Coffee: Gateway to Heroin
Useful Psychology Teaches Us ‘How to Think,’ Not ‘What to Think’
The problem with Nancy Reagan’s ‘Just say No’ anti-drug program was that the focus was on blind obedience. This method works well with children still in the ‘concrete thinking’ stage of development, but does not fly once adolescence hits and the person starts to question authority. Follow-up surveys on the effectiveness of anti-drug use programs with fifth graders show that children who go through the program are more likely to ‘say no’ when offered drugs when they are twelve. The percentage of kids who actually use drugs once they reach high school is unchanged by the teaching.
Of course, the program is still funded because it makes us feel like we’re doing something about the problem and that’s better than not doing anything–at least it feels better to those of us doing the programs. Again, the problem with the program is that it doesn’t call on participants to evaluate the facts and make decisions based on their own best thinking.
The Problem with Programs Based on Blind Obedience
Mostly, I’m the ridiculous one in my stories and for good reason. However the learning incident at the exclusive treatment center—one of the many addiction hospitals that popped up in the eighties and sucked up whatever coverage insurance companies once paid for emotional disorders, then disappeared—was an exception. Or at least I don’t think my position was ridiculous, but I’ll let you decide.
The Expensive Treatment Center Small Group Incident
As a responsible member in a clan of really nice relatives I attended family night an exclusive ‘hospital’ where a family member was a patient. I was assigned to the group for relatives of the ‘addict’ but not part of the nuclear family–aunts, uncles, and grandparents–the ‘peripheral members’ group. I was interested in hearing some ideas on how I could be helpful in the situation.
Once we were in a circle the facilitator told us the addiction disease story which included inaccuracies regarding marijuana and colorful hints of the ‘sex addiction epidemic’ peeking over the horizon. I managed to numb my brain. I would go along if supporting my family meant accepting mythology over facts—at least for one night. I would fix my face on ‘curious’ and say nothing. Unfortunately, the Sincere Group Leader had greater hopes for me.
She instructed us to introduce ourselves to the others in the circle by stating our profession and a substance, relationship, or activity we might be addicted to.
At my turn, as a cooperative peripheral family member, I fessed up: “Psychologist, coffee.”
So far, so good. But then the facilitator had a second assignment. No doubt fooled into thinking that, as a psychologist, I’d know the routine and provide the appropriate kick off, she turned to me first.
Sincere Group Leader: “Barbara, you are here because you want to support the sobriety of your family member, right?”
Peripheral Family Member: “Yes, of course.”
Sincere Group Leader: “Since you want to support your family will you commit to this group that you will defeat your addiction?”
Peripheral Family Member: “My what?”
Disappointment washed over her enthusiastic face. But she didn’t give up on me. She leaned forward as if I was a long lost friend she’d just recognized.
Sincere Group Leader: “Yes. You’ve admitted your addiction. That’s the first step.”
Peripheral Family Member: “You want me to give up ca-ca-coffee?” I felt like a fish without gills floundering in a fishbowl, the faces of the others pressed against the glass. The intelligent side of me begged: Leave it alone, DeShong, go along, it will be over soon. The rebellious over-emotional defensive part screamed: This is nuts. Reality is at stake.
Sincere Group Leader: “Again, will you, this very night, for your family, give up your addiction to coffee?”
Peripheral Family Member: “Well, no.” I said a little inside prayer that the Sincere Group Leader would sense my emotional instability and move along. But no.
Sincere Group Leader: “Why not?”
I should carry a roll of duct tape at all times. A patch of duct tape over my mouth would keep me from splattering my uninvited opinions and indicate that I was definitely unstable.
Peripheral Family Member: “Because coffee is not a danger to my health, my drinking it doesn’t hurt anyone, and coffee improves my morning performance. For me to swear off coffee would communicate to my family member that reality is not all that important. That a ‘gesture’ is more important than sincere change.”
Sincere Group Leader: “You admitted yourself that coffee is an addiction for you. A disease.”
Peripheral Family Member: “Well, I, uh . . . I’m not sure I have a coffee disease.”
Sincere Group Leader: “You’re not? Well, what would you do if coffee was suddenly not available?”
Peripheral Family Member: “Well . . . I uh . . .” Oh how I wished I’d thought of the duct tape solution before I’d agreed to attend the meeting.
Sincere Group Leader: “See, that’s the stammer of an addict right there. You admit that if you didn’t have a coffee stash, you would be upset, right?”
Peripheral Family Member: “Definitely, but the economies of Latin America and Ethiopia would be even more troubled.”
Sincere Group Leader: “But you admit . . .”
Peripheral Family Member: “What I admit is that I want my family to make informed decisions, not blindly accept what other people say even when they have initials with their names. And for me to give up coffee . . .”
Wisely, the facilitator moved on. The man next to me was anxious to commit to give up his addiction to a television show that wasn’t even ‘R’ rated. The woman next to him committed to prove her love by conquering her addiction to romance novels.
I’m not saying I was right. I certainly would agree that I could have found a more productive response that would have kept the group more comfortable. I have before. In fact from the age of eleven to twenty I probably would have stood on my head to keep the group comfortable.
And I could be wrong about the whole coffee dilemma. Maybe there is someone out there in a ditch with a needle in her arm because a relative refused to give up her morning coffee. In case you’re wondering what happened to all those addiction treatment centers went, they were closed when insurance caught on to research showing that in-patient treatment proved to be no more effective than AA.
Centers still exist, but only for those with top tier insurance to pay a part of the fee along with enough personal cash to choose between a month-long cruise on the Mediterranean or 28 days in treatment. There are even programs that combine inpatient treatment with a Mediterranean cruise but I don’t think insurance covers entertainment or room service.
