Trauma, Pain, and Addiction — Why We Are All In This Together
By Craig Knighton
I recently discovered the work of Gabor Mate and his book “The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness, and Healing in a Toxic Culture”. In a related podcast, I heard him define addiction in what for me was a new and eye opening way: “addiction is an adaptation to solve a problem.” The more I listened and read, the more I understood my connection to the work we do at Show Up and Stay. It helps me understand my sympathy for and empathy for people in recovery.
“Addiction is an adaptation to solve a problem.”
I’m a self-professed “dopaminergic personality”, or said another way, a dopamine junkie. My way of coping with the challenges of being present here and now is, first and foremost, to live mostly in the future. I regulate my feelings and energy level through sugar, caffeine and alcohol, but also through ambition and work. Let me explain.
I build things (I’m an introverted engineer) because it puts me in a state of flow in which I can lose myself. Time passes quickly and without any of those messy emotions. My anxieties and problems disappear, and I get very focused (some might call it obsessed) with wanting to see the thing I am building begin to work. I’m producing, I’m learning, and I’m problem solving.
I’m very fortunate to have been born with the ability to pursue an addiction that does not cost money, but rather is something people will actually pay me to do. I also have the ability to lead, but social situations and conflict cause me anxiety, and alcohol is an effective way to manage those feelings when my work calls for it. I’m fortunate to not have become addicted to alcohol as a substance, but I have no doubt I am capable of it. I have at various times abstained from caffeine, sugar, and alcohol; and I have always ultimately chosen to use them again.
“Addiction is manifested in any behavior in which a person finds temporary relief or pleasure and therefore craves but then suffers negative consequences in the long-term and doesn’t give up despite the negative consequences.”
I said on an earlier podcast that I have always been fascinated by why some people bend when others break. What is the difference, and how fine a line is there between resilience and catastrophic “rock bottom”? What are long-term negative consequences?
My love of sugar and carbs caused me to spend much of my adult life carrying around an extra 30 pounds of fat. Was I consciously aware of the long-term consequences and health risks? Absolutely.
Am I aware that alcohol is a poison in any quantity? 100%.
Does my highly evolved forebrain know that I use caffeine, alcohol, and losing myself in work to escape the fact that I wake up every day feeling the anxiety caused by social situations, conflicts, commitments, and imposter syndrome? Yup.
And that this constant exposure to chemicals like caffeine from coffee, adrenaline from risk-taking and cortisol from stress raises my blood pressure, increases risk of heart disease and cancer, and affects my relationships with family and friends? Check — I’ve read the studies and believe the science.
And now that I’m in the late afternoon of life, do I see and feel the cumulative impact of all of this in my body and mind? Without a doubt. I wish I knew then what I know now.
“Don’t ask ’why the addiction?’; ask ‘why the pain?’”
The more I learn, the more I become convinced that addiction in some form is a part of the universal human experience. Whether by accident, disease, age, assault, loss, abandonment, fear, or loneliness, we all eventually are survivors of trauma. Because we have different lives, biology, environment, support, and access to care, we naturally assume our experience is different from others and our behaviors to cope with the pain are cause for shame.
However, my good friend Caleb taught me that survivorship is a force that unites us all. As we like to say at Show Up and Stay, healing from the substance is only the beginning, and long term recovery or survivorship is the marathon that we must learn about, train for, and endure.
My own awakening to this universal view of trauma, pain, and addiction started with a diagnosis — melanoma, a dangerous and often lethal form of cancer. As someone with a fair amount of social anxiety, this was also cause for fear and shame — the cancer was on my face, the surgery would change my appearance, and everyone would know. After eight years, it reemerged and resulted in not only more surgery, but immunotherapy that itself led to more trauma and hospitalization.
This is only one of many physical and emotional sources of trauma, compounded by the indignities of age and physical degradation that are more obvious than the mental health issues tied to anxiety and depression. The best job I ever had opened my eyes to mental wellbeing and mindbody thinking with a healthy dose of cognitive behavioral therapy to give me tools to not only understand my thinking traps but to regulate using techniques other than self-medication and escapism.
Along the way, I learned a lot about the forces that had shaped my personality, my relationship with work, family, friends, and stress and anxiety. And I also learned how to be with pain as one of many feelings and to be aware of the dangerous dance with addiction as I seek to regulate my emotions and to avoid the pain. I don’t think that I have crossed the line from use to substance use disorder, but I also think I can understand and empathize with those that have.
