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The Connection Between Trauma and Alcohol

Writer's picture: karenmrubinsteinkarenmrubinstein

Updated: Jan 20



Unpacking Trauma and Finding Hope


“For me, alcohol wasn’t just a habit—it was a refuge from the traumas I didn’t know how to face,” I say to a room full of faces, each reflecting a unique struggle. Some are withdrawn, hiding in hoodies like protective armor. Others fidget with anxious fingers or tapping feet. A few stare back with contempt or boredom.


It’s a hard room. But I’ve been in their shoes, so I keep speaking, hoping something I say will stick.


Recently, I’ve been receiving more invitations to share my story at local rehabs in New Jersey and through the iThirst program at Seton Hall University. I try to say “yes” to every request, but today, I needed to refuel for the hectic week ahead. Self-care is vital to my recovery. If I don’t put on my oxygen mask first, I can’t help anyone else.


Helping others means opening up about my past: what rock bottom looked like, the darkness I lived through, and how—with the help of others and divine intervention—I turned my life around. But opening myself up and being honest means revisiting a past I sometimes wish I could leave behind.


Whenever I speak, I remind myself of one goal: to reach even one person who hears my story and give them hope.


My Past: A War Zone of Trauma and Pain


What was my past like? A battlefield of abuse, trauma, and years of residual pain that drove me to dive into a bottle for escape.



I am one of them, carrying layers of trauma that began in my childhood. My home was a battleground with a brutal, narcissistic mother, a distant and angry father, and four much older sisters who belittled, punched, and kicked me. They called me a “mistake,” told me I was “supposed to be a boy,” and made it clear I was an unwelcome disappointment.


What got me through those years was my ability to present a perfect façade. I was the pretty, smart, talented girl who excelled in school. I joined student council, cheered on the sidelines, and appeared to have it all. But inside, I was lonely, frightened, and filled with self-doubt. I was naïve and trusting, with no boundaries—a wounded gazelle, easy prey for predators.


Running from Pain


Believing the world outside my angry home would be kinder, I ran. First to college, then to Los Angeles—as far from New Jersey as I could get. I ran into marriage (thank God I chose my husband, Barry!), to Massachusetts, and finally to rehab, where I stayed for almost half a year - from Memorial Day to Halloween.


Along the way, predators lurked at every turn. I was molested by a high school teacher, later by a medical doctor. I was stalked and narrowly escaped a serial killer. And the most devastating betrayal? Being sexually, emotionally, and psychologically abused by my psychotherapist.


That last betrayal broke me. Trust, in what should have been a safe space, was destroyed. I dove into a bottle and stayed there for 15 years.


Discovering Common Ground


In rehab, I met others whose stories mirrored my own—or were even worse. Through the 12 Steps, I learned a vital lesson: I didn’t need to compare my trauma to anyone else’s. What mattered was that we could all identify with the pain and find connection in our shared journey to wellness.



For alcoholics, drinking isn’t the problem—it’s the solution we’ve used to cope with a deeper problem. And science supports this: trauma changes our brains. In the words of recovery, “A pickle can’t go back to being a cucumber.”


Healing and Helping Others


Almost five years ago, I entered rehab. After unpacking my suitcase in a room shared with two other addicts, I began unpacking my trauma. I started journaling to clear my mind, pouring my pain onto paper. I worked the 12 Steps with another alcoholic who had achieved healthy sobriety. The Steps helped me heal emotionally and spiritually.


I’m still a work in progress, but the healing I’ve found allows me to help others.


I spent years running, hiding, and medicating my pain. I suffered through acute depression, anxiety, sleep disorders, obesity, and alcoholism. Today, I’ve stopped running. With the 12 Steps, support, and the love of my Higher Power, I now live a life of peace, purpose, and freedom.


The Message I Bring


Every time I speak, I carry this message:


It’s been a long, long journey to where I am today. Trauma is part of my story, but it no longer defines me. Healing is possible.


There is hope.


__________________________________________________________________________________




If you’re looking for one-on-one support, I currently offer

transformational coaching for women in recovery.







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"Don't be afraid to hit rock bottom, for there you will find the most perfect soil to grow something new."

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