoated family members, for scapegoating is bullying with focused and long-term intensity. Some bullied children go on to become bullies themselves. Some develop social skills to divert and challenge bullying, though the scars of having been bullied may insert themselves into their lives in many ways for many years to come. Others, however, do not survive, driven to suicide.

If you are being scapegoated in your family, please seek professional help. You are not likely to be able to intervene in a dysfunctional system that treats one of its own members in this way. You may continue to experience the futile attempts at explaining yourself. You may fail to understand the way you are being treated. You may begin to doubt your own version of your life story. The price is too high. Please find a counselor who can help you unravel the fictions that subvert the truth about your life and about who you are. Good counseling support can help free you from the binding ties of pain, guilt, and shame that you did not create and which are not justified.

You were not born to bear the sins of others any more than Aaron’s goat was born for such a fate.

The silhouette looking at sunsetEditor’s Note: This article contains description of childhood abuse, which may be triggering for some readers.

“I have an image in my mind I can’t seem to get rid of,” I tell Dr. Erickson. “A snapshot of a memory that’s always there, and I can’t stop looking at it.”

His office is dimly lit. On the wall facing me are two pictures of shamans, medicine men who heal spiritually. I had thought a psychiatrist might decorate with pictures from the masters—Van Gogh, Monet, or maybe a classical artist like Michelangelo. Below the shamans, on an end table, is a Kokopelli statue set in a dish of smooth stones. Next to that are two huge bookcases filled with copies of publications from the American Psychiatric Association. At least he seems well-read.

“Are you sure it’s a memory?” He sits near the opposite wall, filing my evaluation form into a folder. Today he’s wearing a shirt and tie. If it weren’t for his long hair and ponytail he would seem every bit a doctor.

“Yes. It’s something the attorneys brought up during the deposition. Something I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

He stares at me and says nothing. I realize he isn’t going to prod. It seems a strange way to communicate, not asking questions.

[fat_widget_right]“When I was nine I told kids at school that I’d seen my father’s penis,” I tell him, “that I’d touched it. Only I didn’t know to call it that. They stared at me in shock. That’s when I realized there was something wrong with what I was doing. You only know what you’re told when you’re a child. I didn’t know that other kids weren’t touching their fathers that way.” I pause. “They stopped playing with me after that.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “That’s the image in your mind?”

“Yes, swinging on the playground, laughing. I remember the looks on their faces when I admitted what I was doing. It was all so … innocent.”

“How does that make you feel?”

How does it make me feel? The memory is so old, almost thirty years have gone by, but it still seems like yesterday. It’s the kind of memory I store in one of those chests at the bottom of my mind, but now I can’t seem to put it back.

“Ashamed, sad, like I’ve done something wrong.”

“Do you feel that in your body?”

Another strange question. The memory is in my head. My emotions are in my head, glued to that image of swinging happily, chattering with my friends and having no idea of the impact of my words. My emotions are not imprinted in my body. But I think about the question anyway because I have so much anxiety these days, a tightness in my stomach that feels like a descending roller coaster. Even my nightly dose of Seroquel isn’t alleviating it.

“In my stomach,” I say.

“Images come forward in your mind to help you get what you want. Your subconscious wants to heal. This is its way of communicating that to you.”

“There’s something for me to learn from this memory?”

[EMDR] is very effective for trauma and posttraumatic stress. Once you process the memory, the picture goes away, along with the emotions associated with it.

He nods. “There’s something called EMDR—eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. It’s a therapy like hypnosis that can help speed the processing of memories. It’s very effective for trauma and posttraumatic stress. Once you process the memory, the picture goes away, along with the emotions associated with it.”

I’d like to get rid of the snapshot memory, and the sadness and shame it brings with it. It was different before; it was a private memory I could easily tuck away. I could convince myself it was a single incident barely worth my energy to consider. But I had admitted it during the deposition; I had exposed my shame to a team of attorneys who simply stared at me, stoic and apathetic. I had mirrored their apathy, determined not to allow them to see my pain. I can still see their unimpressed expressions.

“How do I do that?” I ask Dr. Erickson.

“I move my hand in front of you and you follow it with your eyes as you think about the memory. Emotions will come to the surface. As you process the emotions, they will be released. The memory will lose its emotional charge.”

“Will the image go away then?”

“It should.”

Is that what the memory wants—to be felt? Have I tucked away so much of my life that it stubbornly refuses to be hidden any longer? Or is this just a byproduct of the deposition, the aftermath of stress?

What I know is that the memory bothers me. I don’t like looking at those faces of my schoolmates staring in shock, and the memory of realizing I did something wrong. I don’t like being made to feel bad when the onus should be on someone else. Maybe that’s been the problem; the guilt belongs to someone else and not me.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I want to try that. I want the image to go away.”

He moves our chairs closer together, so his left arm will be next to my left arm. We’re sitting side by side, but facing in opposite directions. He lets me sit close to the door so I don’t feel boxed in. “An escape route,” he says. Then he stands back from the chairs like an artist appreciating his work.

I know his deliberate manner is meant to make me feel more comfortable, but his ceremonial style has the opposite effect. I hesitate and glance at the door. Am I going to need an escape route? Do his patients routinely flee the room and he’s learned to anticipate it? Or is this merely a psychological strategy?

I take my seat, knowing that I would rather feel part of the scene than an observer.

Nothing will happen with me standing in place, and if it’s all been set up by design then I’m failing and the image will remain. Unwilling to leave and uncertain of how to move forward, I take my seat, knowing that I would rather feel part of the scene than an observer.

He gives me a moment before taking the seat next to mine. We’re too close for my comfort. I have pretty strict boundaries; I’ve never been able to allow people to get very close to me physically. It always feels like they’re suffocating me with their proximity, as if they’ve wrapped their arms around me in a crushing embrace.

I can see the ring he wears and the tiny hairs on his arms, and it makes my body tense. He’s sitting only a few inches from me; I can feel his gaze studying me, and I become self-conscious and begin to fidget in the chair.

“Think about the image,” he instructs. “Think about being on the playground with your friends. Hear their laughter. Think about how you feel as you talk to them. You feel ashamed, sad.”

I hate this already. What kind of therapy begins like this?

He moves his left hand horizontally in front of me. I follow it with my eyes, but I don’t see his hand.

The playground is noisy. I’m swinging with my friends. It’s a Catholic school, and we’re all in uniforms: replicas of one another.

“I’ve never seen a boy’s wiener before,” Kathy says. Her voice is filled with laughter.

“I’ve seen my father’s,” I say. “It looks like a bratwurst.”

“You have not!”

“Yes. I touched it.”

“That’s right,” Dr. Erickson says in a soothing voice. He’s reading the emotions that play across my face. “Stay with it. Let the emotions build and then let them go.”

I don’t know how to let go. I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from this. It’s all old news, pain long past. It doesn’t belong with me. I’m an adult now, a grown woman who’s made her own way in the world and crafted her own successes. I’m a million years from that little girl on the playground, but the pain is so fresh.

The transformation is rapid. The expressions on the girls’ faces morph from playful amusement to confusion, settling on prudence. They’re judging me. They know something I don’t know. For the first time in my memory, I feel like an outsider, a pariah.

Dr. Erickson stops EMDR. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. I stare, without seeing, at the carpet.

“I have a question,” he says gently. “Whose shame is it?” He moves his hand in front of me, and the image switches.

I’m touching one of my sisters, kissing her on the neck. On Wednesday nights we played a game my father made up, where we had to select small pieces of paper from a hat. On each piece of paper was written something we were supposed to do: kiss a butt, lick a breast, touch a crotch. Each of us would then choose one of our siblings and go into a room with them.

“Where are you?” Dr. Erickson asks. He’s stopped his hand movement and is studying me.

“With one of my sisters.”

“On the playground?”

“No.” Pause. “Every Wednesday my mother would go away and my father would have us sit in a circle, naked. He made up this game.” When I finished explaining the bizarre game, I said, “I’m with one of my sisters in a room … kissing her.”

“Go with that,” he instructs, and begins EMDR again.

It’s all giggles and little-girl fun. It doesn’t feel sexual, just playful. We’re both naked because that’s the way our father wanted it.

I don’t like touch. It’s a mantra I say to myself and it has defined my life. I don’t have relationships and I don’t let people near. But some part of my brain is wondering why I’m not afraid with my sister, why I don’t feel apprehension. I say as much to Dr. Erickson.

“You’re judging her as an adult with rights and wrongs. She’s feeling the comfort of her sister.”

“I liked when we were touching.” It’s the only time I can recall liking touch, when caressing was comforting and nurturing. What happened to that feeling? Darkness falls on me as tears well in my eyes. An enormous sadness overwhelms me.

“I like touching my sister, but I don’t like touching other people. Men. What kind of a person does that make me?”

“Human.”

What I hear is “different.”

The memories fade, but they don’t disappear.

I like the softness of my sister’s skin and the sense of freedom, and I like the closeness as if nothing were going to separate us. Sitting in a psychiatrist’s office, trying to come to terms with my life, liking to touch my sister seems wrong.

I’ve never had a sexual relationship with anyone, male or female. I stopped dating a decade ago; I long since gave up trying to let someone get close. And yet there I was at the tender age of nine, exploring my sister’s body. Was that what was wrong with me?

“I want you to think about the healing white light,” Dr. Erickson says softly. “It’s coming from high above and surrounding you. A brilliant white light taking away all the pain.”

The light bathes me with a warm glow. It calms my breathing, eases my tension and, like a drug, dulls the pain the memory created.

“Let those images go. You don’t need them anymore.”

The memories fade, but they don’t disappear. I like the light surrounding me. It takes me far away from my feelings of guilt and shame.

Laureen Peltier Share Your StoryLaureen Peltier is the author of Hungry For Touch: A Journey from Fear to Desire. She focuses on educating others on the possibility of making a full recovery from PTSD, as well as the benefits of healing past trauma. A passionate speaker for RAINN and other organizations, Laureen is sought-after for medical and nursing schools, and has participated in several online and DVD documentaries focusing on PTSD recovery.

Your very sad story is touching. You’re worried that you’ve wasted four years of your life and clearly miss the man who was your partner, and you long for the good times you spent together. Nevertheless, your memories of the good are almost buried in your regret. I’m glad you’re seeing a therapist to help yourself grow and develop and learn how to hold onto the good, so you can learn to care for yourself and how to take care of yourself, too, and become a better partner. It’s apparent to me that you have accepted responsibility for your role in the way things ended, and that shows growth.

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Part of human development is learning to accept yourself and your actions, your history, and use it as a springboard to move forward in your life. As your therapist says, forgiving yourself is essential. Once you do that, it’s time to shut the door on it. You cannot return to your past.

Clinging to the past and especially to regrets about your behavior may feel unconsciously like a way to cling to the person who was once your partner, but in fact it’s only a memory you’re attached to.

You seem preoccupied with thoughts about how your partner thinks of you now. You’re worried that the bad times will outweigh the good ones, and the good will be forgotten. This may or not be so for him—we don’t really know that—but what we can be sure about is what your feelings are. You can remember the good and the bad that you both experienced, forgive yourself, forgive your partner, and move on. The best testament to the good times you enjoyed in your relationship is the ability to hold onto the good and go forward with your life. The past has a vote, not a veto. It can vote to show you better paths in the future, but it cannot have veto power over the rest of your life.

After some time of healing and mourning, I hope you will be ready to move on and use all you have learned to forge a new relationship filled with compassion and love for yourself and the person who becomes your next partner, if and when you choose to pursue another relationship.

Clinging to the past and especially to regrets about your behavior may feel unconsciously like a way to cling to the person who was once your partner, but in fact it’s only a memory you’re attached to. The person has gone away, and you deserve something real, solid, and present.

I wish you patience and success as you continue your journey with your therapist.

Take care,
Lynn

GoodTherapy | What to Do When You’re the JerkI’ve been a jerk many times in my life. But one time that stands out for me happened when I was 13. I had been invited to the bat mitzvah of a girl I barely knew. A bat mitzvah is a big event; at least 100 people were there. After singing “Happy Birthday,” some kid usually started chanting, “Skip around the room, skip around the room, we won’t shut up until you skip around the room.” Obviously, the intent was to make the birthday child … skip around the room.

On this occasion, I started the chant, but it fell flat on its face. Not a single person joined the chant with me.

It wasn’t until I was in college, recalling this embarrassing incident, that I finally realized my shameful behavior. The birthday girl, who appeared in class sporadically, sometimes showed up on crutches and sometimes arrived in a wheelchair. I had completely forgotten about her disability because she had put them aside for her bat mitzvah. Ignorantly, obliviously, I had thrown her illness in everyone’s face. What a horrible child!

It’s easier to forgive a child’s behavior than an adult’s. It’s also easier to forgive unintentional cruelty than intentional harm. But regardless, I will always feel a little ashamed that I hurt that girl and her family that day.

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Shame, that gut-wrenching, nauseating feeling, keeps people from acknowledging when they’ve been hurtful. So often, admitting that you’re guilty means being overcome with shame. We all want to be the good guy. It’s awful to discover that we’ve been the villain.

The other thing that stops people from admitting when they’ve been wrong is punishment. Often, the punishment is shame: “Shame on you!” If a person admits to a spouse that he or she has been overreactive or harsh toward the spouse, will the person be understood and forgiven or will he/she be punished and repeatedly shamed?

Being able to take responsibility for one’s bad behavior is in everyone’s best interest. Being condescending, being harshly critical, being explosive, being prejudiced—these behaviors and more may occur for all of us, but unacknowledged and unchecked, they can become a person’s identity, overshadowing higher qualities and damaging or destroying relationships.

What to do:

What not to do:
Twelve-step groups, support groups, and psychotherapy can assist individuals in regaining clarity and self-compassion in order to end abusive behaviors, including the abusive behavior of self-loathing and self-abuse.

These suggestions are sometimes easier said than done. It can take time, patience, and emotional support to work through these steps. A person may not get the understanding and forgiveness he or she desires. It’s important to do it anyway, regardless of the reaction. Just because someone becomes aware of his or her behavior doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. Hopefully, with repeated awareness and commitment, the person can learn to stop it faster.

In families that carry histories of substance abuse and/or physical abuse, the level of damage can be extreme, resulting in a greater need to justify, ignore, or suppress awareness of these behaviors. Twelve-step groups, support groups, and psychotherapy can assist individuals in regaining clarity and self-compassion in order to end abusive behaviors, including the abusive behavior of self-loathing and self-abuse.

No one is perfect. There is no shame in learning, growing, and striving to be your best self.

Thank you for your question. It does indeed sound as though the vice-like grip of guilt has taken hold. Painful, indeed. As Pete Campbell from Mad Men said in the show’s final season regarding having an extramarital fling or affair, “It feels good, and then it doesn’t.”

I suppose some might advise you to not tell your wife under any circumstances, that telling her can only cause grievous harm and would only be for your own benefit (such is the certainty of most advice columnists). This may prove to be the wisest path, although before I personally go there, I would be curious about a couple of things. First, what is it that prompted you to stray? It could be any number of things, both general to early marriage and specific to you personally. What stressors were present in and outside the relationship? Some who have experienced past relational injuries or trauma (in childhood, for example) can, later in adult life, find sustained marital intimacy challenging, to the point where some feelings and desires appear or feel “shameful”—needs that, it seems, can be met only outside the relationship, which unfortunately ends most often in regret, guilt, and more shame.

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What might have been causing distance between the two of you? And are any of those issues present today? Assuming it always takes two, what do you imagine to be your “side” of the issue—and has this problem or obstacle been resolved? Is this aspect of the relationship (on either side) still an issue?

Could this be what is bothering you today, that this “part” of yourself (however it manifests) might still be unacceptable to your wife, and that by sharing about the affair you’re also testing to see if this particular aspect of yourself is accepted by your wife?

Or is it that you were a different person then, and that this past issue has no bearing on the relationship as it exists today, but that you’re anticipating possible fallout if she were to find out … so better to just come clean?

If the problem no longer exists, it may be wiser to sort it out with your own conscience before taking the complicated and highly unpredictable step of discussing it with your wife, assuming you decide to do so. I think it would be hard to say if or when she would forgive you; she might, but she might not, or it might take years. You, of course, know her better than I do. What is it you feel will help the relationship by telling her? If it is more a matter of your own conscience, is she the best person to offer forgiveness or redemption?

What is always keenly ironic to me is that sometimes partners will stray outside the relationship to “protect” the partner from those shameful or unwanted parts that we are sure will offend the other. We fear being too “needy,” too “kinky” in bed, too angry, too sad, and so on. Those emotional needs and feelings thus find a home outside the relationship, making it more likely that the relationship will suffer, possibly fatally.

Keep in mind your wife may very well, like many partners, take the affair as a rejection of her, proof of her own inadequacy still existing today. In other words, it’s quite possible the affair will feel to her—though it’s long over for you—as if it just happened. This will be new information for her, possibly turning the perception of the marriage on its head. I am curious as to what the benefit of this might be, given the risk. Perhaps deciding how you feel about the affair will make it easier to discuss with your wife, should you go that route. I don’t know that it would be up to her to resolve your own conscience on the matter.

In other words, you may not get the peace of mind and redemption you’re seeking, so perhaps it’s best to make peace with this as best you can before seeking out her forgiveness—because it could take months or years, and meanwhile you’ll be in the same pressure-packed boat while she figures out how to feel about it. Unless by telling her you feel you both might be “in the same boat”?

The other thing that occurred to me is that the impulse to tell her might, even unconsciously, be a way of creating distance again. Some might call it self-sabotage, though I’m not so crazy about that term as such sabotage might also be, on some level, protecting us from intolerable uncertainty and vulnerability. Again, if intimacy is challenging (as it is for most of us in one way or another), there is a part of us that both craves and fears closeness, lest the injuries or abandonments of the past play out again (not literally, but via new hurts or slights that press our old buttons). Maybe it’s as if you’re saying, “Well, OK, you love me, but do you really love me? Try this on for size!” This might spring from a historically recurring question of whether you really “deserve” the intimacy or love you crave and have found now. If it ain’t broke … as the old saying goes. But sometimes, our deep fear of injury or (symbolic) reinjury leads us to distance ourselves or evade our partner in all manner of ways. In other words, is this a genuine, heartfelt question or a desire to rock the boat in disguise? Maybe both?

Behind the morality of “do I or do I not deserve love” lies the deep fear of being rejected or exiled from our beloved, since we have so little control over the love given to us by others. Do you have a fear of receiving love in general, or dread sustained vulnerability? Could it be you are still upset with your wife about something, and telling her this news is a way of transmitting a feeling of betrayal you have felt but never expressed? If so, is there a different way of doing it, as the fact of the affair itself might well be a red herring, since the truth likely lies less with the what and more with the why of it.

You say the affair is “over,” but something about it remains very much alive for you. What is it, and is it more about yourself and your own long-standing personal history, or more relating to the relationship specifically? I’m sure there is overlap, but still these questions are probably worth some self-reflection.

It’s also true that infidelity often happens early in a relationship, where a sustained commitment of love and intimacy is frightening to a person. I cannot tell you how many couples I have seen where one partner strayed shortly before or after an engagement or marriage, especially (ironically) when such engagement or marriage was something long-desired. The only thing scarier than not getting what you want, sometimes, is getting what you want.

The more I think about this, the more I think you are struggling with, quite possibly, an existential or highly personal rather than relational question. Before deciding whether to take it to your wife, try discussing this with a therapist (even if it’s only short-term), trusted friend, or spiritual counselor. My sense is that we first have to get right with our own conscience—or make best efforts—before handing that power over to someone who might need time to understand or get over their own hurt. A partner always has their own subjective filter, and it is hard to see how his or her perspective will or won’t align with ours. (It also occurs to me that your wife may end up forgiving you in a way that feels almost dismissive to you, like, “Well, it’s in the past, let’s move on,” which could feel dismissive of your current angst.)

You say the affair is “over,” but something about it remains very much alive for you. What is it, and is it more about yourself and your own long-standing personal history, or more relating to the relationship specifically? I’m sure there is overlap, but still these questions are probably worth some self-reflection.

You could even try writing out a “confession,” in as honest a way as possible, and then read it to yourself a few days later (or, again, to a trusted confidant). Then imagine being in her shoes and hearing it for the first time. You might ask, how does this serve the “we” and not just the “me”? Who might benefit, really; are you seeking a redemption that—for a while, at least—she may not be able to give? This way, you can make a decision, fraught with emotional risk, that you have thought through and reflected upon as best you can.

Thanks again for writing.
Darren

Thank you for your honesty in describing what sounds like an unbearably painful situation. Alcoholism and addiction basically put both the addicted person and his or her loved ones in an impossible position, where the addicted one is both there and not there, leaving the partner and loved ones to have a “split” experience with, it often seems, two or more personalities. Those who love people with addictions often have a glimpse of the “real” or true person, who is suffering and appears to want help, before the drunk or stoned person appears again: critical or self-centered to the extreme, and hurtful to be around. Thus, by distancing ourselves from the latter, we also seemingly end up abandoning the former—the sober person we fell in love with. This leaves us in a no-win position, where we can stay and feel continually abandoned ourselves (or attacked, or both) or leave and bear the burden of guilt that tells us we are leaving our loved one alone on a deserted island.

It is also devastatingly difficult, if not impossible, to imagine how or why someone would choose drinking or using over family. This is why I like the idea of addiction being a mental health issue, where a person gets to a point where he or she would rather continue to self-destruct and lose everything and everyone than stop and get help. I have lost family members to addiction, so I relate to how absolutely baffling drinking to this degree can be, and how heartbreaking.

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But sometimes things get to such a crisis point that a decision has to be made: namely, do we want to go down with the ship or not? It sounds as though you are choosing sanity, being a good mother, and what often becomes the lesser of two evils: saving oneself, setting a life-preserving boundary against alcoholism, versus rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Of course, the ensuing guilt is inevitable, although in truth when a drinking problem reaches such a tragic state, there is little to nothing we can really do anymore and the only real option is to take the lifeboat. By leaving, you are acknowledging the crisis, refusing to minimize it, telling alcoholism you no longer wish to be part of the problem and that you need to protect yourself and your children.

Your husband has long been in a vulnerable situation, and this moment of decision would arrive with or without your presence. The problem is his drinking is killing him, period. Everything else is almost an afterthought. No one can make this decision for him. He must decide whether he wants to stop drinking and live, or keep going and face tragic consequences. Your presence cannot soften these consequences; in fact, your absence may help clarify the starkness of his choice, so I think it’s wise to remove yourself from the situation. No matter how much you have helped him, and with what, the choice remains the same: does he stop or not? This decision and ensuing consequences are out of your control, so in spite of the difficulty you are giving him the dignity of his own choice and allowing him to decide which way he wants to go. You are also setting a good example for everyone by choosing life over insanity and death, though he might not see it that way right now.

I cannot emphasize enough the importance of finding your own support. This is an extremely traumatic situation and likely has been for some time, though that might not be obvious to you; a person’s alcohol or drug problem tends to suck all the oxygen out of the room, hog the mental spotlight as it were, so that the partner forgets that he or she also needs help.

There is no way, of course, to predict any outcome, though it is my great wish that this is the wake-up call your husband needs; people who drink or use are amazingly adept at ignoring or forgetting inconvenient truths, such as the lethality of drinking and using. Perhaps, as human beings, it is near impossible to consider our own demise. But the demise of the relationship, or at least your presence in the house, might, I truly hope, be a stark reminder of the destructiveness of his alcoholism. You are having a healthy response to an extremely toxic situation (alas). I’m sorry to say you ultimately could not save him even if you stayed.

My final point is about your own well-being. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of finding your own support. This is an extremely traumatic situation and likely has been for some time, though that might not be obvious to you; a person’s alcohol or drug problem tends to suck all the oxygen out of the room, hog the mental spotlight as it were, so that the partner forgets that he or she also needs help. Often we buy into the myth that says we are not addicted and therefore strong and resilient, such that no help is needed. To want any support or relief might even be seen as selfish: How can I think of myself at a time like this? But as the airline safety tip goes, give yourself oxygen first so you can better assist your loved one. This is, in fact, what you are doing.

Just from the distressed tone of your letter, I can say with reasonable certainty that I think some counseling and/or group support (Al-Anon, community or spiritual/religious groups for families or spouses) would be extremely valuable. It is too easy to underestimate the damage done to our own psyches by addiction; we often don’t feel it until the dust begins to settle. Then, following the guilt comes rage, hurt, anxiety, sadness, and a whole other cluster of intense emotions—not necessarily in that order. This doesn’t at all signify a person’s “failure to cope”; it is, again, a very normal reaction to an abnormally and almost cruelly stressful situation that annihilates love and tenderness, and often hope, to a traumatizing degree. It is a situation, I might add, that often parallels earlier childhood experiences where the nondrinking person became a kind of parentified child, or precocious caregiver, so that this role became second nature, where crushing guilt ensues anytime the person tries to step out of it. But any adult romantic relationship contingent on one-way giving/receiving will sooner or later collapse from imbalance. A thriving, growing love needs mutuality, or at least something in the ballpark. We need to take turns—otherwise the see-saw tips too far in one direction and falls over.

I also often say that a partner going to Al-Anon helps the addicted person too, as it is excellent role modeling.

I’m sorry you are in such a hellacious bind, though I commend you for your courage and stamina in making the sane choice (which can seem insane in the midst of chaos). Your feelings are normal for someone in your position; however, they do not, by any stretch, indicate that you are doing something wrong. It sounds like the kind of wake-up call that has been in the works for some time.

Thanks again for writing.
Darren

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