The ACOA Trauma Syndrome

by Tian Dayton, Ph. D.

  Length and Severity of the Stressor

  The cumulative effect of childhood toxic stress is part of what gives the ACoA trauma syndrome teeth. And though toxic stressors are common throughout society, some are more devastating than others. When CoAs move into adulthood with a history of childhood trauma, they are more vulnerable to being traumatized as adults (Krystal 1968).

  Lack of Access to Support Outside the Family

  Children feel trapped by their families through both the bonds of love and attachment and the natural dependency of childhood. Generally speaking, the more dysfunctional a family becomes, the more isolated it becomes from other families. Children who have access to sources of support can be helped to build resilience that reduces the sense of being trapped and allows them to feel as if they can do something to help themselves.

  Sensory Nature of the Stressor

  The more senses that are involved and attached to experience, the more the brain and limbic system absorb and remember it. First responders at Ground Zero on 9/11 were more likely to become symptomatic because of the amount of sensory input they experienced; they saw, smelled, heard, touched, and tasted the scene and experienced powerful emotions of horror, disgust, fear, and compassion.

  Home is a highly sensorial environment full of smells, sounds, touch, tastes, and imagery. What happens in the home is absorbed deeply into the brain and body.

  False-Self Functioning

  When we discover that being who we are does not get us what we need, we may learn to be who we aren’t. When parents are not curious about their children’s genuine feelings, giving them help in understanding them, children become less curious about their own feelings (Cozolino 2006). They may begin a pattern of hiding their authentic selves in favor of developing a self that is acceptable to the family.

  Children with narcissistic parents may develop a false self around gratifying the needs and expectations of their narcissistic parents; they learn that to stay connected, parental needs and wants have to remain the primary focus. Addiction can mirror narcissism in that the needs of the addict become a primary ­concern.

  The more fearful the family is of being “exposed,” the less space there is for honest reactions. Honesty carries with it a tacit call to action, a call to come out of hiding and uncover problems. If the family does not want to do this, children need to come up with a way to stay connected that does not challenge the acceptable status quo, essentially presenting a ”normal” family face to the world rather than allowing the chinks in the family armor to be revealed.

  For CoAs, this may even feel like a clever solution to a very pressing problem. We may contort parts of our personality to “fit in” or to “get points” so that we can remain part of the family as it sees itself. If we step out and begin to point out inconsistencies, lies, and deceptions, we are telling the system it needs to change. We risk becoming the bad guy.

  The real danger lies not in creating a mask or false self; we all do this to some extent or another. It’s natural to cultivate a false self for social or professional reasons or even for protection, but CoAs may spend so much time functioning within these parameters that their sense of authenticity becomes compromised. The sad outcome, however, is that the false self becomes so

  well-constructed and adaptable—or garners so much acceptance, approval, or even power within the family that spawned it—that eventually the true self becomes lost to us (Horney 1950). We hide our true self so effectively that even we can’t find it. The false self is meant to absorb or take the pain that the child finds too overwhelming. The false self is largely unconscious.

  This false self is also sometimes seen as the “idealized self” (Horney 1950). We construct a version of self that is better, stronger, and more able to cope, a self that is less easily wounded or made anxious. We may even come to idealize our particular solution—for example, bullying becomes strength or manipulation becomes cleverness. The false self steps in like an actor on a stage, hiding our stammering and insecurity under a smoke screen of well-modulated behavior or disguising our anger and envy beneath a syrupy smile. The family payoff can be great. Because this self is essentially constructed to meet the needs of the family and make the system work, we can get a lot of recognition and even control through playing the role well, the role that the family has written.

  But the more time we spend functioning through a false self, the more underexplored the authentic self becomes. Like a muscle that atrophies from lack of use, the authentic self does not get the practice in living and interacting that would allow it to strengthen and grow. So even though the false self is meant to protect the more vulnerable self, it actually has the effect of weakening it. When people who have become dependent on false-self functioning go into therapy or enter a 12-step program, they can go through a period of feeling very vulnerable and shaky because they are removing their coping strategy and exposing the pain underneath it. But over time, new healthy emotional habits get created, and new ways of healthy coping get practiced and adopted.

  THREE

  Family Dynamics:

  Living in Two Worlds

  “I have come to suspect that life itself may be a spiritual practice. The process of daily living seems able to refine the quality of our humanity over time. There are many people whose awakening to larger realities comes through the experiences of ordinary life, through parenting, through work, through friendship, through illness, or just in some elevator somewhere.”

  —Rachael Naomi Remen

  In a home where what is abnormal becomes the norm and what is normal can seem increasingly elusive, one learns not to be surprised by anything. The rules and routines in an alcoholic family are constantly in an unpredictable state of flux—that is, the same behavior that gets you applause one day gets you grounded the next. Identities, roles, and relationships can be unstable. They shift based on the moods and needs of the parent rather than the needs of the developing children or the family as a whole. CoAs live in two worlds, and the thinking, feeling, and behavior for each world can be radically different. For example, while Dad is on a binge, Mom and Lisa get so close. Mom leans on Lisa to help her with Danny, and Lisa and Mom become ­confidants and best buddies. Lisa shares Mom’s thoughts, worries, and interests. Lisa feels important and needed and elevated above kid status. Danny gets to run a little wild when Dad isn’t calling him on his behavior. Mom is “easier” and he gets away with more.

  But when Dad sobers up, Mom and Dad get close again, and Lisa is now treated like a child. Suddenly Mom is telling her to do her homework and clean her room. And when Lisa asks Mom the same kinds of questions she asks when Dad’s drinking, Mom shuts the door and tells her to mind her own business. Danny comes to Lisa for company and she doesn’t even mind all that much; in fact, she comes to rely on his needing her—he helps to fill the now vacant space so she isn’t so lonely.

  Another scenario is when Mom is drunk. She spends most of her time in her bedroom, so the kitchen—usually a part of her domain—feels suddenly empty. But available. Charlie and Betsey can do almost anything they want during the day when Dad’s at work. They have the run of the house; they pick up groceries “for Mom” and add cigarettes and beer whenever they feel like it. And they can smoke and drink in the basement because Mom never comes out of her room. And Dad spends more time at the office.

  But when Mom gets sober for a week or two or three, suddenly the house feels completely different. No more beer or cigarettes, and credit card purchases are checked out.

  Then there is the scenario of the functioning alcoholic, the one whose cocktail hour is sacrosanct, the one who has learned just how much drinking he or she can get away with during the week, on the weekends, and over family vacations. Or the pot smoker whose family feels like life doesn’t quite get started, or the cocaine user whose behavior is erratic and scary and changeable. Maybe Dad exercises just enoug
h, eats just enough, and socializes just enough to ameliorate some of the negative effects of daily alcohol. He has the family well trained to not talk about how frustrated or worried they are, how Dad’s health issues are cropping up, or how his time with the family just feels sort of . . . affected. These more hidden forms of addiction can be very hard on family members. Their perception that something is off or missing is never validated, and they are left to doubt themselves, which leads to anxiety.

  When a substance or compulsive behavior rules family dynamics, family gravity gets thrown off kilter: sometimes it pulls too hard and we can’t escape; sometimes it barely holds us in place. Kids learn to manoeuver in and out of their parents’ moods, which rule the atmosphere, so CoAs become parentified children—little caretakers who from a young age learn how to manage problem adults. Or they have to develop a premature “independence” before they are ready and they do not learn how to reach out and get help with their normal developmental problems. And they can feel helpless and despondent, unable to do anything that can really lead to their family getting better, happier, or safer. CoAs develop a sixth sense of when to hide, when to run, and when to hurl themselves straight into the breach and bring their parent—who is whirling out of control—back from wherever they have gone. They become little soldiers of fortune—determined, committed, and filled with zealous love—but their battleground is the home where they live, and the fortune they seek is a smile and warm touch from a depressed mother, the goodness and strength returning to their drunk father, or the magic of a quiet evening at home just being, hanging out, and doing lots of sweet, normal nothing.

  CoAs who repeatedly find themselves “alone” to manage situations that they experience as difficult or confusing may learn some bad lessons, and miss learning some good ones. These lessons may include:

  • Emotional hiding: They learn to hide what they are really ­feeling.

  • Unconscious emotional defenses: They learn not to feel,

  to numb out, or to split off/dissociate from pain.

  • Semiconscious defenses: They learn to minimize, deny,

  or intellectualize problems rather than deal with them openly and directly.

  • Projection of feelings: They learn to make their pain about someone or something else, just as their parent does.

  • Relational fear or mistrust: They learn that love, need,

  and dependency can lead to pain.

  The good lessons CoAs may not learn include:

  • How to regulate their emotions by translating feelings into words and talking them out rather than acting them out.

  • How to move away from feeling helpless, frightened, and overwhelmed and toward feeling re-empowered, centered, and balanced without self-medicating.

  • How to work things out with another person in healthy ways so both people get to feel good again.

  CoAs may also develop unusual strengths at an early age. The good lessons CoAs may learn include:

  • How to manage frightening situations and keep their cool.

  • How to have compassion for the suffering of others.

  • How to tolerate pain and fear and continue to mush

  on in spite of the pain and fear in their own lives.

  • How to be self-reliant and take bold action on behalf

  of themselves and others.

  • How to come up with creative solutions to problems.

  • How to trust their own “guts” and follow their own instincts.

  • How to see the silver lining in a situation.

  • How to reach out to others for help and support.

  • That life can be challenging and disappointing but

  still wonderful.

  ACoAs can be remarkably creative and interesting people; managing unmanagability from such a young age helps them develop some serious competence at it. They know a lot about plowing through and doing what needs to be done and coming up with original and unusual strategies to get things accomplished, and they can have a pretty side-splitting sense of humor while doing it. Additionally, ACoAs who learn to forgive and trust again have a kind of acceptance about life that is inspiring and motivating. One that can lead to deep happiness and ­vitality.

  ACOA Survey: Positive and Negative

  ACoA-related Qualities

  Following is a graph representing the choices made in a survey of 333 self-identified ACoAs. The bars on this survey represent the top ten characteristics (both negative and positive) ACoAs identified with the most in order of identification. This survey represents a random sampling of people who elected to take it. The population was drawn from readers of my blog on ­Huffington Post, Recovery View, and from my own students and clients in recovery. The survey was entirely anonymous; no personal identification was recorded.

  Part II:

  Neurobiology of the ACoA Trauma Syndrome

  “You did not ask to be born, but you are here. You have weaknesses as well as strengths. You have both because in life there is two of everything. Within you is the will to win, as well as the willingness to lose. Within you is the heart to feel compassion as well as the smallness to be arrogant. Within you is the way to face life as well as the fear to turn away from it. . . .

  Being strong means taking one more step toward the top of the hill, no matter how weary you may be. It means letting the tears flow through the grief. It means to keep looking for the answer, though the darkness of despair is all around you. Being strong means to cling to hope for one more heartbeat, one more sunrise. Each step, no matter how difficult, is one more step closer to the top of the hill. To keep hope alive for one more heartbeat at a time leads to the light of the next sunrise, and the promise of a new day. The weakest step toward the top of the hill, toward sunrise, toward hope, is stronger than the fiercest storm. Keep going.”

  A Lakota Sioux grandfather to his grandson

  from Keep Going: The Art of Perseverance by Joseph M. Marshall III

  FOUR

  Breaking Trust:

  Stress and Rupture

  in Family Bonds

  What you leave behind is not what is engraved on stone monuments

  but what is woven into the lives of others.

  —Pericles

  Love and attachment are the primary forces that ensure life; without these powerful mind/body drives, none of us would be here. How we learn to love in our early relationships forms the template for how we love throughout our lives.

  Much of our brain and neurological development takes place outside of the womb after birth and continues throughout childhood through the parent/child relationship. The endless tiny communications and collaborations between parent and child, each cuddle and coo, actually shapes our brains and our nervous systems. Children do not have the capacity to regulate their own emotions but depend on an “external regulator,” such as the parent, to woo them back to a sense of balance when they become distressed (Greenspan 2000). When a child becomes agitated, she has an inborn instinct to reach for her parent to lift her up and rock her back into a state of regulation, to soothe her stressed little nervous system, and help her to restore emotional balance.

  “The child’s first relationship, the one with the mother or father, acts as a template, as it permanently molds the individual’s capacities to enter into all later emotional relationships,” says Alan Schore, assistant clinical professor in the Department of Psychiatry and Biobehavioral Sciences at the UCLA School of Medicine (Schore 1991). As the parent interacts with the child, the child learns the skills of relating and self-regulation.

  According to Schore, when the portions of the brain responsible for attachment and emotional control are not sufficiently stimulated during infancy because the infant is neglected, these sections of the brain will not develop properly. This can result in a child who is impulsive, emotionally unattac
hed, or possibly even violent. The sensitivity and responsiveness of a parent actually stimulates and shapes the nerve connections in key sections of the brain responsible for closeness, attachment, emotional regulation, and well-being.

  How We Absorb and Develop

  Skills of Self-Regulation

  Discussions on parenting these days circulate less around what parents do to children and more around how parents are with them. The “space” between parent and child is what really counts. Sound emotional and psychological development are now understood to be related to the quality of the connectedness, attunement, and continuous interaction between the child and his or her primary caretakers. “Our nervous systems,” says scientist Daniel Stern, “are constructed to be captured by the nervous systems of others, so that we can experience others as if from within their skin” (Stern 2010). This is our biological basis for empathy and emotional connection. Nature designed us to have this emotional attunement so that we can fit into the clan effectively and efficiently picking up on signals from those around us, adjusting our behavior and adapting it accordingly.

  A baby’s head is far too large to make it through a mother’s pelvis at birth; consequently, much of our brain growth (and hence brain/body neurological growth) takes place outside the womb throughout infancy and childhood. Children are born into this world only partially hardwired by nature for self-regulation; nurture does the rest. Through each tiny, soothing interaction with caregivers, children absorb the skills of self-regulation from their mothers and fathers and internalize them as their own. Children internalize and incorporate regular routines, a calm environment, and a soothing touch and voice, and all of these sense experiences sink into the child’s limbic system and their body clock. Through the acquisition of these actual experiences of self regulation, a child is able to learn to regulate their emotions and other basic functions such as mood, appetite, libido, sleep, motivation, and capacity for bonding. These skills of emotional/self-regulation are what allow us to move from extremes in thinking, feeling, and behavior toward balance in all of these areas. (Schore 1994).