Closeness is a Spiritual Gift between People, Not between Us and Material Things

“If you were raised in a family where closeness was not a reality, you are much more prone to form an addictive relationship for two reasons: first, you were taught to distance yourself from people, not connect with them; second, growing up in this type of family left you with a deep, lonely emptiness that you’ve wanted to have filled.”

Craig Nakken, The Addictive Personality

I grew up in a family that was emotionally and physically distant. In many ways we were like six separate people living in the same house. We were more like strangers than a family. We greeted each other in passing, but we rarely made attempts to do much with each other. Sure, we knew each other’s temperaments, and we definitely knew how to push each other’s buttons, how to evoke drama and invent chaos.

We also knew how to hide from each other. We only talked when necessary and we shared—on an emotional level-- no more than we had to, mostly out of fear of abandonment. I was too afraid to reveal to my parents or siblings who I really was.

There were various reasons for this. First, my parents never set the example. They rarely shared anything at all about who they truly were inside. They never talked about their pasts, about what life was like when they were growing up, about their loves and hopes. And they never shared where they were emotionally in any given moment. They kept everything tightly inside themselves.

So I learned to do the same. It was safer not to open up and talk. I learned early on that vulnerability led to rejection, often in the form of shaming. So I kept to myself as a means of keeping safe from emotional harm.

To make matters worse, emotional distance ran parallel to physical distance, meaning we never hugged, kissed or touched in any way. There was a definite Puritan sort of mentality that my mother owned. She was very physically reserved, very prim and proper, very Victorian. Of course this type of physical distancing lent itself nicely to the emotional distancing I grew-up experiencing. The combined withdrawal of emotional and physical intimacy that I experienced from my parents, however, led me to believe that I was somehow not deserving of love in any way. Ultimately, I grew to feel completely unlovable.

Growing up in this atmosphere taught me that “things” were safer than people. I could love things and they made me feel better without having to love me back. There was no way to meet my emotional needs through family relations, so material relations became important. I eventually built a primary relationship with my record player and constantly felt the need to buy new records. As I progressed through grade school, my primary relationship switched off at times to food, especially candy.

So buying records or CDs and eating sugary foods became my primary means of filling up the emotional emptiness that developed from being lonely for personal relationships with other people. I longed for relationships with others. I always wanted best friends and I wanted a lover who would become a spouse. But I really wanted those people to rescue me from myself. And this deep-seated neediness to be rescued drove most everyone away.

In recovery, I’ve learned the importance of both emotional and physical vulnerability. I’ve learned that I first have to be vulnerable with myself by opening up to me and accepting as well as loving me as best as I can. And certainly I’ve learned that I am lovable—as is everyone.

I’ve also learned that I need to be open emotionally and physically with others, too. My inner-emptiness is filled through my own self-love and it is complimented by the love of others. And this happens in a sustaining way; one that is nurtured through continual love of self and others.

Recovery teaches us that relationships with “things” are never fulfilling. Such relationships can never fill-up our emotional needs for human connection. Nor can they fulfill our spiritual needs.