- Alcohol
- Friends & Family
- Mental Health
I began my career in addiction at the age of eleven. Desperate to fit in, to fill the hole I always felt, I started with smoking cigarettes, progressing to alcohol, pot, acid, pills of any kind, and THC through my teens. Pregnant at sixteen, married at seventeen, divorced by eighteen, I drank alcoholically, though not daily, through my teens and twenties. I knew almost from the beginning that I did not drink like other people. I could not stop once started, never wanted the night or day to end once I started, and would feel anxious that we were going to run out once I started.
I sought the ease of the effects of alcohol, or I chased the escape it gave me. Everything was funnier, I was more comfortable in my skin, could talk to anyone without fear of judgement.
I drove drunk, with my child in the car, frequently. I took advantage of people, asking almost anyone to babysit so I could go out and get high. I lied and manipulated people. I made promises I did not keep. I was never on time, and resented it if someone made a comment about it. I screamed at my daughter with little provocation, and I treated her like she was a burden.
I made many bad decisions based on my feelings of emptiness that affected my daughter and myself, and which frequently put us in a position to be hurt. I spent a lot of time telling myself I would not drink again, that I would be a better mother, a better worker, and I thought I was trying to do all those things. I was afraid that I could not stop drinking, or worse, that I didn’t want to. I was terrified that if I did stop, I wouldn’t know how to live. Instinctively, I understood that if I stopped drinking, everything would have to change and I did not know how to do that.
After I came into recovery, I began looking back on my life with a clearer mind. I could see where I had not thought of my family first, where I had frequently sought solace via alcohol, and how it was an obsession I felt I could not dispel.
In recovery I found a community of people, who, like me, sought first to stop their pain, then sought a better way of life, then sought to improve themselves as human beings by helping others. Sometimes these three journeys were intertwined.
I genuinely sought to help others with no thought of gain for the first time in my life. I was able to be present for my family, friends, and strangers: anyone who needed help.
During the illness and subsequent death of my mother, I was able to be present, honored to be so, humbled by her trust in me to care for her. Several years later I took care of my then-boyfriend, who had terminal cancer. Again, I was able and dedicated to being as fully present as I could be, through his illness, his death, and the many months afterwards when his family needed support and encouragement.
I have suffered through deep bouts of depression, without alcohol or drugs. I have learned to refrain from acting on negative feelings, to wait, to pray, to discuss them with others. I have learned to be deeply grateful even while in those states.
There are so many misconceptions about people in recovery. I can recall judging people in recovery with pity. Now I realize it is a cause for celebration. I thought recovery meant never having fun again (although waking up in your own vomit-covered hair is certainly less than fun). I had no idea how one could possibly live without those crutches, particularly in times of sorrow or fear. But I can, and I have. I feel like people in recovery are somewhat enlightened to a greater degree than many who never seek self-improvement.
I recall viewing people who were addicted to substances or behaviors with disdain, thinking “why don’t they just stop?” Now I know it’s more than that, much more. It’s a sickness that requires patience and kindness and understanding from others.
I saw the first glimmers of hope in recovery. Having been through much darkness in recovery, I can say that I have survived much adversity, all while sober, and present. Being present is the most valuable aspect of sobriety in my life.
From the beginning, I have been humbled by the genuine care people in recovery have displayed toward one another. I learned from them that that is what keeps us sober. One alcoholic helping another is the key to our common recovery.
Sometimes I think if I could go back and spend time with the “me” I was before I began my career in addictions, I would gather up that little girl in my arms and tell her: “you are worth everything in the world! Those paths do not lead to security, serenity, happiness and peace. Learn to love yourself.” But I suspect I wouldn’t have listened. I can only do that today. Today I can stop berating that little girl for hurting and be kind to her. I can be present for her.