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Over the course of my many decades in recovery rooms, I’ve interacted with thousands of women and men whose journeys reveal, in detail, the harrowing history of dysfunction that has troubled their lives. Listening to their accounts, and being witness to these painful and difficult struggles, I’ve often been amazed by the speakers themselves—at their openness, resilience, sense of humor, courage, and most of all their eventual and quite triumphant survival, often against extreme odds. For many years I’ve been fascinated by the idea that when we grow up in a dysfunctional family, we have access to a host of benefits we otherwise might not be privy to. This is rarely spoken of or written about, I think partly because it seems strange for us to think of abuse and neglect offering any kind of potential value in our lives. But those of us who have grown up in dysfunctional families know that this upbringing has served us with special gifts, and that each challenge comes with new opportunities. The very dysfunction these people lived through taught them—sometimes in reacting against it, sometimes in discovering the whys and wherefores of it—survival skills for life beyond dysfunction. They found that there are, in fact, many silver linings, maybe even nuggets of gold.

In writing this book, I set out with this assignment, one I’m certain I have been “called” to do: to interview more than two dozen men and women, to listen deeply to their stories and tease out their unique traits and perspectives. Did you know that to interview means simply “to see each other?” I wanted to see these people clearly, and to share with you a detailed description of twelve positive characteristics that are ready to be born in you and then become honed, just as they were in the people from these dysfunctional families.

These twelve traits open the door to successful living. The stories I have selected from among the many I heard clearly demonstrate what is really possible when a person not only rises to the occasion to change and grow, but exceeds all expectations in a family that could have doomed him or her to failure.

As I observed these journeys, those I saw up close and those, too, from afar, I saw that they were all astounding in one way or another, which might be said, really, about the path each of us takes. I was afforded many aha! moments as I noted the specific tools that these people mastered and the positive qualities that they developed along the way. In my conversations, I came to truly appreciate the gifts that we are given, even in those very circumstances that look so bleak to those who watch from outside the family circle.

The act of listening is a gift we can always offer another soul sharing our path. My role with those I interviewed was so intimate, really, as they revealed who they were, what happened, and who they are now. In every instance, what had been a downward spiraling life became an example of miraculous survival, offering proof to others that nothing has to defeat us. Through this process, I grew in my appreciation of the importance of both storytelling and being a witness to the story. The exchangemoves us, connects us, allowing us to see our own lives with greater clarity, understanding, and openness. We are moved, too, to make some of the changes we see in the stories of others.

We often read and hear the “poor me” stories of those who are certain they were given a bum ride in this life. All we have to do is turn on daytime television, Dr. Phil, or reality shows for the anecdotes to support this assessment. But I have come to believe, and believe unequivocally, that we choose the ride we are on, one experience after another. We are not victims. We are volunteers. And that knowledge has made all the difference in the world to me. Suffice it to say that many will always live in the world of “poor me.” That’s where they feel most at ease. Without a doubt, they selected this journey, whether they realize it or not, and our observation of their journey surely informs the rest of us in a most interesting way, if we are open to the education.

Generally speaking, I think, those sad individuals hope to find others who will commiserate—who will say, “Of course you have every good reason to feel bad. You didn’t deserve this set of experiences.” And they often do find someone who will commiserate. Misery loves company. Uncomfortably, I admit I used to be that person. Perhaps it was a necessary part of my journey then. But no more. I think we learn from the mistakes as well as the wisdom of others; I have learned from mine along with all of those individuals I interviewed. What I hope to impart in this book is some of both, with an emphasis on the wisdom.