Beyond the Protector: Addiction, And Not Necessarily The Disease Model

Naazh
Sep 9
3 min read

I was twelve the first time alcohol touched my lips. October of eighth grade. My best friend’s birthday. A Friday night at the movie theatre. Peach Schnapps—the kind of syrupy sweetness that makes you think it’s harmless.

By then, the bullying had been going on for over a year. The nickname that clung to me—sexual, shaming—cut me every time it was spoken. Their laughter poured acid into wounds they couldn’t see. They didn’t know I wanted to die. They didn’t know how much it hurt.

That night, slipping into the end of a row of popular kids, I was desperate to belong. When the schnapps hit my belly, something shifted. For the first time in what felt like forever, the sharp edge of not-fitting-in dulled. I could laugh without bracing for ridicule. I could almost believe I belonged.

I didn’t leave with Mara and the party. I left with the captain of the JV football team and ended up under the bleachers, making out while the night pressed in around us. Mara was upset when I finally showed up at her house, but I didn’t care. I had discovered something astonishing.

Alcohol was a magic potion. A firefighter protector rushing in, carrying me out of the burning building of shame and fear. It promised connection. It promised relief. It made me feel, for a fleeting moment, like I wasn’t odd or broken. That night, alcohol became a protector.

Addiction as Protector

That’s the thing about addiction. From the outside, it looks like weakness, self-indulgence, a lack of willpower. But from the inside, it feels like rescue. Addiction is not the enemy—it is a protector.

In Internal Family Systems language, addiction is a firefighter part. It rushes in when the flames of shame, fear, or loneliness feel unbearable. It says, Here, take this. You’ll survive this moment. Alcohol, food, pills, shopping, sex, screens, or even attention—it doesn’t matter. The point is not pleasure, but survival.

And it works. For a while. The exile inside grows quiet. The nervous system softens. The body feels like it can breathe.

But what saved us also binds us. The same protector that shields us also chains us.

Addiction as Vulnerability

There’s another truth we rarely name: addiction makes us vulnerable. If alcohol is your addiction, peer pressure becomes a leash. If attention is your addiction, love bombing becomes a trap. If work is your addiction, capitalism will exploit you until you collapse.

What begins as protection can end as captivity.

Connection as Medicine

The work of healing is not just about putting down the drink, the phone, or the credit card. It is about turning toward the exile that the protector has been shielding—the wounded part that still believes belonging must be earned, worth must be proved, or visibility must be grasped for.

When we tend to those exiles, the protector can finally rest. And when the protector rests, we are free to live not in survival mode, but in connection.

The antidote to addiction is not punishment. It is connection—authentic, steady, rooted connection. With Self. With safe others. With Spirit. With the land that holds us.

Im working on this series—Beyond the Protector—and will explore a number of addictions in turn. Each post will braid together story, maybe some reflection questions, and nature practices. Because healing is not about cutting pieces of ourselves away—it’s about listening, tending, and remembering that we are already whole.

Here’s the first set…

🌱 Reader Prompts

What was your very first experience with “protection” through an addictive behavior or substance? How did it make you feel safe, connected, or less alone?
Which protector do you notice showing up most often in your life today—alcohol, food, attention, work, something else?
What part of you (your exile) is this protector trying to shield?
How has your protector both helped you survive and, at times, left you vulnerable?

🌲 Nature Practice

Find a quiet outdoor place—a tree, a riverbank, even a patch of sky. Sit or stand in stillness. Notice what is holding you: the ground, the air, the roots, the water.

Take three slow breaths. On each inhale, imagine calling back a part of yourself that has been exiled or hidden. On each exhale, imagine setting down the burden your protector has been carrying for you.

Ask softly: What part of me is longing to be tended to?

Stay long enough to hear even the smallest whisper of response.