by Marc on September 3, 2020

Hello readers. Are you still out there? I haven’t gone near my blog for over two months. So no new posts, a few comments dribbling in, and of course not as many readers. Something had to give. Having to sell our house in the Netherlands, buy a house in Toronto, move goods, furniture, children, etc, from Arnhem to Toronto…all the crap you go through in moving, made so much more complicated by the pandemic, having to cancel services and contracts…in Dutch…was just overwhelming. So I took a break from non-essential duties. And that seemed to include the blog.

More than that, I wasn’t sure I had anything new to say about addiction — the science, treatment approaches…anything. I didn’t want to just recycle earlier topics. So my last post, on Internal Family Systems (IFS)  therapy for people in addiction, was looking like my last hurrah. But lately I started thinking I may have more stuff to share. IFS has changed the way I look at almost everything in psychology. It’s changed how I see emotional habits, “dysfunctional” behaviour patterns of all types, and of course the way I understand addiction. I’ve used it pretty methodically with myself — sometimes as an alternative to meditation. And it’s had a major impact on the way I practice psychotherapy.

So, moving on: the next set of posts will apply IFS theory and related ideas to our understanding of addiction — broadly — and find out where that takes us. If you haven’t read my last post — maybe take a look at that first to get the basic idea.

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I was talking with my wife about how common it is for people to feel inauthentic. It’s a big issue for adolescents in particular (that’s her field — adolescent development). Teens are always trying on different styles — different clothes, ways of talking, ways of seeing themselves. Who are they? Straight, gay, or bi — meaning what? — geek or jock, reserved or outgoing, serious or casual? And as they’re trying on these new identities, they often wonder if they’re being fake or real. It’s a big issue.

For people in addiction, the problem of “authenticity” is amplified and extended. We all know that stupid riddle: How can you tell when an addict is lying? His lips are moving. Insulting, of course, but there’s something to it. We addicts do lie. We lie because we don’t think we’re okay. We know that taking drugs is frowned on, to say the least. We lie because we continue to do something that most others disapprove of. Bye mom, I’m off to score some heroin, see you later. It’s just not something you’re going to hear.

My first big lie to my parents seemed necessary. I’d just used the money they’d given me for a winter coat to buy smack. I was 18, and I was anxious, depressed, and very lonely. Heroin helped. Gradually lying became habitual. I lied to romantic partners, parents, relatives, friends, work-mates, bosses — just about everyone — when the necessity arose. Being truthful about being a drug user — seriously? — is sure to invite heaps of social rejection, scorn, contempt, and often, serious consequences for one’s lifestyle and personal safety.

So addicts (I use that word to describe, not to shame) see themselves as inauthentic or untrustworthy. It’s a self-concept we acquire almost seamlessly. That’s not a great foundation for building self-esteem, and self-esteem can be crucial for developing self-care. In fact, seeing ourselves as inauthentic amplifies the shame and self-doubt that got launched in adolescence and boosted by drug use itself. What a drag.

But what if the idea of “being inauthentic” is just wrong. Like a map from the middle ages, what if it’s just totally inaccurate?