recovery

Comedy: the healthy high while grieving

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No matter how solid my recovery is, shiz is gonna test it.

Like, for instance, this week when I lost my shih-tzu.

(Not literally, but because: old).

And what’s a recovering addict’s answer to that? How do I stay both sober and sane? What do I do to not slowly slide back down the spiral like a smack addled toddler descending a chemical playground slide? Well, as illustrated in an earlier article, there are the serious things. I can recall the good times. I can help out others in my life. I can cry when I need to. Write, like I am now, to let it out creatively. Make sure to take care of my brain and body (yoga, running, and nature). And I can let others be a supportive shoulder. (Instead’ve isolating, as I tend to do). But you know what? It’s… exhausting. Don’t get me wrong. I feel far more accomplished by the day’s end than if I’d languished in bed, hugging the last toy my dog slept on. But, still.

There’s no joy in any of the things I used to do.


(Like running.
Not, ya know, sitting dejectedly under a tree while ticks rain on my cranium.
Which is what I end up doing most’ve the time now.)

Why?

Is it subconsciously intentional? Is my brain telling me not to enjoy anything or else I’m mourning poorly? Could’ve fooled me with my attempts to engage the barista at the coffee shop I don’t wanna be at. Could’ve fooled me, as I put on workout music in an in-vain effort to pump myself up for a run I’m reluctant to do. Could’ve fooled me as I sit to write when I feel anything but creative. I’m legit trying here. So, what’s missing?

I got my answer when I allowed myself to finally do something today.

Laugh.

Yes, joy – however fleeting – is what’s been missing this week. And this is why, I think, a lot of addicts end up returning to using. Here, we’ve worked so hard to make yoga or mediation or exercise or whatever pleasure provide us with safe, intrinsic endorphins. We’ve worked so hard to supplant our synthetic, former highs with more organic ones. But what happens when the joy’s suddenly sucked out of them by the grief demon? Where can we find it?

Today, as I sat in my car after a run I’d been putting off all day, I found it here:

And, of course, here:

And especially here:


(You’ll hafta click that one to enjoy.)

I say “especially” on that last one because I haven’t been “treating” myself to comic calories this week. At all. And what I love especially about Chris C. and the F-bomb riddled guided meditations alike, is that they typically both have a message that resonates… but without being too serious about it. That same theme’s actually what brought me to recovery. Russell Brand’s capacity to laugh at the madness of a serious thing like addiction made it easier for me to address it head on. The nice thing about life-applicable laugh-snacks like these (versus sitcom comedy) is that I don’t feel like I’m escaping my sad feelings when I enjoy them. It’s relatable. Yet it’s also funny. So, when the chuckles subside, I don’t feel that disconnected emptiness of reality closing in.

You know, it’s tough to take advice from anyone when you’re grieving.

They mean well, but what I wish they knew is this:

Even just functioning – what’s generally second nature – now becomes a list of tasks. You have to actively make yourself do the stupidly smallest of things – like brushing your teeth or taking a shower – all against the resistance of the emotional mud you’re trudging through. Those have suddenly become daunting things on the to-do list that formerly featured more important things like paying bills or running errands. And, as said above, they’re exhausting.

So, hearing another “what you need to do” just takes one from bereavement to belligerent.

Now, that high pixelated poem-graphic (sorry bout it) sounds kinda dickish. I concede that. Especially when your friends are just trying their best to feign compassion for five minutes so they can get back to their life’s good vibe (whose buzz your bad mood’s harshing) without feeling guilty for ignoring your pain. But it’s true. That said, I realize I can’t change how other people comfort me. I should just be glad they’re trying. They’re not mind readers. Much like compliments, I should accept condolences for their intention – not the specific nature of them.

Which is why I kept the eyerolling solely internal those first fifty times I heard “Remember the good times – Minnie wouldn’t want you to be sad!” I know people were trying to help. But I’d be lying if I said my first thought wasn’t, “Um… She’s a dog. My dog. You dunno that bish. You ain’t know the eff she wants” But then, last night, after the eleventyhundredth time hearing it, suddenly my mind opened a little. (Probably because the person who was saying it to me seemed more genuine than 90% of the people who’d come before him.) And I realized something. I knew that bish. I knew her really, really well. We had a telepathic level connection. And while they didn’t know her, I know – from experience – that Minnie really wouldn’t want me to be to be sad, panicked, or Hulked out.

And I know why.

See, all of those emotions were the moods that used to directly precede using (which only amplified those moods) years ago. They meant Jekyll was about to go Hyde, so she’d go hide. The guilt of my angry yelling or neglect inasmuch as other dogs spent more time rump huffing furry strangers at the park than sat in an apartment, will always haunt me. Yeah, I had back problems. But so do a lot’ve folk. I could’ve done far, far better. And, even though I spent years spoiling her rotten to make it up to her long after addiction, she’d still scoot the moment my voice raised in anger. She’d still let out a heavy sigh and look up at me the second stress rose up in my chest. She knew when I was panicking – and would pant, pace, and get equally aggravated right along with me. Minnie’d match my moods. Always. In fact, sometimes she’d do me better than me.


(Not Minnie.
But an epic reminder of what a perfect reflection her moods always were of my own.)

Even after I’d been clean for years, she wouldn’t come to cuddle next to me unless I was calm or happy. So, when I felt that silly twinge of guilt today – giggling at a simultaneously ridiculous and brilliant video – I paused. And I remembered how her little tail wagged like a breeze blown palm made of glee filled silk when I myself was happy.

And I kept on laughing.

This doesn’t mean the end of tears. I’ll still cry. Get angry. Probably throw some fine china at the kitchen wall again. Yes, I’ll still take time. But what I won’t do is feel bad about indulging those fleeting moments of fun when they come to me like my former fur baby bringing me a bone to throw. Because I – any of us addicts – need that to keep going and remain sober and functional. We require our days to be punctuated with some sense of spiritual well being. Something to take the edge off the existential gravity of reality. Some sort’ve natural Valium to keep us from considering letting the chemical enemy back into our lives. Today, I found that in these silly videos. Tomorrow, it might be playful banter with my barista.


(Or a dad-joke level too-soon dumb pun someone says.)

The point? It could be anything. And all I know’s I’m gonna try to be open to it.

Not just because it’s what Minnie’d want.

But because this pain’s got me entertaining things I never said I would again.

And I owe it to my loyal, forgiving companion to never revert.

Are you judging others’ recovery? Why?

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Only recently have I begun discussing addiction on online message boards.

And, not to be judgmental, but… everyone judges.

Hardcore.


“Your recovery’s a bit pitchy for me. Keep coming back, dawg.”
“Um…I like that you’re trying! Pick up a white keytag on your way out!”
“Not in a step program? Dreadful. It’s a no for me. NEXT.”

But, of all the stuff they judge, judging others’ recovery – might just take the sober-anniversary cake. Especially when it comes to AA or the other step programs. I’m not sure why, but people love to hate on the program. It’s free. It helps people. And for those it doesn’t, you can leave and find another way. After saying (repeatedly) that I dug some of the step program stuff, but not all of it, I was immediately attacked. And, almost never, it seemed like people could never give me either A.) their personal story about failure with AA or B.) what has worked for them. All I hear is this fabricated stat about “zero percent efficacy”.


(Seriously. At least make up a fail or success recovery story if you’re gonna lie.)

And – don’t get me wrong – the born again AA vultures on there started nipping at my comment carcass too. “Why you be cherry pickin’? It works if you work it!” And you know what? Everyone’s right. If it was a giant fail for the anti-anonymouser attacking me, then – yep – it doesn’t work. For him. And, if working the steps exactly worked for homegirl with an anime avatar (who was at a worrying level of worried about some stranger’s recovery), then it does work. For her.

Confused?

Don’t be. It’s simple. Addicts, while we have heaps in common, handle recovery differently. And that loaded term – “recovery” – is something whose success relies on your definition of it. Is staying clean crucial and does that come before everything else? Yes. But is that all there is to it? No. And that’s where you might differ with a given program. For me, personally, I’m not indefinitely disallowing myself contact with people, places, and things of my past. For the most part? Yes. That’s an optimal idea. But what I am also doing, is getting honest with myself. I go to those AA or NA rooms (because: free) to hear some free ideas that might resonate with me. But, instead of relying on that external voice solely to dictate my recovery, I supplement it with some meditation. Just to see how it settles. Because, once you let the noise of others’ advice and your own inner thought reel subside, something happens.

You hear the truth.

You glean what you need.

Example? Per my former sponsor’s suggestion, I shouldn’t’ve gone to a family gathering that had alcohol. Per my meditation session, however, I came to realize I could have the best of both worlds. It didn’t need to be a me-centric issue. All I had to do was tell my family my concerns, let them know I was amped to see them all, but also warned that if I needed to leave, it’s just ’cause the drinking was wearing on my “feelz”.


(Or, ya know, witnessing the typical emo-allergic runs-in-the-family reaction to too much wine, for that matter…)

All joking aside, that gave me a chance to do two things. First, it let me reinforce the importance of my recovery to both myself and them by saying it out loud. Second, it also gave me a chance to clear the air for both of us and be honest – instead of trying to pretend I was “fine” around wine the whole time.

Being humble enough to accept where you’re at’s a biggie in recovery.

Trying to explain this to either extreme, however, is tantamount to brick wall banter. And I’m just now becoming more understanding as to why. People want something black and white they can follow every day. They want it laid out for them by others. They don’t want to make the effort of letting go of thought and simmering in their inner wisdom for a while. Why? Because there are demons to be dealt with down there, too, sometimes. But those poor bastards don’t know what they’re missing, though. Because, if they did – if they just met those demons head on – they’d also understand that what they need may vary from day to day. Change is the nature of reality. And for me, that means that relying on a static system that never makes concessions (except with using, obviously) could make my success in recovery difficult.


(But, again, if it works for you – I’m not knocking it.)

And, deep down, I think people who pretend a system’s working when it isn’t know that’s true. And they hate accepting that fact. (Cognitive dissonance, I think they call that.) So, what do they do? They yell at you. They yell whether they like the program or loathe it. Why? Because people are desperate not only to have their values be accepted – but to push their value system on others – if and when they don’t have full faith in what they’re doing.

That’s just a telltale sign of their own failure. When something’s not enough for you – just you, you start trying to impose it. Because if you can make someone else believe it, then maybe – just maybe – that makes your belief more true to you. And that goes for whether you’re pro or con’ing a program. All I know is that people who believe something deeply, don’t need to get defensive on its behalf. And those who’ve found success another way? Well, they would be talking about their success with that – not focusing on how much they hate another program they didn’t like. Those whose faith is ultimate, don’t need to convince anyone because we’re convinced. And that’s sufficient. That’s where that meditation thing came in so handy for me. I know that when I sit in silence and sift out the bullshiz, calm will come. Sometimes immediate answers do, too. But even if they don’t, I’m relieved of that stressed state from which I typically end up making addict-brained decisions.


(Protip, you don’t need an ashram, special garb, oceanfront, or yoga mat to do it, either.)

It’s a bummer that something like AA doesn’t work for many. (Wouldn’t a blanket solution be great?) But, again, it’s awesome for the innumerable others it does help. If I’m being honest, I’ve seen both sides’ve the sober coin sitting in the rooms. So, so long as you’re focused on getting or staying clean and recovering – don’t beat yourself up for giving something an open-minded chance (I stuck it out 90 days) and still voting no on the program. You don’t have to let the pushy opinions of others affect yours. They’re just people. And if they’re imposing something on you (especially in AA or NA), then they’re failing at their own program by missing one of the main themes: attraction, not promotion. There are other options, my friend. Actively seek them out if you’ve got doubts after 90 days. The only thing I will say is this: I just wish people in any program were first and foremost taught the self – and situational – awarenes to think outside the box when what they’re doing isn’t working. And to ask themselves, “What can I change? What else do I need to do? Just because AA doesn’t feel like the right fit for me – does that mean nothing will?” And then seek out an appropriate alternative – versus returning to the chemical problem as a solution.

In sum?

I encourage meditation paired with giving a recovery program a solid try for 90 days.

And then? Regroup, see how it’s working for you, adjust as needed, and keep moving.

Best of luck, my aspiring reformed fiends.

WTF do you mean “I’m at fault”?

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In the midst of a (friendly on my part) debate about the step program, I was asked:

“How is saying ‘we’re invariably at fault’ not psychological abuse?”

And, to be honest, I had to pause for a moment.

And see if that was even something I wanted to defend.

Because, for me, the step program’s been super helpful as far as serving (in part) as a basis for my recovery. That said, I don’t accept all of it. And that’s fine with me. My recovery’s mine and it’s been working beautifully for years. (Even in the midst of 2016 prematurely winning the “worse-year-since-benzo-detox” award). So, after thinking about it, I admitted to my sorta sardonic conversationalist, “Yeah, I can see how that sounds kinda callous.” I mean, after all, we have genetic tendencies, some of us. Or the emotional turmoil led us there.

So, yeah.

What’s happened to you? Not your fault.

But, when you think about it, is it really abusive for you or I to accept accountability for any of our adult behavior? Now, I mean? Shouldn’t we accept it? I’m not a drug puppet. No one’s pulling my strings unless I let them. I mean, sure, my emotional response to past events or people induced a feeling where I thereafter wanted to use. Absolutely. But if that bad stuff already happened – it’s over; it’s not happening now. So, why keep using it as an excuse to use now? What’s that do? What does blaming my parents, rapist, society, anything – on my bad habits do for me now? Does it change what happened to me? Not so far. Does polluting my flesh vessel with chemicals? Nope. Does either fix what happened to me? Not as of yet.

And how about the “genetic” defense?

Well, if I know that’s a tendency, I should’ve kinda known better than to pick up. Even if it’s “not fair” that everyone else is normal and can manage their elixirs, there’s no appeal system to reality. You must just accept it or suffer. And how about if I didn’t know I had a hereditary tendency? Then it was still my choice to say, “Heh. Look at that. I can’t seem to manage my libations the way my buddies do. Buuut it takes my mind off my mind. And it’s easier than seeking help. So, even though I’ve punched a dude in the face and been invited to spend the evening with the law authorities… I’mma keep drinking anyway.” There’s no shame in accepting that accountability. In fact, there’s freedom in it. Freedom from the prison of old thinking that doesn’t serve me. It allows me to move on and reinforce how important it is not to carry on like that any longer. No matter how naturally it comes. I must learn another way to be.


(Don’t leave it *or* hide in that mug, buddy.
Hit the recovery dojo, train your brain biceps, cut some “victimhood” weight, get back in the reality ring, and… beat that motherfluffer *back*.)

It’s also a reminder that I can’t alter reality – or the past.

All I can alter is my own behavior.

Now.

Right now, I can choose not to employ something that’s the opposite of a solution. I can choose to in lieu seek guidance, self-help, whatever I need – even if it’s not in a step program. Noggin numbing doesn’t fix historical issues that continue accosting our subconscious minds. Seeking a reality based solution does. (Again, even if it’s not a step program.) When I don’t choose that – that’s my fault. And so is all of the subsequent behavior that goes along with the altered mindset that follows that choice. Rage episodes. Neglected relationships. Late arrivals to work. Nasty moods. That’s on me, my dude. Which means that the only “psychological abuse” I’ve suffered since my choice to pick up is of the self inflicted variety.

AKA a cognitive cocktail called “denial with a spritz of buck-passing”.

And that’s a drink even folks with lotsa clean time still hafta put down daily.

Recovery versus relapse: is there any in between?

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“If you are not working on recovery you are working on a relapse.”

Is it true?

It’s a phrase many reformed fiends and drinkers in the step programs employ as a reminder of the daunting relapse monster. And for many -A (AA, NA, OA…) haters, it’s met with a bit of resistance. Why? Well, after chomping on this cognitive wad of gum for a bit, I suppose, in a way, I do kinda get why some reject it. I mean, there’s no statistical evidence. I don’t ever remember partaking in the annual lush or junkie census regarding the authenticity of this motto.

Yet, on the other hand, I suppose it all depends on how you define “recovery”.

Taking the phrase at face value, it’s meant to simply be one of those typical motivational idioms. Nothing more. Just a recovery revised version of that whole “if you fail to plan, you plan to fail” sayings I always see in inspographic form on my LinkedIn feed. (Don’t pretend you haven’t seen ’em too.) That said, that recovery doesn’t have to happen in a specific program. Even the one you picked it up from – when you picked up a white keytag or newcomer coin. Whether you find the first steps of your recovery in a step program or somewhere totally different is irrelevant; the point is that an addict, suddenly stripped of his or her chemical comfort, needs some sort of behavioral modification plan on board after getting clean. Something to replace those old habits, ya know?

If you’re overweight, you don’t lose weight and keep it off by just quitting eating, do you? Not so much. You’ve got to sub in healthy diet, exercise, and learn some self love if you want to slim down in a healthy, functional, and sustainable way. Otherwise, you’re just sitting around thinking, “This is normally when I’d be enjoying my third helping of my signature butter, cheese, grease, meat casserole – and breaking into a light sweat…” Some mods to your physical and mental regimens are required to arrive at lasting change.

Likewise, healthy new routines, after exiting addiction, interrupt that daily mind cycle of “when’s drink or fix number next?” And an appropriate support or an expert assistance system (even if it’s not 12 step based) to whom you can vent, helps you dredge up those demons that got you using in the first place. Once you can exorcise those emotional gargoyles squatting in your subconscious, you’re a lot less likely to use. For me, sometimes just being around addicts or alcoholics willing to get honest about their own defects or horror stories helps do exactly that, I think. (Yes, even now, after years clean.) For others, calling in the paid pros is the only way. For others who can afford overpriced rehab resorts – hey – whatever floats your yacht that brought you to seaside detox.


Chaise chair chick: “Hey, it’s pretty easy to stay clean with this view and without douchebag bosses or obligations.”
Flexing dude in hat: “I’ll drink to that. Probably within a week of leaving here, lol!”

So long as the new tips stick when you reintegrate into real life, I ain’t judging.

Whatever you do, if you work on making it work, I totally respect that.

Either way, that’s the takeaway I get when I hear that old adage about “working on recovery versus relapse”. It’s not necessarily, scientifically, statistically accurate for all. But for hardcore addicts aware that the desired fix equals prison, six feet beneath, or Arkham – they also often realize that marinating in their old ways is a voluntary venture into Russian Roulette. And that has them rushing back to recovery.

In a nutshell: it’s very, very easy to resume old, bad habits.

It’s less easy if you’ve got healthy inner and outer ones to replace them.

Where you get them’s ultimately up to you.

Is addiction legit? Or just an excuse for me to be an indulgent a-hole?

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I’ve spent a lot of time trolling addiction message boards of late.

Well, not trolling, per se. More like “scrolling”. Scrolling and commenting. Because, a lot of the time, I’ll hop on the comment section and encounter a wealth of outta-their-element people pontificating on addiction. It’s not always clear who has addiction. (Seeing as it’s a self diagnosed disease.) But it is always clear who definitely doesn’t – based on their grave misunderstanding of it and total lack of empathy for the sufferer.

But I get it.

To be fair, it’s tough to be empathetic to an addict.

When we’re in the throes of it, we’re shaky, pasty, pale, clammy.

And we don’t care about anything but what we crave.

We definitely don’t care about you.

So, why would you care about us? Why should you?

That might be best answered by asking those who do – for whatever reason – care about us, why they do. Ask any mom who’s watched a chemical shred her child alive, and she’ll likely pull out and dust off the high school photo album, the framed collage from Olan Mills her daughter had done after winning an academic excellence award, graduation snapshots of embraces with companions. The smile before a permanent furrow hijacked the brow of her baby girl. My point? That – all evidence to the contrary – there’s a person underneath the flesh we see, possessed by dependency. Those who love them know this. Those who’ve been through it “get it”. That’s why, though I’m recovering well (no one who’s met me in the past couple years would ever guess where I’ve been), I’m always up for extending a hand and educating those who don’t get it. Example? Today, I read a fellow addict’s musings about hitting up the pill mill and how he can’t use these drugs reasonably. His entry resonated so deeply that that dormant demon within me stirred a little himself.

Then I saw the following comment:

And, to be honest, it’s not a distant whimper from a lot of non-addicts’ logic.

Which is fine. It’s just ignorance (and I don’t mean that in a rude way) born out of lack of context. Lack of understanding. It’s never easy to identify unless you’ve been there yourself or experienced it for yourself. So, for anyone nodding in concurrence with John’s comment (or any addicts loathing themselves for lack of “self-control”), I encourage you to read my own reply to Mr. M.

It went thusly:

Yeah, I hear what you’re saying.

Indeed, drugs don’t make decisions. But they do often affect different brains differently. I too believe that maybe Clark could stay stopped after getting and being clean for a while – after allowing that ritual, habitual, neural connection that goes hand in hand with using (or any habit, really) to weaken and be replaced by healthier ones. But I think what he may have meant was that once he *starts* taking those drugs – while he’s still in the grasp of dependency and addiction – they affect his brain in such a way that he cannot make the rational decision to quit.

In other words, he can’t “reasonably use” them.

And that’s totally believable. Every brain changes on drugs. There’s a reason we’re told not to drive cars or make big decisions on scheduled substances. And, on top of that, if we’re affected by chemicals differently, it’s entirely possible that once it’s in our system, some of us hunger for that continued mitigation of emotional or physical pain the way someone drowning craves a gulp of oxygen. For an addict, once you try to listen to the halo toting voice on your shoulder, over the horned one – even if you heed its angelic advice – that doesn’t stop the horned one from screaming into your every thought. That’s when you become so distracted and dysfunctional that work performance, relationships, and activities of daily living begin to suffer. The addiction finds another release valve. Overeating. Drinking. Exercise anorexia.


(Let’s don’t forget Tinder binges, too.)

That said, addicts don’t have to live in a victim mentality. While reasonably using may not be an option for an addict, where I do agree with you is that you *can* get out of it. Enduring that thoroughgoing sensation of spiritual and physical suffocation for a while, paired with the supplanting of the right program for you (you, meaning whichever addict’s reading this and rolling their eyes at the thought of a 12 step being the only answer) is worth the ephemeral suffering.

Just my pair of pennies on the matter.

How I cope with insecurity in recovery

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Sometimes, it’s tough to answer the inquiry “Why do we use?”

And while I’ve always had a smorgasboard of responses that’re all equally honest – one of my single biggest motivators was always… insecurity. It’s the reason I needed to pre-game before the party. It’s the reason I couldn’t wait to get seated at family dinner before ordering a drink. It’s the reason that my day wouldn’t happen without at least half a Valium on board. Hell, if I’m being honest, it’s likely still the reason I’m willing to sit in the Starbucks drive through to get an overpriced cup of caffeinated froth.


“My whole personality sits in this cup!”

It makes sense, though, right?

If we enlist the help of chemicals to feel better – to feel safe and secure – then, by default, we mustn’t’ve been feeling very secure or safe in the first place, yes? I drank and ate pills because it offered a sudden self-doubt drought within fifteen minutes of waking to a hurricane of insecurities. (“I’ve gained five pounds… I’m no good at my job…. I’m awkward socially.”) And I’ll give it to them – drugs offered me the the sweet reprieve from all these thoughts or caring about what they meant. Only problem was that they didn’t merely Dyson up my insecurity – they also sucked up any level of sustainable functionality. I had just enough energy for high priority tasks, but when the massive crash came (as always it does), I was even more insecure with even more issues to worry about. (’cause I’d not gotten any of the other mandatory tasks done). It was a liar. Sure, the Pinot Noir and pills told me not to worry about my superficial insecurities (good advice). But they also told me not to worry about getting my car checked out or body taken care of. Categorically bad advice – seeing as both subsequently started to fall apart. You can’t have it all when it comes to chemicals.So, without tossing the responsibility fledgling out with the bird bath, how do we get over insecurities?

The superficial ones?

Like your crazy, curly hair? Your high hips? That slight lisp you have? Your awkwardness? As much as I hate having to look to celebrities for the green light on what’s okay, I’m going to employ a couple just to prove a point. Let’s take Kate Hudson’s unruly mophead for example. She’s so lovable because her persona is. Higher Power only knows if she’s like that in reality – but I bet you can think of at least one other eccentric person you know who’s absolutely enigmatic – not because she’s a ten – but because of who she is. Or how about another Kate – Kate Upton? Her physique’s so far from the typical form you see grace the paces of Sports Illustrated. But you don’t see her being insecure about it. Quite the contrary. You know what I do see, though? Total doppelgangers who carry themselves poorly because they’re down about not matching some Platonic ideal. What about Drew Barrymore’s endearing lisp? I fall in love every time. Or Michael Cera’s awkwardness? Stallone’s slur? Walken’s strange cadence when speaking? Own whatever unique thing you’ve got, and it goes from drawback to selling factor. And that’s what it comes down to. Because, as I said, this isn’t about idealizing these celebrities so much as drawing a familiar example. Those around us we’re in awe of don’t have anything more than you or I. They’re just a few e-steam releases away from feeling as deflated as we do on our worst day. (And believe me, they have them.) But they embrace what some might say are “flaws”, until they’re a trademark.

And that’s one of three things that’ve helped flip my own insecurities.

First, though, we’ll backtrack for a sec to number one: and that’s keeping around high vibe people (who aren’t likely to poke fun at you and thus foster your insecurities). And second? What all those aforementioned celebs do: embrace those flaws head on and out loud. I do this second one at work all the time – where we all bust eachother’s chops, constantly. And while it’s all in good fun, every once in a while, someone will say something that cuts to the intrinsic quick. What do I do? Try my best to just own it. (“Yes… my hair’s like straw ’cause I bleached it like a crime scene last summer.”) You get people laughing or realizing their jabs have no power over you, and you disarm them. You disarm them, and they have no weapon to prod at your insecurity wounds. And then the whole game changes.

Often, it’s not about fixing the thing you’re insecure about – so much as making it not a problem in the first place. Which is why that former thing – keeping around non-negative people most of the time – is so terribly important. Because if you’re already insecure, consorting with the sort’ve folk who worsen that self-doubt will only confirm that fallacy of thinking. It reinforces the lie that is your insecurity. Granted, we don’t often get to choose who we expose ourselves to. There’s no buffet for coworkers and family member options. Which is why it’s so crucial to to keep a high vibe tribe in your off time. It’s fantastic self-security training for when you hafta head into a pool of unpredictable personalities – all of which harbor innumerable insecurities of their own, and only prod at yours to distract themselves from theirs.

And that’s the third thing that’s worked so well for me:

Remembering that insecurity is a liar.

Don’t get me wrong. Whatever you’re doubting might be totally legit. Your weight. Your face shape. Whatever. But the idea that you’re not good enough because of it? Not so much. Who aren’t you good enough for? A bunch of strangers whose opinions carry no weight in your life? A group of people who don’t define you? Might you be wrong about the value of their outlook? Or – what their outlook even is, for that matter? When it comes to superficial insecurity, the biggest thing I’ve realized is this: half my hangups are no more than a mistaken assumption. A mistaken assumption about what? The notion that others won’t like something about me – just ’cause I don’t. For years, like anyone else, I’ve felt self-conscious about all my little ticks – the way I walk, or the way I stick my tongue between my teeth when I’m amused, or how I talk. It wasn’t until getting deep in touch with myself through recovery that I embraced all of that (plus a bunch’ve others I’m still working on). I cuddled with my hangups long enough to mock myself along with my coworkers for being a loudmouth. Or to let a guy into my life long enough to accept that he adored all I abhorred formerly about myself. Or have someone actually admire my wiggle walk instead’ve tease me for it. But the spiritual dessert doesn’t come from that validation. The validation’s just a nice reminder that insecurity is a liar. And that whatever is causing it – is to be faced head on. That way, once you do, you can decide whether it’s something that needs refinishing (like losing weight to improve your health)… or merely an authentic part of your “you-museum” to keep polished and pristine for whoever’s worth letting near it next.

That’s the idea behind the last line in the serenity prayer, after all.

And we only win that wisdom to know the difference by keeping clean, a day at a time.

Why your worst day clean still beats your best day getting effed up.

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“My worst day sober is still better than my best day using.”

This sobriety idom’s become the recovery equivalent to that archaic meme: “Still a better love story than Twilight…” You hear it all the time in the twelve step rooms. But what does it mean? You got fired. Your car’s on the fritz. Your wife left you. How in “Higher Power”‘s name is this a better day than the numb bliss I still miss after two and a half years clean? I was just reading a thread debate about exactly this (between a few sober folks) the other day, when it dawned on me. Duh. Because it’s not about the day. It’s about us. Any one of us.

See, the big “aha” came one day when I lost my top outside.

Wait, lemme backtrack a second. I’d had a terrible month. My foot was effed up, so I couldn’t run for a while – my newfound addiction. My car had been having issues. My heart had relationship issues. (*Insert a bunch of other irrelevant boring, first world problems you don’t care about – and honestly shouldn’t – here… and then skip to now*)… where I’d hung my tee shirt for Muay Thai out to dry on the balcony after washing it. And it fell. Down into the bushes below. And I was late for class.

At first I was pissed off, but then I realized something.

Three years ago, my back was so bad that I could barely walk – much less run. Now I run so much, that I got a tarsal injury, which needed a little break. Three years ago, I was such a child woman and so helpless and so afraid of doing business with people, that I’d pawn off getting my car fixed onto my mom. (Yep, not my most proud admission. Sadly, also not even close to my most un-proud admission.) Now, I just take it in. And pretend like I shouldn’t get a gold start for handling my biz. Three years ago, I was in so much pain, the mere notion of doing martial arts would have made me audibly guffaw. And last night (after finally retrieving my uniform from the shrubbery), I got my green belt.


“I lost my top in public today because it wasn’t dry.
I lost my top in public in the old days because *I* wasn’t.”
#perspective

But that’s not all. Sure, my problems today pale in comparison because many of them come from all the stuff I never would or could have done during active addiction – that are just routine now. But they also pale in comparison because I actually handle them. Why? Because I’ve learned how to, by attending enough meetings and seeking enough supplemental spiritual tutelage to know how. I seek it out actively and drill it into my head the way I drill Muay Thai and Jeet Kune Do combos during class.

And that’s the whole point.

As popular as that “worst day/best day” idiom is, there’s a more popular one. In fact, it’s so catchy (and factual), that one girl from my old home group would say it at the end of every meeting I’ve attended. And that’s this: “It works if you work it!” Your worst day in recovery is better than your best day using not because’ve some sorcery they dole out along with keytags. Nay, sir. It’s ’cause you’ve been on the spiritual grind. And, as a result, you’ve gained that brand of awareness you need to order to recognize which life-elements you can modify, and which you’ve gotta simply surf through serenely. Yeah, my foot was injured. Yeah, I got rejected from the program I wanted to get into. Yeah, my car started having problems.

But you know what makes that day better than my best day using?

Beyond perspective?

That I’m not running on said effed up foot away from problem-fixing and toward pill-fixes. That’s what serenity is. It’s not sitting on a tranquil lake in a canoe and enjoying the sonorous chorus of late summer crickets and toads (lovely though that is). No. It’s the capacity to look at life’s arising issues – each of ’em – like video game demons you slay one at a time. And each one of those is a win, because A.) It’s daily self-validation that nothing’s a match for the bad-assery baton my clean club’s passed on to me. And B.) Procrastination is like problem fertilizer. The more I put off solving the problems (which is what I’d do if I were using), the more they transmogrify into leviathan nightmares, waiting for me when I next exit my haze and have to face reality. Spraying resolution napalm on problems now, rather, prevents that amplification of catastrophes from coming at me later.


(Well, until tomorrow’s next set’ve probs, at least.)

That, my dears, is why a horrible sober day beats a seemingly ideal one while using.

But for those of you vexed by the use of “we” or “our”, I say “our” because I’m referring to those’ve us who do the work, implement the principles, and thus reap the rewards. (Which you’re totally invited to be a part of. #youcanSOsitwithus.) Because it’s not about the day being bad or good at all. It’s about you, me, “us” – and our respective efforts. It’s about the proactive brain-training you put in at the sobriety dojo. It’s about your sudden Chuck Norris level capacity to handle bad shiz with the fierce grace. The ability to pummel the onslaught of obstacles with serenity fists. And, above all, it’s how you can now remain cool, calm, collected, and (obviously) clean even as SHTF – without having to fake it or layer life with a chemical glaze.

That’s why it’s better. Because we are.

Best of luck getting struck with this epiphany, my ex-chemical comrades.

It’ll come… if you keeping coming back.

“How long does recovery take?”

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“So… how long does it take to recover from addiction?”

I heard this question the other day and my mind automatically went to this interview Russell Brand did with Oprah. Homie’s been clean for about 11 or 12 years now. And when Oprah asks him when the last time was that he wanted to use, he says, “Right before I came in here!”

It’s a beautiful, albeit vague, answer to the question being asked.

(Along with the rest of the interview, which I can’t find online. But click the pic below for a snippet.)

What it demonstrates, in all its honesty, is that thing no one likes to hear:

There’s no ending point in addiction recovery.

From here on out, it’s management. Why? Because you’ve kicked a habit with deep emotional and chemical ties. It’s changed your brain. That habit’s in there for life. But before that makes you anxious and afraid, hear me out. Because, while that sounds gloomy ‘n pessimistic, it’s actually not. People overcome bad habits all the time. It’s just that not all of them admit they’re addicted to something. Addicted to junk food. Addicted to filmed fornication. Addicted to eating chalk. (Hey, that’s a real thing – I saw it on “My Strange Addiction.”) And how about those people you know who can’t quit eating the artery clogging slop or popping prescription meds – even though it’s all killing them? The people who tell themselves it’s okay ’cause it’s “legal”. In a way, if you’re in recovery, the only difference between you and a good percentage of the population is that 1.) Your addiction may have been illegal, and 2.) You’re actually acknowledging – and trying to fix – it.

Which is fantastic because – once you acknowledge it – you understand why managing this intrinsic madness is so crucial. The thing is, the turmoil soil from which your fixation flowered in the first place… is still there once you rip the rotten plant from the roots. It must be dealt with. For months, years, or however long – you’ve stamped in the habit of feeding that pain euphoria. Even if you never go back to drugs, this proclivity (which remains) can ruin your life in a host of other ways. We tend to avoid unpleasantness of reality by seeking out pleasant avoidance activities. In my early clean time, I remember binges on food, movies, and self abuse in all forms serving as a fantastic way to circumvent the shame I felt about not doing all the tasks I couldn’t handle. Or was too afraid to. If I couldn’t write enough articles or felt too anxious to attend a meeting, feeding into cyclic fixations mitigated my guilt about it. Recovery programs – good ones – point out this avoidance. They help us laugh at the absurdity of it. Then, they help us break down that snowball of daunting to-do’s we’ve been putting off so that we can tackle ’em.

One day at a time.

In other words, the potential to relapse is always there. It’s a habit stamped into to your brain, so recovery’s forever. But it does get easier. If you diligently manage it. How? Well, by keeping around a clan of fellow recoverers who’ve been at it for a while. (Even if you don’t show up every damned day to a meeting, having a textable network proves super helpful – for both you and your buddies.) And by stamping in some new habits – healthy replacement routines. And that’s where some hope comes in for those wanting a specific timeline. While there’s no finish line, there is this thing called neuroplasticity. Something that takes roughly 30 to 90 days. (Which’s why you see those tags awarded for those first crucial few months.) It’s this thing where your brain forms new networks as you practice new habits. Whether you’re playing the piano or studying “How To Handle Reality For Dummies” (which, I bet is an actual book), it’s been proven:

Anything you take time doing, your brain’s indelibly inking in as a habit.

So, it would make good sense that supplanting your old routine of freebasing for free therapy (with people who give a shiz and aren’t just getting paid to help you) would be an excellent way to avoid recidivism. As mentioned – it usually take 30 to 90 days to stop feeling like a foreign chore that’s painful and vexing and up for discussion. Three months in, if you’ve stuck it out (“it” being your new routine of “how to human properly”, built in recovery), then it becomes a bit more organic feeling. Something you just do. A new facet of your personality.

And why do you hafta keep doing it? Much like that Scientific American study showed with rats – if you turn off a newly acquired habit, former ones resume. This is why you’ll hear some’ve the more gossipy members throw shade at other members’ behavior, saying stuff like “My sponsee’s doing everything wrong except relapsing on crack…” ’cause, shizzy as it is to ridicule others when you should focus on yourself, we all know there’s a lot more to recovery than getting clean. Eliminating the drug’s just the first step. Fertilizing the soil for a new ‘n improved orchard of self actualization is the rest.

Thus, while this is for life – that only has to be a bad thing if you choose to view it that way. Maybe you’re the only addict you know outside of the rooms of recovery. And that makes you feel a bit lonely. But lemme ask you this. How many “normal” people do you know who’ve got a bad back or bum knee or the like from something dumb they did skiing or skateboarding or whatever? Something they have to do exercises for every day to manage the pain? This is no different. You had a genetic tendency (arguably) toward addiction. You picked up a substance. It led to addiction. That’s just a fact – part of your reality now – just like your buddy’s bad back he’s gotta wake up early and stretch every A.M. Whether or not you brought it on yourself’s irrelevant. The point is, it’s here now. And when you think of it as just another malady you manage to make your make your days easier – then it’s also easier to handle tackling another day. And that’s all you need to do. Focus on your new habit for the next 24 hours. And, while you do, remember that the fact that it’s not shameful doesn’t mean you have to talk about it outside the rooms. I mean, would you carp about your hemorrhoids to randos? Constipation? A yeast infection? No. Some things we wait to share with the right audience.

And I’d highly (unhighly, rather) suggest finding that audience ASAP. Because they’re the ones who are gonna help you get on recovery road and see you through. It’s far easier to not let those lonelier, more isolating aspects of addiction consume you and drive you into relapse if you have other people by your side, telling you they’ve gone through the same. That they have a day by day handle on it. And that their ongoing shame sagas are every bit as comically preposterous as yours.

There’s a connection in that camaraderie which little else can fulfill.

So, how long’s recovery take?

It takes today, friend.

Now come back and ask me again tomorrow, if you forget.

Rehab with wolves? Alright. I’ll bite.

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When I was first getting clean, I remember hearing this story:

It was one of those things that came parallel to truly understanding, for the first time, that I had to take charge of my own reality. Accept reality on reality’s terms. Foster my positive consciousness. Offer fewer nutriments to the less respectable proclivities festering within me – by redirecting my focus. But – to even make that realization took steps. And, while I eventually began nourishing the right side, I didn’t start feeding the good wolf so easily. For me, it meant keeping a program, a network of other addicts, and getting active. For some, they get there via moderation management or joining an athletic sober community. And, then, for others yet?

They feed actual wolves to stay clean

In fact, they do a lot more with those wolves besides feed them. You see, out in Los Angeles, there’s this program called “Wolf Connection” where emotionally troubled folk (mostly young people – but everyone from recovering addicts to PTSD peeps) can go to do one on one work with a wolf dog. (That’s a wolf who’s been bred with the kinda dog that lives in your house, begs at your dinner table, and leaves you presents on the carpet right after you stood in the cold with her for 45 minutes.) It might seem random or irrelevant to recovery (which is what I first thought the day I saw it in a magazine). However, when you truly think about it, it kinda isn’t. What the program does, is pair you up with one of these intuitive, misunderstood creatures – and then send you out to spend some time hiking with him (or her – to be paw-litically correct). If you’ve ever had a regular dog, you’ve probably recognized how these creatures are like furry aura readers with four legs. Wolf dogs, in all their slightly less domesticated glory, still harbor that primal connection to the earth – while retaining the capacity for a human bond. This allows their new guardian learn those intrinsic lessons from them you can’t get with words. And that’s another helpful bit about this therapy form, too. Because animals don’t have the capacity for language or ego, there’s the ability to offer love and compassion which are crucial to recovery – without stipulations or the possibility of rejection. (Or the chance of thirteenth stepping anyone, for that matter.) Per volunteer, Renee Dutcher, who works there, these animals can tell when people are in need straight away.

“They are so powerful and so gentle and caring,” Dutcher said. “When they work with teens and young adults who feel lost, unloved or like they aren’t worth anything, these animals will go right up to them and let them know they’re just as important as anyone else.”

Not to mention the fact that a lot of them, as mentioned, have also been misunderstood.

They’re surrendered, often times, by folks who don’t grasp the concept that a wolfdog’s not like my shih-tzu (who I have to constantly check for signs of life because she’s so lazy). They’re active. They like playfulness and movement. You can’t keep them cooped up or they get destructive. (Which, as a restless addict, I can totally identify with.)

Then, there’s the nature aspect. Say what you want about hippie tree huggers or preferring to stay inside on your iphone, but there’s something incomparably magical about immersing yourself in the woods for a trail trek. It’s cleansing. Recalibrating. Mind clearing. All the things you want when your brain’s banging on about your latest craving. Add in an animal, and it’s a potential win – ’cause they’re just domesticated enough to form a connection with you, but still connected enough to nature to make you fall in love with it too. Ultimately, the experience – the pairing – has led young addicts to recover and lead the kinda lives where they can cultivate that peace the Cherokee proverb above speaks about.

I’m lucky that I’ve personally found a way to keep my shadowy, rage filled, hateful creature looking like something out of an ASPCA commercial hosted by Sarah Mclachlan. It took a bit. (And the only thing they told us to bond with was a house plant.) But if you or some young reprobate you know could use a literal wolf to turn their joyful, figurative ones obese… then have ’em try these guys.

Help them take charge of their life before it’s too late…

…by being charged with early man’s best friend.

Wanna try a different kinda recovery program?

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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.