A physician’s journey into healing

I am a very grateful member of the worldwide fellowship of Al-Anon. I am also a psychiatrist. The alcoholics in my life include my father, a brother, and many others.

I was familiar with the family disease of alcoholism as a clinician and in my personal psychotherapy for years before I stepped into the rooms of Al-Anon.

My childhood was colored dramatically by my father’s mental illness and alcoholism.  He was a terrifying figure at times, pathetic at others. I wanted to love him, but it was so hard.

There was neglect of my four siblings and me, sporadic violence, sexual abuse by a grandparent, my father’s premature death—so many of the tragic things that accompany this terrible family disease.

My mother was anxious, steeped in denial, emotionally inaccessible, and ever concerned about “what would the neighbors think?” My roles were that of the good child, the caretaker, the peacemaker, and the family hero.

I recall around age nine getting into the middle of a physical altercation between my parents, trying to protect my mother. What would the neighbors think?  I mastered looking good while feeling bad—worthless and flawed.

While blessed by a church home that provided some structure, nurture, and positive role models, I never felt like I really belonged anywhere. I felt if others really knew me, they would despise me, as I despised myself.

I excelled at school. My perfectionism was rewarded. I was thrilled to leave for college and escape my family. I did well in college and proceeded to medical school. I really didn’t plan to go into psychiatry, but I got so much praise and encouragement from my supervisors in this area, it seemed like what I should do. I was a natural. Well of course I was; I’d been in training my entire life!

I married, completed my psychiatry training, and became a mother, juggling multiple roles and never feeling I was doing any one of them well enough.

Years passed. I struggled with depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, and marital challenges. I was in individual therapy for many years, and couples therapy for my two marriages to rigid, self-absorbed men with little to give emotionally. 

In my psychotherapy, I gained insight, learned valuable skills, and had the steady, caring presence of a wonderful therapist. A lot of healing occurred. I evolved from victim to survivor. I began trying to shed some old roles and try some new ones. I tried ever so hard to be the kind of parent I wished I’d had, and to provide a stable home for my children. 

But then my younger brother’s divorce and downhill spiral into the depths of alcohol and drug addiction brought back intense feelings of guilt. I thought I should not have gone to college, but stayed home instead to take care of him—that somehow I could have and should have protected him.

I felt guilty for being the one who somehow escaped. It was at this point that I turned to The Forum; it served as a good anchor for me. I welcomed its arrival each month and read it cover to cover.

I was comforted to remember that “I didn’t cause it, I can’t control it, and I can’t cure it.” 

I considered going to a meeting, but I was too scared and too proud. What if I saw someone I knew? What if I saw one of my patients?

As a psychiatrist shouldn’t I be expected to figure it all out for myself and for those I loved?  Wouldn’t others think less of me? Wouldn’t I think less of myself if I couldn’t do it alone, without help? 

During the holiday season, my brother went to jail for his second DWI in a matter of months. There was a flurry of family activity about what to do to help him.

I was trying to be detached, but the family dynamic was forming a vortex that was threatening to pull me in. I feared that—alone—I couldn’t resist the pull. I needed a meeting and I knew it. I confided in a friend who was kind enough to go with me to my first Al-Anon meeting.

I remember feeling that I’d found my real family—a family that hadn’t been present with me in my home, but they’d been there. We spoke the same language. They really understood what I’d been through and how I was struggling. They welcomed, even encouraged me, to share about my experience. And I was received with compassion and love that I didn’t have to earn. I was no longer alone. 

And yes, I did see people that I knew from other settings. They welcomed me. I ran into two former patients at meetings over the course of several months, and it was okay. In Al-Anon, we share as equals. I don’t have to be a perfect anything in these rooms, not a perfect daughter, sister, mother, wife, doctor, or Sponsor—just perfectly human. 

Three years into working the Al-Anon program, I find I am healthier emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I now try to care for myself well, as well as care for others. My relationships with my Higher Power, myself, and others are healthier.

As a result of my Fourth Step work, I have some genuine pride rather than a proud façade. I’m more able to see my strengths and accomplishments as well as my flaws. I am more open and honest with myself and those close to me.

I can better separate what I want for myself from what others want from me. I’ve gone from feeling like a weary survivor to feeling like a worthy human being actively engaged in my life. It’s been an amazing journey, one I look forward to continuing.

I tell my patients that I’m a big fan of Twelve Step programs and regularly recommend them.

There is an element of profound healing in these rooms that I have not experienced or witnessed elsewhere.

By Anonymous, North Carolina
The Forum, May 2010

© Al-Anon Family Group Headquarters, Inc. 2010. All Rights Reserved.