How easily I can forget to take care of myself! Not intentionally, but it just happens; it creeps up on me. Life gets busier than usual—I am doing fine, then all of a sudden I am overwhelmed. How do I know I am overwhelmed? I find myself getting caught up in to many thoughts and feelings about work, home, family and friends, and I start short-changing the things I need. I start to think I can handle it all “if I just…” But instead, it can make me edgy, unhappy or downright unpleasant to be around.
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Anyone that has dealt with addiction, either directly or indirectly, knows it affects many people, besides just the addicted person. The family of an individual recovering from an addiction plays a major role in his recovery. The discussion of how the family should behave and what their role should be during recovery is a topic that should be handled with special care.
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Lately I have been finding it difficult to engage. The wonderful things I have going on in my life, the passion of my work, social interactions and my service commitments have seemed to fizzle in their attractiveness. I feel like I have hit a road block. Inspiration is blanking and being grateful becomes difficult. I have started to feel burnt out. I have started to accrue injuries in my adventures, laying me up weekend after weekend. It’s become harder to write, and multiple deadlines can be draining. I have found myself becoming frustrated with the obstacles. This is not the first time in my life I have felt uninspired and blocked. The difference between now and then is that I currently have tools to help me get through this seemingly “lost” period in my life.
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I arrived at the Freedom and Recovery Conference tired, hungry, and a wee bit underdressed. The attire called for business casual, yet prepping for a three hour motorcycle ride from Palm Springs to San Diego, I had packed the dress shirt and heels in my Harley Davidson backpack, opting to wear boots, comfy pants and my bike gear for the road. Upon arrival, I texted lead advocate Nate, who stated they were eating lunch in the main hall and I could come get some grub if I wanted to. A little embarrassed in my get-up, but famished after a mini-tour, I hiked out to grab my conference pass and meander into the dining hall. I was greeted with mostly welcoming smiles and bright eyes. I dub those “the faces of recovery.”
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Two and a half years ago, it was suggested that I take a 12-Step class. At that time the only steps I planned to take were from my bed to my bathroom, which is what I did for three days and three nights prior to checking into treatment. Opiate, benzo, and alcohol abuse for 17-plus years equals one wretched, hellacious withdrawal. How could 12 steps make a difference in this mess of a life I had made?
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When I was first asked to be involved in the Heroes in Recovery movement, I didn’t realize they thought I was a hero. I came out of addiction alive, yes, but my idea of real heroes in recovery were the individuals who held out their hands as long as it took until I grabbed on, and who stayed by my side and walked painfully slow down “our” path. This is their parade.
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