phoenix sober community

Help.

Rehab.

Detox. Addict. Alcoholic. Higher power.

I get it. I won’t even pretend I didn’t feel the same way at one point.

For most chemically dependent folk who wanna get clean…. I imagine it’s these kindsa daunting words that deter them, ultimately, from getting any help. The 12 step jargon. The long road ahead. It’s tough to do the work. To feel like you’ve got to come to meetings and stay clean for the rest of your life. (And, of course, to feel guilty for thinking that thought because it goes against the whole “one day at a time” rule.) Is that all life’s gonna be from now on? Sobriety and isolation? Unless you make friends with your meeting peeps? Now that your social circle (and social activities, for that matter) have changed, that can just make the whole concept of recovery feel foreboding. In fact, when I was first coming to meetings, I saw a lot of “old timers” who lived exactly that way. They’d say all the right things to draw people in. They’d talk about surviving. But I’d rarely hear about thriving. What I want to hear about is all the crazy, mad fun you had after you gave yourself the gift of quitting and tried a new way. Where were these people? At the D.C. meeting? Or were they just having so much fun that they forgot about us?

The truth is… yeah.

Sometimes.

(Worse, actually; I’ve been it.)

See, I’ve been guilty of exactly that for the past year or so. Infrequent meetings. Rarely sharing. Why? Because, while the 12 step program offered a good foundation (even though I often fail to follow its principles too well), it couldn’t tell me everything. It couldn’t tell me what friends to keep. It couldn’t tell me which new replacement activities I needed to do with said friends. My sponsor did her best, but even she could only offer rhetorical inquiries to try and dredge up the best answer for myself. (‘cause she’s only human like I am.) What did sober people do for fun? Was there such a thing? Meditation was nice, but sometimes my brain was too hyperactive. All the meetings and meetups in the world couldn’t save me from thought induced insomnia. What was missing here? Should I go back on valium after all? Should I see a professional?

Then it dawned on me. I needed more movement in my life.

Thus, I spent half a year determined to try yoga and get back into running.

Bad back or not.

It was an amazing change – becoming a runner again.

Life saving, even.

But I slowly realized it wasn’t enough. Thus, I gradually tried new physical things over the next year. Paddleboarding. Kayaking. Something called Pure Barre. All the hard parts of yoga I’d been avoiding. Running in snow and ice storms. Qi gong. And, more recently, kickboxing and tennis. Only after expunging my negative energy through sweat could I cycle back around to less active but mindful things like reading again. And Buddhist mediation. And… you guessed it… delving into my addict mind to address new and old issues alike. (It’s tough to stay productively still when your whole body’s anxious). Having two years under my belt may seem like a lot, but I’m still technically just a newcomer to recovery. Had I not had gained enough of a somatic ear to realize that half the panic I was feeling was my body’s need to move and my brain’s need for newness, I may’ve very well faltered. (I was super lucky; I had a physical therapist who hammered the whole “mind body” thing in for me early on.) And the truth is, that’s what happens to a lotta addicts – the faltering. With the numbing agent eradicated, all negative stimuli just comes in cacophonous and confusing as a fire alarm jarring you awake at 3 A.M. It’s tough to recognize things like, “Ah, yes. This feeling means I should hit the gym.” And, to be fair, I still confuse those stimuli sometimes. Which is why I slowly ingrained fun, physical activity into my daily routine. (Again, I was lucky in that I’d been a runner pre back problems and addiction; so I could recall it.) What about those who can’t, though? What about people too confused coming outta detox to know? What about people for whom a daily meeting falls short? What about that guy sitting next to me at the Friday night 8:30 who’s even worse at sitting still than I am?

Enter: Phoenix multisport sober active community.

When I saw a Ted Talk on this program, I liked it for its refreshing brand of uniqueness. I mean, I’d already come around (slowly) to the fact that recovery doesn’t have to happen the way I was doing it. What mattered was that – whatever kind of a problem you have – that you’re managing it as a functional adult, and causing no one harm with it. That’s why Moderation Management seemed feasible. Or these chat rooms and phone lines. Why not? It works if it works. And, from what I’ve read, it seems like Phoenix works the same way my early recovery’s been working for me: remaining active. Rewiring your brain and body. Finding a new way to have fun. Doing so with others. (Which is what I’d initially missed with my running addiction.)

See, what they do is create a program for sober adults. Some of it includes community outreach and service work. But the big part of it centers on how people can team up and do all the stuff they (probably) didn’t do as junkies or drunkies – like hiking, climbing, yoga, and a plethora of other craziness. The smart thing about this is that it helps build the kinda oxytocin/dopamine/trust bonds with strangers you don’t get so easily sitting in a room divulging your darkness. Mind you, I’m not knocking the latter. It’s fantastic to a point. It saved my arse. But where that leaves off, something like Phoenix is a fantastic yes-and to the application of it. Because for a good time after I started only sporadically attending meetings, I began to feel disconnected again. My sober friends had different schedules than I did. Networking was tough. It wasn’t until I started playing guinea pig with a litany of different interactive physical activities that I realized what’d I’d been missing.

I’m doing alright these days.

Like anyone, I don’t get it right all the time. Today’s a good example. I feel off. And I know I’m just having a “moment” and remain functional cuzza that knowledge. And that’s all part of it. I’ve managed to stitch a workable recovery quilt for myself along the way – each phase of it, like a bead on the Pandora bracelet of my “rebirth”. And for me, that’s meant equal quantities of honest introspection (about how my addict mindset’s trying to sneak up on me) with other sober folk… as well as a buffet full’a fun, interactive, physical stuff with positive people. If you don’t wanna take forever to realize that fact like I did, but you do wanna get clean, mayhaps give Phoenix a try. It might be a bit of a flight if you don’t live in Massachusetts, California, or Colorado… but can you really put a price on putting the pieces of your life back together?

If you answered “Um…Yes” (because I’m sure this thing, however worthwhile, isn’t cheap), then mayhaps try your local AA, NA, CA, or HA (that’s Hashtaggers Anonymous; bear with me – I’m working on making it a thing). They’re free – no dues or fees – and it might serve as a good stepping stone until you either get your financial feet on the ground enough to fund the remainder of your recovery… or end up smorgasbord style selecting a slew of personalized hobbies that make you all jolly inside.

Like I – the “addict” who needed “help” with “detox” did.

Whatever path you choose…. “Higher Power” be with you, friend.