Wait for it

Just…….wait for it.  Relief always comes.  Wait for the morning.  And a good cup of coffee.

Last night was a struggle.  One of the very few times I’ve cried in the last 9 months…a real boohoo sesh.  It was one of those big ole’ ugly cries……when you must concentrate on breath and slowing of thoughts, in order to find the calm that you know awaits.  I was lucky to have Mike there, who didn’t try to fix me, just laid next to me, arms wrapped around me in support…..also waiting. 

There was no massive occurrence.  Nothing terrible had happened.  And no, drinking never entered my thoughts.  I don’t think like this, but I’m aware that others might assume that I do.  This is a common misconception, the idea that anyone in recovery must have lots of moments of struggling in a corner, shaking off the temptation, and willing themselves not to drive to the 7-11.  If I do anything of good here, please know this.  When I say that it isn’t about drinking, I truly mean that.  There has never been one moment since coming home from rehab over 9 months ago, when I considered going to buy wine.  That doesn’t necessarily mean that others don’t struggle in a different way, but I would be remiss if I said that I have. 

And this includes even the first days home, when I feared I wouldn’t see my children.  That is a fear like none other.  That special brand of fear had sent me into great depths of sorrow just 4 weeks earlier (whew, that was ugly), and then returning home, I got to face it again in only hours.  But this time, I chose to voluntarily open the door, shake its hand, sit and have a conversation with it, and allow it to fuel rational thought and brave action.  I am most proud of this.  Truly.  

The 30 days away had surprised me for several reasons, one of which was that my valued mentors did not think that I needed time away from my children once home.  Honestly, I had humbled myself enough to accept what a few trusted individuals thought was best, and so I almost prepared myself for this, as if it was inevitable.  But that assumption was entirely wrong.  It was suggested to me that being with my children was healing for everyone involved, that I should be trusted if I was willing to be transparent, and that I had every right to assume this would happen.  That actually stunned me, because I too, assumed that I would be perceived as fragile in some way.  Some broken being who has to build up nourishment and stamina.  It's just not like that.  I never felt fragile or wary of taking on any challenge.  I was just cognizant of what challenges should be accepted.  And readjustment didn't take more than a couple of days.  So, as long as they wanted to be here in this house with me, then I would face whatever I needed to, in order for that to happen.  That’s all there was to it. 

So last night was nothing major like that.  I wasn’t afraid.  Maybe that’s why it was so easy to cry, because when truly fearful, I don’t cry.  And perhaps now, I cry at things that I otherwise wouldn’t have.  So, nothing of enormity needed to occur for me to crave that release…..I don’t even know exactly what it was.  But that was a real craving.  Love, love the irony in that word choice. 

I do recognize old patterns, when I surely would have had a couple of glasses to calm the inner self.  So each time I sit through these moments now, it’s a fun little experiment. “Hey, Mike, it’s happening again.  Take a video or something.  Who knows what will happen?” (yes, I wink here)

Ah……………...new realizations.  Lots of them.  That’s what happens.  Glad he didn’t video.  It would have been terribly boring.

And so, last night it only lasted a few minutes or so.  The crying.  And then I was fast asleep.  It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t make any decisions about life in that state.  And I didn’t.  I just fell asleep holding my partner’s hand and waited for morning. 

This writing thing was getting to me.  That’s the deal, and I wish it wasn’t so.  Because it has caused more frustration than I was prepared for.  I threw caution to the wind, and I had no idea caution was shaped like a boomerang.

I am clear in my intentions: 

I want to present a real picture of what recovery looks like, free of typical thoughts and assumptions. 

And, I want to be a reflection for others in recovery (and also addiction), so they don’t feel alone.  It really is that simple. 

But my frustration in not knowing if I’m being successful at these two objectives is more difficult than I anticipated, and I continually decide if the frustration is worth it.  Because there’s always a chance that I’m providing a view for the voyeur.  Ugh, that sucks.  I don’t want to hurt for the enjoyment of others.  I just have no idea why anyone actually clicks on these pages.  Perhaps it’s feeding perceptions that I don’t want to support.

Sure, you can assume that this is therapeutic for me in some way.  I’ve never been inclined to write at any other period in my life.  Never, unless there was a grade involved, and even then, I waited until the last minute to do so, and it was apparent in the work itself.  So, I choose to assume that there is a good reason why I feel inspired and willed to write.  But there’s more than one way to skin a cat.  I do know that.  And unfortunately, I’m now keenly aware that just because I’m an adult who constructs a pretty decent sentence, it doesn’t mean that self-doubt doesn’t immediately follow my well-placed punctuation marks.

I think I’ve decided that I can accomplish my two intentions in other ways as well, and that to balance out the lack of feedback here, I need to serve in other ways.  Maybe that’s the call.  To realize that this just can’t be the only way that I give back.  Because no one emails me responses to the writings, and everyone needs feedback in some way.  To give and to also be fed. 

Perhaps I need to see who I’m singing to.  Perhaps I need to look in the eyes of who I’m giving to, and to know that the bravery is worth it.  But if bravery was the end goal, I would bungee jump or ride motorcycles.  Mike might like that more, frankly.  I doubt that I would melt into tears before bedtime after a swift ride down I-35 on a Harley.

Last week, my son’s baseball tournament happened to be miles away from where I went to rehab, so I took the opportunity to visit the alumni meeting that happens every Sunday morning.  I loved these meetings when I was there, and so it was a privilege to enter those gates under different circumstances.  These meetings are for current clients, which usually total around 80-90, and also any alumni that live in the area, or have traveled to visit.  I was not nervous or apprehensive.  My vantage points just changed a little, since I sat at the front of the room, with two other alumni ready to talk.  And so I got to share my story for the first time in that setting.  It felt just as natural as when I sang in the same spot 9 months earlier, but the feeling of transcendence was far greater.  And it was humbling to know that I was surrounded by those who felt all of what I did within those walls- shame, regret, hope, faith…….and “Oh shit!  How did I end up here?” 

It’s easy to want to feel that way.  You know, the whole….“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”  Because when I was there, I was even mistaken for a counselor once.  I suppose it was the teacher vibe.  But if I ever would have thought I was better or different than anyone else, I would have missed the point of the exercise entirely.  We are equals in that space, regardless of what drug brought us there, what job we came from, or how long we were able to “function.”  That was never a badge of honor, only a reminder of how much time I lost.

If you’ve never felt that before, I don’t think I can explain it sufficiently.  That feeling of oneness is the transcendence that comes from giving into real connection.  There is no hierarchy in real love.  A fundamental belief that I hold very, very close to my soul and changed my ability to accept others and connect in meaningful ways.

And right in front of me was the lone sleeping individual, slumped down in her chair, eyes closed, with absolutely no intention of even pretending to listen.  Oh man, if you’ve never tried to give a heartfelt oration in front of someone who could care less about your presence, you haven’t presented in rehab!  There’s always at least one.  It is more than humbling, to say the least.  But the message was for the sleeper too.  I never lost hope that she might open her eyes and take in the words of everyone who spoke. 

I wish that I could have spent a full day there, but I was already missing part of one of the baseball games, so I left immediately following the meeting.  But I made a decision to go back on a regular basis, because I hope I served them.  I know that being there served me.

Because this all can’t have been a waste.  That’s just unacceptable.  The fact that I have a particular experience, that’s actually not as unique as most people assume, is meant to be shared.  Because I know what it meant to hear others tell me their story.  Those rooms are an easier crowd.  True.  Because they get me.  I guess you can say I was speaking to a captive audience, right?  Don’t worry, I used that joke when I was there myself.  I’ve got much more inappropriate rehab humor where that came from, but you might not get it.

This blog is a challenge, but as apprehensive as I was last night, I felt differently after a good night’s sleep.  And geez, I seemed to write a long one, too.  Sorry ya’ll. 

I just needed a big hug last night, from anyone reading this, because it isn’t easy.  And it sucks to not be able to see or feel if it’s helping anyone at all.  Just know that I’m trying.  This is what recovery looks like.  I can cry one night, kick around a few words the next morning, and figure out my lunch by noon.  Just wait for it.  Love and stillness always comes.  It's right over that ridge top of realization, right past frustration and pain.  You just have to know where you are headed, and have a little faith.