Guest column by Dr. Peter Martin
Dr. Martin is a licensed psychologist and Internship Director of Integrated Training and Formation at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Counseling Center in Lincoln.
Imagine a devout Catholic in his mid-20s, a man I’ll call Frank. Over the course of his life, he rarely felt safe and practically never felt seen and known. His parents were almost never consistently available to love him after a fall or during a time of personal misery. He learned at a gut level to believe that having a close, trusted and reliable parent, friend or mentor was something that existed only in fiction books or myths, not something to experience firsthand.
For Frank, a secure relationship was an interpersonal luxury, never to hope for or believe possible. Despite no one accompanying and supporting him in the darkest of times, the agonies of life continued. Perhaps his greatest burden was the consequences of the tragic absence of someone who cared for him, who loved Frank when he felt unwanted and unlovable.
How would this profound wound of parental nonresponsiveness and neglect affect him? What kinds of unique challenges would confront Frank, and how would he know how to cope in balanced, adaptive ways? More to the point, how could he understand what authentic intimacy with another human person or God would be like?
It is in Frank’s insecurity in close relationships where the Enemy ensnared him and distorted things the most. He enticed Frank to instead pursue a dysfunctional “relationship” with alcohol, a pseudo-friend, which eventually led to an addiction.
Over half a century of attachment research indicates that the desire for closeness and proximity to an attachment figure, a “stronger, wiser other” during a time of distress or fear is common to all mammals, whether human or nonhuman. An instinctive longing for a close relationship is not merely a wish or a passing fancy, and it is most definitely not a weakness. It is a basic and natural need.
Whether a rational mammal like your child, or a nonrational mammal like your black Lab or Siamese cat, God has created each of us for connection. And for Frank and all human beings, each a unique “God-facing” image bearer of our divine Lord, God has designed us to be relational to our very core and to have intimate connection with Him and others. Yet dysfunctional early attachment relationships, especially with parents, can mar this basic desire and need for closeness and taint it to feel subjectively scary even when there is objectively nothing to fear.
To shed light on Frank’s relational struggles, it may be helpful to contrast insecure attachment with secure attachment. To explain what attachment security practically looks like in the day-to-day of life, let’s consider the image of a “Circle of Security”—a term developed by the organization of the same name—that has a pair of hands on the left side of a circle which represent an attachment figure (e.g., parent, spouse, God) who can support a person in need. Proceeding clockwise from the hands to the upper half of the circle, a person can explore the contexts, relationships and possibilities of life but doesn’t fully leave the attachment figure behind. The attachment figure remains in one’s heart or “in spirit” at a natural level (a natural correlate to the supernatural indwelling of the Holy Spirit Whom Christ sent after His Ascension), accompanying the person and encouraging him or her to be the best version of oneself. Yet the ups and downs of life occur and challenges arise, and the person gets distressed.
Returning to the Circle of Security image, the human person instinctively seeks out another person for support, which is represented by following the circle clockwise along the bottom and toward the hands on the left side of the circle. The hands, which previously were a secure base from which to explore, now become a haven of safety that the individual seeks and experiences much needed love and support. Here, the attachment figure is summoned by God to practice a particular corporal work of mercy, comfort the afflicted, to help the person reclaim psychosomatic peace. Like oxygen to someone gasping for air, the person can inhale deeply the experience of feeling safe, feeling seen and known, feeling soothed, and—of infinitely great importance—feeling valued.
If things proceed according to God’s general plan, a veritable reset occurs. Desolation fades, and the person experiences peace, often of both body and soul. This is how securely attached individuals experience attachment-based relationships: A challenge arises, the person seeks out a trusted other for support who is generally responsive, the person feels soothed and can return to life as it was before the stress kicked in, yet possibly with greater confidence in the attachment figure and a renewed belief that things will be OK.
But this was not Frank’s lived experience.
In contrast to this wonderful, life-giving circle of security pattern, during times of distress insecurely attached individuals generally either avoid returning to the attachment figure (called dismissing or avoidant attachment) or they depend too much on the attachment figure (called preoccupied or anxious attachment).
Yet even these insecure patterns don’t fully articulate Frank’s struggle. Relevant to this discussion on addiction, there is a third insecure attachment classification called disorganized (sometimes called unresolved or fearful avoidant) that is generally most severe. On the disorganized’s Circle of Security, there are no hands on the left side at all. When Frank experienced pain and desolation, he didn’t know who to turn to. When the chips were down and personal anxiety was high, he learned the painful lesson early in childhood that there was no one to welcome him who could consistently help him find rest. One or both of his parents were either frightening or frightened, or entirely nonresponsive to his emotional needs—and in some cases abusive—and this repeatedly amplified the distress that he was already in. His caregivers were “scaregivers.” He had no safe hands to return to.
This experience of “fright without solution” recurred possibly hundreds or thousands of times early in Frank’s life and implicitly shaped the way he anticipated future interactions with other attachment figures (e.g., romantic, God). Future vulnerability with romantic partners or during prayer would lead to more suffering. Paradoxically, other people’s authentic love and goodwill would seem threatening. Even the Source of all goodness and trustworthiness, God Himself, often felt unworthy of Frank’s faith and trust. Consequently, fear and intermittent chaos in Frank’s close relationships became the norm.
Nature despises a void, and Frank found himself grasping to fill the absence of hands on the left side of his own longstanding circle of insecurity with alcohol. The consistency of the buzz and the reliability of the fix felt safer than actual people.
But this unhealthy outlet never truly satisfied his underlying deep ache for connection. How could it? This maladaptive liquid friend was never designed by God to provide enduring rest or sanctuary to anyone, let alone a restless heart trapped in the cycle of addiction.
It may not surprise the reader then that a common statement among specialists who treat addiction is that the opposite of addiction is not sobriety; it’s connection to a real person who really cares, especially when life feels so hopelessly miserable and unbearable. It is in these states of natural hell that Frank’s heart—that every heart—most cries out for mercy, mercy incarnate; mercy in the form of a person who comforted him when he was afflicted. And for deep and enduring healing, he needed to break the addiction cycle by strengthening his close interpersonal relationships of a vertical (i.e., supernatural) and horizontal (i.e., human) kind. Indeed, clients who previously struggled with addiction, like Frank, give much of the credit for their sobriety to God (their “higher power”) and the ongoing support of their 12-step sponsor.
Each and every one of us is designed for relationships, and our hearts will not be satisfied with anything less than the real thing. Addiction—a psychopathology which is quite resistant to change—and its treatment provide an important glimpse into the healing power of interpersonal relationships. In a very real sense, connection is the golden key that unlocks the rusty chains of addiction.
Not without its own set of challenges, learning how to connect is also perhaps the primary way to nurture security and to help “organize” those with disorganized attachment. If deeply connecting to God (the 12-step “higher power”) and neighbor (e.g., 12-step sponsor) can transform Frank’s life and guide him on the path of sobriety, imagine the transformative potential that leaning on trusted others holds for the rest of us.
There’s only one way to find out: Seek out and experience these loving relationships firsthand. I sincerely hope that you will.
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Healing Conference:
The John Paul II Healing Center in Tallahassee, Fla., is bringing its “Healing the Whole Person” conference, including a “Day of Equipping,” to the Catholic Diocese of Lincoln. Speakers at the conference will include Dr. Bob Schuchts, Sr. Miriam James Heidland and Bart Schuchts.
The “Healing the Whole Person” conference will be April 16-18 at North American Martyrs Church in Lincoln. Online registration is now open.
A separate but complementary event, a “Day of Equipping,” will be held April 17, and requires a separate registration. Online registration is now open.
For more information on both events, visit jpiihealingcenter.org.
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Read more:
'Healing the Whole Person' Q&A with Dr. Bob Schuchts
Identity through the lens of healing by Fr. Ryan Kaup
The power of the Gospel and physical healing by Fr. Ryan Salisbury
Healing the Heart: a priest's journey into the Lord's restoring love by Msgr. Christopher Goodwin
News story: 'Healing the Whole Person' conference coming to Lincoln
