Published in The Greenwich Sentinel on July 8, 2017

The truth is, I worry about our children a lot. When they were younger, I was terrified that they would choke. There was no rational reason, no past choking experience that justified my fear, yet I worried all the same.

The children are older now, and my fear of choking has been replaced by other fears; fears that are not so much paralyzing as they are constant. They are strongest at 1 a.m., when I wake from sleep to eye my alarm clock, somehow aware that at least one of the boys is still out and not safely tucked in bed with the night light on. I worry because of the studies I read, the news I watch and the stories I hear. I worry because I remember what it feels like to be an invincible teenager. But I worry most because of the genetic makeup that I have potentially passed on to our children.

We pass on some wonderful traits; in fact, I was the beneficiary of my fathers’ dimples. Our eldest son got my husband’s people skills and our daughter got his brown eyes. The twins got their height from my family and their book smarts from Scott’s. There are also less attractive traits that we all pass on, like poor math skills and hair loss. But the hardest ones to accept are the ones that can threaten our children’s health, like the breast cancer gene, diabetes or addiction. The latter is what worries me.

We have been in a war against drugs since the 1970’s, spending roughly $51 billion annually, and yet we are losing this war. A current statistic states that the number one killer of those 50 and under is drug overdose. Daily, we read about the loss of life due to opioid overdose. These stories are not about strangers, nameless people in other communities; they are about people that we know in our own neighborhoods. It is personal and devastating.

As devastating as this current epidemic is, it is important to remember that before opioids, there was crack cocaine, and before crack cocaine, there was Valium. Through it all there has been the abuse of alcohol. As Alan Mathis, CEO of Liberation Programs, so eloquently says, “The real question we need to be asking has less to do with the actual drug or the supply and more to do with the demand.”

I was a shy and self-conscious teenager. I was also a perfectionist. I set high standards for myself and worked hard to obtain them. A glass of wine made a cocktail party more fun. I felt social and comfortable and it eased the pressure that I put on myself. The truth is, I was not a wine connoisseur. I can’t even remember if I liked the taste. I drank because the wine gave me something very tangible and I liked the way it made me feel. It worked until it didn’t. I had no idea about our family’s genetic makeup. It was a different generation and less was talked about; more was pushed beneath the Oriental rug. I now know that when we look to a substance outside of ourselves for answers, we are going down a very dangerous path.

There has been a lot written about the various addiction models—what addiction is and how it should be treated. The disease model (or medical model) defines addiction as a chronic, progressive brain disease caused by long-term changes in the brain structure caused by substance abuse. In this model, addiction can be treated, not cured, and abstinence is the only viable option.

Before this model, addiction was considered a moral issue in which addicts were seen as lacking willpower and self-discipline. In this model, addicts pay for their choices. Punishment or incarceration is part of the treatment plan. In the spiritual model, addiction is seen as a spiritual deficit. There is a lack of connection with God or a higher power and treatment is about reestablishing this connection.

Current studies take a deeper look at the social side of addiction. Both the addicted person’s environment and social connections play a key role in recovery; they also play a role in the avoidance of addiction in the first place. What I have found to be true is that there is no one cause for addiction, and therefore there are many ways in which it can be treated and prevented, and we must embrace them all.

I meet a good friend every few weeks for a green drink that we share in the park by the Millpond in Cos Cob. Once a month, I get together with a group of women to discuss a book over dinner. I play squash with another group of women, and I celebrate my birthday with a bunch of “crabs” all born in the month of July. For me, the green drinks, the squash, the books and the crabs are all conduits for connection. I love all of these activities, but really they give me the opportunity for face-to-face, heart-to-heart connection. We are a society riddled with separation—separated by religious and political beliefs and way too much screen time—and these occasions and connections make me happy. Perhaps even more important, they help keep me sober. Addiction is about isolation and alienation, and sobriety is about connection and bonding.

There are many reasons that Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), a 12-step self-help program created by Bill Wilson in 1931, has been successful in helping alcoholics get and remain sober; connection and bonding top that list. AA doesn’t work for everyone, but it has worked for many. AA satisfies many human needs—in the rooms, alcoholics and addicts are brutally honest about their own experiences and yet they are still accepted, faults and all. AA members find purpose through working with other recovering alcoholics or helping with the individual jobs associated with a meeting—making coffee, setting up chairs, or running the meeting. For many members, this may be the first time in a while that the alcoholic feels needed and trusted and depended upon. Many alcoholics who find the rooms of AA feel beaten down and hopeless, but it is nothing short of miraculous to watch a new member connect with others and find sobriety.

We have raised our children alongside some wonderful families. Together we celebrate holidays with BBQ’s. We plan outings on Long Island Sound and go into New York City for shows. Together we have gotten through good times and hard times—arriving on one another’s doorsteps to deliver a dinner or a hug. A while back, we began to notice that one of our friends was drinking a little bit more than the rest. It started out as a few too many drinks at dinner, really no big deal. But then it became a bigger deal and it concerned us. I made a call to our friend at work.

“I am worried about your drinking and I just want you to know that I am here to help or talk. As you know, I get it.”

He replied, “I’m good. If and when I need help, you will be the first I call I make.” Tragically, I am still waiting for the call.

Our attempts to help someone struggling with alcohol or drugs may seem to go unnoticed. Sometimes we do not see the effect of our care. But every time we reach out, it’s like adding a rock to a backpack. The backpack becomes just a little bit heavier, literally weighing down the addict, making his or her use a little bit harder.

For me, it was helpful when a good friend told me to make a list of five goals I wanted to accomplish in the course of a month. At the end of the month, I had accomplished none of them, and it was easy to see that I was stuck while those around me were moving forward. It takes courage to tell someone we are concerned about their drinking or that their drug use is scary. But I remember every person who pushed through their discomfort to reach out to me; in the end, thankfully, the backpack just got too heavy.

The truth is the disease of addiction is both a plague and a blessing. It is painful and genetic and can destroy families and communities and people. But there is also a way out, and that way is worth fighting for. It is our imperfections that make us human, and in turn, we are able to connect more completely to others’ humanness. We understand deeply both friends and strangers going through similar afflictions. We have walked in their shoes. And just maybe we can make a difference or at the very least we can try.

Isn’t it the ripple on the water’s surface that catches the sunlight to reveal a brilliance that might otherwise be missed? With that in mind, I will continue to worry about our children and talk with them about the dangers of alcohol and drugs. It is part of our job description. And in the middle of the night, I will hope that like my own journey, they will find their way home, nightlight on and under the covers of safety.