Addicts are masters of defense. We defend parts of our psyche that have been harmed and have not recovered. We, in turn, defend our addictions, which feel like integral parts of who we are and seem wholly necessary for our well-being, or even for our survival.
All forms of addiction, arguably, have similar roots of trauma, unresolved loss, and grief, combined with possible genetic predispositions. I am a sex and love addict—a term sometimes met with puzzlement or even disbelief. Being a sex addict involves compulsive and problematic fantasies and/or sexual behaviour; being a love addict involves attaching fundamental parts of your identity to other individuals, and feeling empty or worthless without a particular person.
Our defense strategies, wherein we hide many of our thoughts, feelings, and behaviours, are ultimately maladaptive attempts to feel okay. Defensiveness may feel like a strength, but it’s actually a weakness.
When we defend—even just in part—our thoughts and feelings to everyone, and do not allow anyone to see or know us fully, we alienate ourselves from others, and lack the closeness necessary for thriving.
When we defend our behaviours, not allowing others—or even ourselves—to have the full picture of how we go through life day to day, we deny the possibility of untangling ourselves from unhealthy behaviours. We might watch porn every day—for hours!—but no one knows. Thus, we remain trapped in the soul-sucking and shame-inducing behaviour.
When we become defensive in conflicts, or when others express concern for us or hurt over something we have done, we avoid the possibility of becoming closer to others and changing our painful relationship patterns. Lashing out at others in anger, denial, lying, shutting down, projecting, blaming, self-pity, or willful misunderstanding are all forms of defensiveness.
Even defending our beliefs and opinions without being open to new and better ones, or at least to the notion that ours might be incomplete, is—in my opinion—a profound weakness found in many human beings, whether or not they identify as addicts.
In my own journey through addiction recovery, I have seen and felt the authentic inner power that comes from laying down my defenses. I do not hide my thoughts and feelings. This doesn’t mean I tell everyone everything, but some individuals know the whole story. I do not hide my addictive behaviours. When I act out addictively, I tell trusted recovery friends. When someone is upset with me, or even labels me in a way I find difficult to hear—impatient, invalidating, pushy—I take time to feel my feelings and then consider if there may be some truth to what they’re saying.
Laying down my defenses has been—and still is—the most difficult practice I have ever undertaken, and I certainly don’t achieve any level of perfection with it. It feels positively terrifying at times, and it can be extraordinarily painful. But the pain does not last. The fear does not last.
This is the way of healing. We must be willing to give up defensiveness if we wish to recover from addiction, heal ourselves and our relationships, and, ultimately, live within more peaceful and functional families, communities, and societies.