Our Stories Have Power

How does one get here…from there? 

First, a little about what “there” was. In the end, the outside was as messy as the inside, but the inside is what is the most important (as the outside is merely a reflection of the inside).  From the beginning I felt alone, even with people; a profound sense of being lost, even when I seemingly had a direction, and; unsafe, even when surrounded by people who cared.  In the end, I also felt completely hopeless.  I knew the insanity of the cycle, but was powerless to stop it.  When I do public speaking, I liken it to being underwater and trying not to breath.  You know breathing means death when underwater, but your survival instinct is stronger than your conscious reasoning, which is what not drinking was like. I knew I couldn’t have just one. I knew what the end looked like. Time and again – blackouts, rages, hurt.  I knew the consequences, the insanity, and waking to find I had done it yet again, much to the consternation of the few that still were along for the ride with me.  I knew all of this, and desperately wanted to do something different, and believed with every fiber of my being that I wouldn’t do it. Not again. But when the moment struck, that consciousness gave way to the survival instinct, because, for me, to drink was survival. Then…what? 

One day, I came out of a blackout, staring at myself in a mirror. The warped perception melted away, and I was there, seeing myself as I truly was. Alcohol, which was once a solution, had not worked for a long time. I was 5 days into a binge, and each drink, each line, each action taken to ensure my perceived survival took me one step closer to the bitter end.  And I saw this truth for what it was. 

As I stood there in front of that mirror, I felt the sense of rage and hopelessness that came from chasing something that just didn’t work, and hadn’t worked in a long time. It swirled within in me, threatening to eat me alive, having been fueled by the very thing I used to try to stop it. It had worked once. It had been a really good lover, friend, confidant.  But it was no more. In in that moment, in front of my mirror, that truth sank into the depths of my being.  And the journey to being free began. 

July 9, 1998.  This is the day I celebrate a new life, a rebirth, an embracing of a life that feeds my complete being - mind, body and spirit.  It's a journey taken a moment at a time, but each moment leads to a greater awakening of my passion, my being.  

The beginning was hard. That is the truth. I could barely string coherent sentences together. I struggled to read. I was sick, a lot, as I detoxed off of everything. There is a prolonged detox that happens, that few people talk about in the open. A friend early on told me it takes a year to get the cobwebs out and another 2 years to start to come out of the fog. I slept around then clock for a time, then not at all for a time. This pattern continued for a while. I was emotionally all over the place - I would even have rages where I blacked out, dead sober. I had to teach myself how to cry, and it was a lot of work. There were a lot of pent up emotions that I had stuffed over years. They all started to come out, and thankfully I engaged in a recovery community and was surrounded by people who walked with me through the process.  I learned about companionship, relationship and commitment. As I healed in on the inside, so followed life on the outside.

It hasn't always been pretty, but it's been steady.  I have done most of what I was told not to do, but the law of natural consequences is a powerful teacher.  Much more powerful than any story shared, although each story gained meaning as life happened. Early on my emotional and psychological state was like a pendulum, swinging wildly from one side to the other.  Like my kids on a swing - "higher!" "higher!" - until exhaustion took over, then I learned a little about taking it easy. 

That last day of then, I was literally drowning.  Drinking in spite of every instinct not to.  I have not experienced that in a long time.  Beyond that, I am free of the loneliness. I have a clear sense of direction, and am tapped into a depth of passion that I never knew existed. I am safe. I am protected. I am loved. I am free from the seemingly hopeless state of mind and body that once held me captive.

The truth is, I have sacrificed a lot for commitment to this deal.  But the real treasure is that each sacrifice gave way to fruits that never would have come to bear had I had I demanded no sacrifice.  I really believe the truth of this way of life - hell, of life at all - is beautifully and eloquently captured in the St. Francis Prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace! That where there is hatred, I may bring love. That where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness. That where there is discord, I may bring harmony. That where there is error, I may bring truth. That where there is doubt, I may bring faith. That where there is despair, I may bring hope. That where there are shadows, I may bring light. That where there is sadness, I may bring joy. Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort, than to be comforted. To understand, than to be understood. To love, than to be loved. For it is by self-forgetting that one finds. It is by forgiving that one is forgiven. It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life