Yesterday I went to a friend's wedding via Zoom. He was in my home group but he moved away recently and we haven't been in touch, until he came back for his wedding and sent me an invite. He was a good recovery buddy, and we had some good talks in the past, revealing intimate details about our insecurities and parts of the addiction you don't feel comfortable sharing with many people. If I had something I really didn't want to share, something I felt particularly troubled about, that I wanted to hash out, I went to him.
Maybe we shared the same fear that our addiction and the thoughts and behaviors that occur within it made us unlovable, and so it was nice to hear someone on the other end of the phone say "oh, that happens to me too." Usually one or the other of us would think it was no big deal, or one would have an answer that the other sought, and it felt nice to have these fears and insecurities validated, and most of the time we wound up laughing about them.
I never felt at a wedding the way I felt watching him get married. I've never felt inspired by a wedding. I've always felt cynical. I guess it's different when it's someone you know really well and care about, vs a cousin you haven't spoken to in twenty years. I felt inspired by it and I knew what a wedding was for: it signified the start of something - two people committing to living their lives together, and celebrating that with the people they love, reinforcing that commitment with love and support around them.
I actually thought the bride looked beautiful, and it reminded me what's really important and valuable. Life's not about becoming something worthwhile via relentless self improvement, trying to make oneself perfect so that a perfect partner will turn up. It's about experiencing love by understanding oneself as a vulnerable and imperfect being. In other words, love doesn't come without vulnerability, and vulnerability gets a bad rap in our society but being vulnerable requires great strength. It requires great strength to risk having one's need met, and to be willing to love others and accept the pain that often comes with it.
I watched Iron Claw last night on Max and I think Zac Efron's character Kevin Von Erich embodies this perfectly. He's a wrestler with great physical strength, but it's his emotional strength that's really impressive, and the wrestling he does outside the ring that makes him who he is. In the movie (SPOILER ALERT!), he loses all his brothers. He deals with rejection from his mother who doesn't want to support him, and a father for whom he will never be good enough, and yet, he's still able to show up for his wife, and eventually his children. Somehow, he doesn't pass on his trauma. He does what is right for himself and his life, selling his father's failing business that was given to him, despite immense pressure not to, so he can buy a ranch for his family. He deals with tremendous heartbreak, losing 4 brothers, one at a time, two by suicide. He deals with being loved, and the responsibility and family that eventually come with it. And he does all this without criticism, blame, or judgment.
In the movie, Kevin's father is a severe and ambitious character who pursues his dreams of wrestling stardom through his sons, whom he openly ranks by favoritism right in front of them, making them compete for his love. They come from a family with stereotypical gender roles, where the mother is expected to cook and clean while the father earns a living, and yet, Kevin doesn't expect this of his wife, or even himself, she becoming a vet while he stays home and takes care of the kids. How he's able to not pass on these traumas is truly remarkable, especially in the face of such great loss where the pressure to conform to his father's wishes would intensify with the death of each son. The death of each son, however, is viewed in some way, rightly or not, as the father's fault, and so the bonds of generational trauma are broken by each brother that passes, and not just Kevin. In a sense, they pass on their strength to him. We rarely do anything alone. Maybe the father even had a role, maybe he played it perfectly.
The real kicker comes at the end of the movie, when Kevin is in the yard, sitting cross-legged, almost in meditation, crying as he watches his two young sons play football. One of them notices their father crying and runs over and sits in his lap and asks him "what's wrong dad?" Kevin, still crying says "I'm sorry boys, I shouldn't let you see me like this." And the boys say "what do you mean dad, we cry all the time. It's ok to cry." And he looks at them and smiles, still weeping, acknowledging their wisdom, and they ask, "do you know what you're sad about?" and rather than demurring, he says "well, I guess I'm sad because I used to be a brother, but I'm not anymore." And the boys look him in the eyes and see him and say, "we'll be your brothers dad," and the younger brother, mimicking his older brother repeats what he said, "ya, we'll be your brothers dad." And Kevin looks at them both and smiles, and pulls them close, and they rest their heads on his shoulders, and Kevin says, "c'mon," and rouses them up, and as a family they start to play football together.
It's a very touching scene where you can see the bonds of generational trauma breaking. Strength here is everywhere, but modeling vulnerability for his children allows them to reveal their wisdom, and allows him ultimately to be supported, and the family comes together through love rather than fear. This is what healthy bonding looks like and the courage it takes to create it. It's something so simple that can be made so difficult. I love, too, that the boys inherently know how to deal with grief. By saying "we'll be your brothers" it allows him to let go of the past and focus on what's present, or rather, to keep the past in perspective because, while that is gone, this is here now. You may have lost a lot, but don't let that cloud your vision of all you have. This is effectively an abundance mindset and the boys know it well, they're born with it.
I suppose I found this so important because the way Kevin lives seems to me the opposite of how the addiction manifests in my life, and he models what I need in order to take the next steps, namely, courage.
See, life isn't easy. No one's going to do it for you. No one's going to save me. There's nothing or no one that are going to make me happy. I have to live my life for myself, based on what I want, and not what I think others want for me. I have to speak my mind, stand up for myself and what I believe in. I have to tell others when I don't like what they're doing and, most of all, I have to be willing to experience pain. Perhaps that becomes easier when you believe you're supported. Where did Kevin's strength come from? His brothers. And when he lost them, his family. Where does my strength come from? Can I rely on others, on my Higher Power to help me get through? I can't do it all on my own, and the belief that I am doing it alone or that I have to cripples me. That is my addiction. The SLAA preamble states that one of the ways we "counter the destructive consequences of our addiction" is by our capacity to "reach out for the supportive fellowship within SLAA." This is just one of the ways recovery requires the strength of learning how to be vulnerable, and rely on others, learning how to let go of the notion that strength comes from not showing any pain, learning how to cry, and learning how to let our children see it. For addiction, the ability to say "I need help," is the beginning of a life long journey in getting it.
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