In a meeting this week, several people shared about the various ways they'd tried to quit drinking in the past, like in More About Alcoholism - switching from wine to brandy, never having it in the house, etc. I couldn't relate. The question "How often have you tried to quit?" was the only one I didn't have an answer for when I got to treatment. Why on earth would I have tried to quit when I saw no viable alternative? My dad once said, after he was sober several years, that he'd give anything to be able to have a few drinks. I knew I was incapable of living like that.
I did quit drinking once, for 5 whole days in an effort to drop a few pounds. I felt so virtuous, riding my bike for 30 minutes each day, very much not drinking my usual evening vodka-7's. So virtuous and proud of myself that at the end of those 5 days, I celebrated with a large bottle of light wine (an affront to wine everywhere). And that one bottle gave me enough of a buzz that I went back to the store and bought another. So much for my "diet." Another time, years later, my meth cook lover and I decided to stop using speed/the needle for a weekend, driving to his family's beach cabin for the break. We did eat mushrooms (I never did like psychedelics, and this was no exception) and drank, a LOT. So much for taking a break.
I hear people say that they drank to stop their brain, to stop thinking or feeling. Not me, at least not consciously. I drank to have fun, even if it was just me and the television. Drinking was what I did, a diversion, entertainment, the social lubricant, what I thought was the creative spark. I drank because it was Mon, Tues, Wed or Thurs, with more intent on the weekends. I drank because I could, because it was always five o'clock somewhere, because that's simply what I did, without a whole lot of thought.
And today I don't. I am one of the extremely fortunate ones whose compulsion was lifted early on. How or why, I have no idea. Someone once spoke of the "window of opportunity" we pass through, not sure if it was a plate glass storefront or a tiny peep hole, but they weren't taking any chances that if they went back though that window, they'd be able to find their way to this side again. I feel the same, reinforced by a friend I ran into at the library years ago, a friend deep in relapse, who said, "It's so hard to get back." People do, and I so admire their courage and strength, and... I need to stay, one day at a time.
A big piece of that has to do with trust - trusting the process (which confused me at first), trusting you people, trusting my own inner wisdom. Years ago, working with teens in treatment, I participated in a Challenge Course which involved a "trust fall," which meant standing on a platform attached to a tree, six feet off the ground, falling backwards into the arms of a group of fourteen and fifteen year olds. Talk about doubt and the self-talk that said, "Are you kidding?!" But those kids caught me, and in turn, I caught them. And each time someone says, "Can I share something with you?" or opens their heart in a meeting, I think of that metaphorical leap into the unknown, the radical trust we are encouraged to employ. Radical in that this is not my usual way of being, I can take care of it myself thank you very much, and trust in knowing, or at least suspecting, that it will all work out in the end if I simply stay out of my own way.
I say "simply" but we know it isn't simple to let go of the reins, to face my dilemmas with open palms, but hanging on isn't easy either - in fact, that's probably harder. It's those last few steps before letting go where I struggle the most, believing that if I think hard enough, or pray in just the right way, or google it one more time that the magic answer(s) will appear. It's exhausting, keeping the world spinning on my own, keeping an eye on you and you and you over there. Just. Stop.
And so I end this week grateful for the shift in seasons, for a group of trusted others I can be real with (even if that includes a few strangers at a meeting). I am grateful for my health, always, and for the long journey towards being able to pause - not perfectly, and not every time, but taking the breath before opening my mouth or hitting send is coming easier these days. I am grateful for all that has brought me to this moment, even the hard stuff. As our treatment counselor used to ask, "Have you had enough to eat today? Do you know where you'll be sleeping?" Well then, you are fortunate indeed.
How did you attempt to "control and enjoy" your substance use before making it to the long-time-sober club? What shifted that enabled you to stay? How do you make yourself open and available to the daily reprieve? If you find yourself with clenched fists, hanging on tight to something you are probably powerless over, how do you move to a place of trust?
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See the Feb 4 post for a sample of the 78-page workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" available as hard copy (mailed) or PDF (emailed - for those outside the U.S or those who prefer the computer, though do note it is not a writeable PDF.). Portland Area Intergroup also has a supply available at 825 NE 20th Ave, suite 200. Go to the WEB VERSION of this page, if you don't see the purchase link in the upper right corner. Contact me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with any questions.
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