What's your superpower?

The other day, I heard a co-worker ask an interviewee what superpower they would choose if given the choice.  And my mind immediately flew into what my choice would be.  Time travel?  Telepathy?  Fill in the blank for yourself.  It might be telling. 

MY choice was to be able to stay in shape without physical exercise or watching what I eat. 

A day later, I literally laughed out loud when discussing this with my husband.  Ha!  After months in recovery, I still chose something which circumvents self-control and action.  I guess I need to take a careful look at that.

Recovery has given me insight that I never thought possible.  And writing is an opportunity to make my thoughts present and linear, which usually brings even more self-realizations.  Having the ability to draw parallels, like this one between the role of food and alcohol in my life, is a new talent.  You see, I’ve always been a thinker.  Most would assume that I’m an extrovert, because I am usually at ease in front of people.  You can’t perform and teach and not be.  But at heart, I’m quite the introvert.  I’ve always pondered life alone and analyzed much of what happens around me.  And probably personalized too much and taken too much in.  And more importantly, I haven’t been able to access clarity when needed.  Or to translate what I’m actually thinking and feeling.  And it’s a lot.  Like A LOT, a lot.  And with any inherent acting ability, also comes my ability to present a good face.  To NOT show what I really think, or really want to do, or what’s really going on in the inner workings of my brain and heart.  Perhaps not a good thing.  I know this. 

But if you would have asked me the same question over the last 10 years, my chosen superpower would have been to DRINK NORMALLY.  That would have been a bad-ass superpower.  And I’ll never understand why other mortals seem to have it, and I have it NOT.  I ACCEPT it, but I don’t understand why…exactly. 

It wasn’t really a surprise to know that I always wanted to drink normally.  I’ve already told you quite a bit of history regarding that.  When I drink alcohol, I don’t want to enjoy the aroma or swirl my glass in anticipation, I want to hit Tipsyville as soon as possible and try to ride that wave until the cows come home.  I always did.  Even at 16.  I just massively fail at every attempt, or that’s what the progression shows.   And the tendency was to hang onto ANY success stories like they were the norm.  Put a fucking picture of that moment when I didn’t get sloshed and carry it around in my wallet for proof.  If your brain works like this, I’ve got a little Jeff Foxworthy note for you.  You might not be a redneck, but you might be an ___________. 

For many years, I didn’t realize just how long I have mourned this physical limitation, this lack of being normal.  We humans don’t like to be told no, especially by our bodies.  And it’s funny to see the specific limitations that each of us will fight and claw at.  I have no problem accepting the fact that I will always need a step stool in order to reach items on the top shelf of my kitchen cabinets, but I spent YEARS trying to fight my body and mind’s reaction to alcohol.  Insane?  Uh, yeah.  And with my particular limitation regarding alcohol, also comes the inability to decipher possible consequence, if I’m not practicing recovery each day.  It’s like my step stool. “Step” stool.  Yeah, I get it.

So when I attempted recovery by mere abstinence, I subjected myself to thoughts and actions which continued to reveal my limitations.  Thus, relapse.  And that’s when my decisions fueled exactly what I didn’t want to be.  It would take me years to understand that giving into my physical limitation with alcohol made me weak and dis-empowered.  That it took away the better part of myself and gave power to others.  That I would feel like a dual personality.  One that people knew and one that they didn’t….or at least didn’t “understand.” 

But who wants to enjoy the company of a lost soul?  Who wants to “understand” someone who is bewildering?  Absolutely no one.  And I can’t blame them. 

Now, I wasn’t drunk and bewildering all the time, right?  I mothered and taught and conversed with others and performed and cooked dinner and went to the grocery store and did ALL of those things soberly.  I just didn’t realize that the drunk me was always there in some small way.  She haunted my every success, gently undermining my interactions and accomplishments.  Making them smaller than they otherwise would have felt.  And possibly even been.  Does that make sense?  It’s not like I can tell you that I wasn’t a good mother the last 5 years, when I drank in solitude while not around my children.  I WAS a good mother.  I just don’t know how much this lack of owning my truths, this in-authenticity, actually affected that mothering.  Or that teaching in the classroom.  Or that intimacy with my husband. 

What I know now is that I don’t give a SHIT about power over alcohol.  I don't value being "normal" in that way.  The power that I now have in my own life is not couched in a lack of humility, it is a combination of self-worth and self-respect that bleeds into every part of my thoughts and actions. I seem to be merging the inner and outer personas, and it doesn’t come without some mistakes.  Not that I’ve NEVER been myself.  Or “authentic.”  Although I have to say that I really hate that phrase.  Does anyone have an “authentic” definition of being “authentic?”  Jesus.  But that it felt like I hadn’t claimed my own truths.  And there are many. 

This present version of striving for authenticity happens to carry being quite forthcoming with my past struggles with alcohol and currently being in recovery.  But that isn’t all that I am or all that I think about.  That would be quite limited.  More importantly, it recalls another attribute of this Jen 2.0.  This rather vocal one. 

Why do I feel the need to be so vocal about recovery?  Hmmm….that’s an interesting question.  Not everyone does.  Plenty of people do it quietly, only revealing certain facts to certain people.  But I clearly decided to do otherwise.  Being quiet didn’t feel like me.  And I had to be honest about that.  I had to be authentic about the fact that I wanted to be fully known, even by a stranger reading this blog.  And especially by anyone who knows me, both casually and intimately. 

It’s been a journey of recovery of self.  Of being who I want to be and acting in ways that support this better self, each and every day.  Writing helps.  Saying what I think helps.  Taking risks helps.  That doesn’t mean I’m always right in doing so, it means I’m learning.  It’s called showing up.

Owning my truths and telling the truth carries real risk.  And seeing how people react to it is both encouraging and mildly painful.  I have to trust myself with whatever reaction I may get from others in this truth-telling.  In both simple predicaments and more difficult situations. 

Like….what I’ll do if my youngest son asks me if Santa Claus is real this year.  I mean a point-blank direct question.  Do I own that truth and communicate it appropriately?  Is that the right thing to do?  Well…..he’s nine, so probably.  To that question I say YES.  And I trust myself to deal with the repercussions of that.  To not make my own personal feelings more important than telling him the truth at this point in his development.  Make sense? 

And more difficult situations like trusting myself to deal with others’ reactions to the writing of this blog.  I’m sure that some people think it’s strange.  And too “personal.”  I even heard from my friend that an acquaintance asked, “Is Jennifer OKAY?  I read a blog and it felt like I shouldn’t even BE there.”  As if the writing is so intimate that the reader is invading my personal space.  Ha!  Like she accidentally found my diary under my mattress and is reading about my crush on my first cousin or something!  At first, I was a little offended, for sure.  Perhaps someone saw me naked and didn’t like what they saw.  Hmmmm….but that’s okay.  Not everyone has to like me naked.   

My current powers aren’t really “super” in nature.  The power comes from owning what is here in my natural positive state.  And to be courageous enough to be unapologetic about it.  Accepting my specific limitations and being bold with my talents and attributes.  Owning what makes me, ME. 

If you would have told me a year ago that I would be sober this Christmas, I would have said, “Well, cool.  THAT needs to happen.”  You see, it’s not like I didn’t know I was struggling.  And it’s not like I never thought I could DO it.  I did.  I just didn’t want to put in the work for it, frankly.  But if you would have told me that I would be sober and WRITING openly about it, I would have told you that you were absolutely INSANE.  THAT would have been unfathomable.  Entirely.  I never would have guessed that I would accept and own this truth openly.  There was still too much shame.  So much shame and risk to think it could be overcome in this way.  Damn!  I guess I put on my cape and flew right over Shameville and took a giant poop on it as I passed over.  Yeah, I said that.  I took a shit on Shameville.  Deal with it.  It made me laugh.

If you made it to the end of this blog, thanks for reading.  I hope it sheds some light on what recovery of self has brought me.  If you like what you see….or read.  Well, cool.  And if you don’t, that’s really fine as well.  My feelings aren’t hurt all too much.  Just say something nice or not anything at all. 

Mike has this saying, and when he says it, he makes this sweeping hand gesture around his face.  He looks me in the eye and says, “This ain’t for everyone.”  And I like that.   He’s right.  We’re lucky that we don’t just like the other person but accept and celebrate that which makes us each unique.   

So, I bid you adieu with my sweeping hand motion around this face that sits a little road weary and make-up free this early morning.  It’s nice to share in this way and evidently, I’m built for it.  Who would have guessed?  And most importantly, I like what’s beyond this countenance.  I like who she is, what she thinks, and what she stands for.

That’s my superpower.  And it ain’t for everyone.