I was at a Families Against Narcotics (FAN) meeting several months ago. It was a cold, miserable night and the room was full of folks who had lost a loved one to addiction and overdose. The topic was processing grief. The room was bursting with the collective swell of tears and regret and rage…

Where is the Joy?

I’m not sure what prompted him, because it was kind of off topic. But, one of the men in the group said he had trouble “feeling joy” now that he was sober. He said it took a lot to make him laugh. In a resigned, Eeyore-ish sort of way he added, “That’s just the way we addicts are…”

I totally related to this. It was the kind of spontaneous moment to which I am drawn.  I wanted to talk to him after the meeting, but I was slow to make my move and by the time I had gathered my coat, scarf, gloves, he was gone. Per usual, a few key words made me think about the subject of “joy”, or lack thereof, on and off ever since. And now that the weather is more accommodating, I am less inclined to clap him on the back in chummy agreement. More inclined to argue that the concept of “joy” should not include throwing up, verbally attacking a loved one or crashing a golf cart into an unforgiving copse of mangroves…

Does a storm gathering over Tampa Bay bring me joy? Kinda’

I do say it all the time – there is a little something missing, now that I’m sober. I didn’t think I meant joy, but why else did this resonate with me when I first heard it?

Emotional Rescue…

I remember, in my drinking days, those crazy moments. Maybe sitting in my living room alone. Staring at a new painting, sloshing glasses of wine down my gullet, experiencing an out-of-body “joy”. For hours, until I passed out. Or dancing around, in my cups like Rumpelstiltskin and putting a foot through a canvas…. But, the point is – the excruciating, in-the-moment exhalation.

If I sat in front of a new painting now, with a glass of gassy water I might last ten minutes. Even twenty. But, no euphoria. No weird, fire lit rapture… Dancing like no one is watching? Not once in the five years since I have been sober.

The object of the first drunken highland jig… Jacob’s Girl by Oleg Korchagan

Other things I no longer feel/do?

• I no longer feel like I command a room. I think I’m almost too humble. Positively pride-less. But I’m not as rich either and wealth makes people douchier, more entitled to attention.
• I no longer enjoy “flirting”. At all. But certainly not with much younger men. Or those deemed “inappropriate” (my go-to in the years of living dangerously).
• I don’t spend as much time in bathrooms at parties reapplying lip liner.
• Speaking of parties, I do not “party” anymore. I can last about three hours before I begin to look at my watch. It’s boring to talk, talk, talk if you don’t drink, drink, drink, right?
• I am not as funny. Kim, don;t say it – I can still find humor in almost everything. BUT I AM NOT AS FUNNY.
• I am not a spendthrift. Even putting something back on the shelf after considering its worth… I do not have a slew of recurring, unwanted charges on my credit card (I am too hamstrung to deal with) for things like Crepe Erase, Trifexis Chewables and HBO.
• There’s more, but you get my drift…

But do I experience joy? Defined as, “A feeling of great pleasure and happiness.”

This is where I must beg to differ with Eeyore and the man who spoke at the FAN meeting. My first impulse to agree was born of old fashioned negative thinking and long overgrown neuro pathways. Almost as if I thought I was still supposed to be miserable. The fact is, I find joy in the smallest things now. And recognize the important moments – they do not pass in a blur, because I operate in the present.

And when you operate in the present (as a card carrying adult) there is still exultation . Still hilarity.  But it comes from what is real – nature, family, community and a solid foundation. Do I still LOVE art? Sure. Do I wish the inhibitions that started me drinking in the first place would bend it like Beckham? Yup. And do I still laugh? Of course…

But that’s the deal we make when we get sober. We have to redefine what our brains have been telling us. That “happiness” is the warm buzz from that third bottle of plonk. There will always be something missing. It’s like the shadow you see out of the corner of your eye from the dead family cat. You may not have liked the thing, but it did live in the house for twenty years…

If I ever see that fellow again, I’m going to tell him he inspired me to start writing in my blog again. Albeit four months after the fact. I may even tell him, in this brave new world in which I live, he brought me joy…

E2E – Kim and I have not forgotten you… I just took a break from writing, not thinking of you and your dad. LOVE to you.

The post Where is the JOY? Does Addiction Sap Feelings Forever? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

Lest you think I am starting the new year with a bad attitude, I’m here to tell you I woke up full of piss and vinegar. That could be because I am actually on steroids. I went to an orthopedic surgeon yesterday, convinced I had bone cancer, only to find that the radiating pain in my hip was probably caused by, “Years of doing what you love to do…”.

For example, hiking up hills, running on the beach and the wearing of four inch heals. That, and a lack of space between the round ball of my hip bone and the socket it fits in. I am a bit crooked. I have lost range of motion in “bound ankle pose”.  I am occasionally in enough pain to limp piteously.

When an alcoholic is in pain…

To put this in the proper perspective, I have not been to a doctor in ten years. The whole process is so rarefied, that even filling out the insurance forms seemed novel and “fun”. I asked questions. And I couldn’t help but think of the opioids lined up like fluffy, white rabbits with fangs, on a shelf somewhere. I was asked three times, even before I made it to the examining room, what I took for the pain.

My response, “Um, nothing? Maybe an Advil gelcap when it hurts really bad?” was met with looks of incredulity. It occurred to me that most people take pain medication when something hurts… As an alcoholic, it’s weird I suppose, that I have always avoided medicine of any kind. Other than the three bottles of elixir I used to drink per day, of course…

To the young man who took my vitals (excellent), I said, “I’m an alcoholic so I can’t take anything, you know, strong…” It felt like TMI, or at least like I should have had the proper name for what I couldn’t take. Narcotics? Opioids? Oxys? Corticosteroids? I’m an addiction professional for God’s sake!

To the x-ray technician I said, “I wish this would just go away…” She laughed, but I meant it. Miracles occur, why not me?

Bone Daddy…

I waited in the appointed room, with my x-rays pinned to the light box like a Damien Hirst exhibit. My hip and back bones looked fragile and lacy. It made me feel tenuous. As if a wrong step might snap my underpinning and I’d clatter to the ground like old pottery.

An hour and 1/2 later, I didn’t care anymore. I had studied my infrastructure ad nauseum, and sped read six Hello magazines (Megan Markle is divorced). I played with the models of joints. I thought about Tom Hager’s cyanotypes. I looked out of the sliver of window like a prisoner on the Bridge of Sighs… I just wanted out of there.

I mean, doesn’t everyone think of Thomas Hager’s cyanotypes while at the orthopedic surgeon’s office? Thomas Hager “Departure” cyanotype photograph.

When the great man arrived, I amused myself by thinking of him as Bone Daddy. He was actually super cool. And, get this, one of the first questions he asked was, “Has there been an alcohol problem in the past?” I nodded yes. “Are you an alcoholic?” Bingo…

Apparently my dicky hip could be caused by excessive alcohol consumption. The gift that keeps on giving, right?

I performed like a trained bear in one of those sad, roadside carnivals for Bone Daddy – over-anxious to please. I bent at the waist and touched the floor. I duck stepped in place. I lay on my back while he twisted my legs like pipe-cleaners. Does that hurt? How about that? 

Stoic or scared straight?

The doctor said I was “stoic”. That most people would have been shouting at him to stop when he pushed my knee to my chest even though it didn’t want to go there. But, I don’t feel stoic. And as with each new experience I have in recovery, I tried to process.

The bottom line, is that those of us in recovery must advocate for ourselves.

I have developed a condition that begged the alcohol question, but what if I had said, no? I volunteered the information about my alcoholism to anyone who would listen, but what if I didn’t? As it turns out, I left with a dose of Prednisone mild enough for “pregnant women.” And a prescription for an anti-inflammatory that “also coats the stomach”.

But I keep thinking about the question, “On a scale of 1 to 10 what is your level of pain?” What if I had said 10? Alcoholics are used to under-reporting. How many drinks a day? One? I am suggesting we also try to accept a bit of discomfort, when the fix is potentially addictive. And don’t be embarrassed by the TMI. 

In this case, too much information is a good thing…

E2E – I’m BACK…

The post An Alcoholic Walks Into a Pain Doc’s Office… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I just read an article by William White about the difference between Relapse Prevention (RP) and Recovery Management (RM). In a nut shell, he opines that one focuses on “deficits and vulnerabilities” and the other on “assets”. RP implies we are running from monsters (waking up the ghost?). RM suggests we are “being positively drawn toward something of great value of one’s own choosing.”

The four-year experiment…

It came at a perfect time. Because, I was reflecting on the Thanksgiving weekend and my own, four-year psychosocial experiment in sobriety. And I was feeling pretty full of myself this morning. In fact, for the first time in four years, I actually broke my typical cycle. I think I have begun to trick my own brain!

Let me explain.

My son Jonathan and his girlfriend Kallie were visiting. And it was a fantastic weekend of family, hikes, great food and conversation. Even the Up North winter cooperated with unseasonable warmth (other than the 25 mph winds off Lake Michigan).

Jonathan asked me if it was still difficult for me to be with people who were drinking. He wanted to know if I still craved wine – if it was still an “issue for me”. (This asked while he sipped a Coppola Cabernet…) I answered truthfully, that I never thought about drinking anymore. It took a long while, but I have not had that out-of-nowhere, punch in the gut desire to DRINK! in about a year…

What I have done, is replace my addiction to wine with candy, coffee and food. And exercise. Hiking in the Michigan wilds has been a staple of my recovery, and I talk about it all the time. But, so has anesthetizing myself with the fast food equivalent of white wine shooters in the glove-box. That, I don’t talk about much…

Cultivating wellness…

Yesterday, Jonathan and Kallie left at 4 AM. I experienced the usual feelings one feels – tired, a bit lonely, a touch of anticlimax. And I also experienced the feelings that plague the person with a substance use disorder. That empty, bleak, icky feeling that used to send me to bed with a jumbo bottle of chardonnay and a party bag of M&Ms.

I have to admit, when I got home I felt the momentary desire to eat up the frayed remains on the charcuterie plate. And I wanted to scrounge for anything containing Karo syrup. Stuffing my mouth with processed, sugary foods has been my go-to panacea to fill the void since I quit drinking.

But after a nap and a cup or two of coffee, I had the out-of-nowhere, punch in the gut desire to go for a walk. It was a beautiful, sunny day. And I had no desire to hole-up and eat. The feeling was so shocking, I didn’t quite know how to handle it. I even opened the refrigerator and looked inside to test myself. Rattled the Skinny Pop bag because I am a glutton for punishment. Nothing. 

Talk about being drawn to something of great value of one’s own choosing…

Learning positive reinforcement…

The only explanation I have is that after four years of sobriety and two years of actively trying to rewire my brain – it is working! When I had the moment to fill an empty day, I chose the positive reinforcement of a walk.

Recovery is so much more than just not drinking. So much more than looking over one’s shoulder for the next relapse. It requires an overhaul of an entire life. And positive, healthy choices after the cravings for alcohol or other drugs dissipate.

Bill White says, “If recovery is more than the removal of alcohol and other drugs from an otherwise unchanged life, then the focus of recovery support interventions should shift from a strict RP focus (a process of problem subtraction) to an RM focus on achieving global health (a process of addition) and increasing one’s potential for a both personal fulfillment and social contribution (a process of multiplication). There is a difference between the prevention of illness and the promotion, achievement, and transcendence of wellness.” Relapse Prevention, Recovery Management, Recovery Transcendence – William White

I might not be at transcendence yet…

Full disclosure. I came home from the walk and ate a bag of Boom Chick a Boom caramel and sea salt popcorn. I also watched some smutty TV. But the difference is that I was not compelled to do so. And although I am a work in progress, my brain is rewiring in the right direction. The fact is, I like popcorn. Almost as much as the choice to walk along the lake on a cold, bright new day.

E2E – We always think of your well-being…

The post Alcohol Recovery Management or How to Trick Your Own Brain… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I bought a new pot of face cream. The package promised to “erase fine lines in a week,” which is great because it’s my birthday today and I wanted to have a wrinkle-free face by that milestone…

The Quick Fix…

I mean, I actually bought the cream – $37.99 – because the box said it would work its magic quickly. Isn’t that what we all look for? And it got me thinking. Getting sober is like standing in the Lotion and Creams isle in the drugstore. We are all looking past the seductive packaging for the quick fix.  And discounting the cause – years of self-sabotage. In my case, Bahamian sun, booze, and the inadvisable practice of not removing mascara before bed and scraping it from the tender skin below my eyes with a rough washcloth in the morning…

It got me thinking that getting sober is a lot easier than staying sober. Let’s face it –  the long-haul, drudgery of sobriety and the punch in the gut demands when the addicted brain wants what it wants, are about the least fast things one can think of. It takes a lifetime. Just ask the AA old-timers.

Imagine the packaging for the product “Sobriety in a Box” – a brightly colored parcel, a symmetrical, smiling model and the promise it’s going to “TAKE YOUR WHOLE LIFE” to get the desired results. Who’d buy that?

Getting Sober Fast…

For about half of what I paid for the face cream, I can order the book: How to Give Up Drinking Fast and Stay Sober: An Ex-Alcoholic’s Guide to Overcoming Alcohol Addiction. Or a dozen other books promising “speedy recovery.” I haven’t read any of them, but anyone who has done what we have done knows it’s not about fast. And a surefire guide? One size fits all? I don’t think so.

But no one is going to choose the book titled Staying Sober is HARD.  With the subtitle:  The chronic nature of the disease may include a relapse or two… 

We live in a world where we fix every ill, quickly, prettily, with a pill or an unguent or a Google search. No one should have to suffer unnecessarily. Or, God forbid, walk around with the ravages of a hard life etched on one’s face… We are all like Willy Wonka’s Veruca. I want it now!

Benchmarks, Wrinkles & Atta’ Girls…

It is at milestones like birthdays and sober anniversaries when a person should stop and give proper credit to themselves. For doing the hard stuff.  The things that take time and effort. And we should give ourselves a break for continuing to believe the packaging – even when we know better… although I think the face cream really did reduce my fine lines…

So, on this birthday I can say I feel pretty darned good about myself. Kim is visiting and I said to her last night, “I might be older, but I am really happy with my body.” I don’t think I have ever said that before. (Although Kim reminded me I used to vogue in the mirror and say it all the time…)

What I meant this time, was that I am happy with myself. The body that I possess is clear headed. I am wearing my size twos again because of a consistent, long-term program of rigorous exercise and healthy eating. This person I have become, after all I have been through, is present. I am here for the long haul. And stronger than ever for having eschewed easy.

And I am happy with my body and my countenance.

Wrinkles and all…

E2E – I know you are thinking of me today – I think of you every day…

The post “Buying” the Sober Life (With the Proper Packaging) first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I heard from another long lost friend this week. Whenever someone from my past contacts me they say, “You just popped up on my computer.”  As if my details appear randomly in their ad column on Facebook. (Like the pair of suede boots you were checking out on Zappos that materialize in your feed for weeks after you decided the boots you have are fine.)

They go on to profess undying love (I found you) or genuine interest in what I am doing or in at least one case (well, maybe a few cases), how much they hated me in my past life.

Admit it, you Googled me…

My guess is, these visitations from the past were just sitting around one day, bored and Googled “Marilyn Spiller”. Why not say that? After all, if you search for me, the grizzly details of my alcoholism and recovery are there for all to see. The particulars of my divorce settlement and the houses I lived in are buried in the history… a treasure trove of details. I am a dog-eared, open book.

Anyway, this person wrote to me, “I spent much of Sunday evening reading your blog, and your interview and watching your video.  Could not sleep that night.  It actually triggered all sorts of contemplation.  Took me until tonight to write.  I was so taken aback by all…I feel like I should offer some words of wisdom or gestures of help or something else vague and awkward.  Anyway, I am so glad to know you are fine and living the reality of Michigan and all that brings to one’s life and soul.”

Does that sound like pity to you? Or am I being overly sensitive? I mean the guy can feel what he feels, right?  I just never thought about it before – but, I bet there are folks out there who knew me before, who feel sorry for me now. What a horrible notion.

I’ll be honest, I’d prefer you hate me than pity me.

Don’t do that…

Please don’t feel sorry for me and here’s why:

• I really was kind of a douche in my drinking days. I am a much nicer person now.
• I hurt myself a lot and fell down and made a fool of myself when I was drinking. I am careful where I sit, sleep and walk these days.
• If you’re sorry addiction happened to me, it could have been worse. A lot of people suffer more than I ever did. I didn’t kill anyone – I did not go to jail.
•  I lost some things. I have the love of many people (that former nanny still despises me, but she left in the middle of the night with my leather bomber jacket, and she was a crappy babysitter, so I don’t really care…). I am getting back all the things I need and more.
• My brain is better than ever.
• My hair is better than ever…
• After flittering around The Bahamas for 8 wasteful years (and a few years before and after), I am gainfully employed in a job I love.
• And speaking of The Bahamas, there were plenty of good times before the fall…
• I am in great physical shape.
• I have found a calling.
• I enjoy my sobriety and my life.
• After plumbing the root cause of our collective addiction, people in recovery are the strongest, most introspective and honest people on the planet – I am proud to be among that group.
• I am happy.
• I write a blog, so I always get the last word..

It’s nice to get a blast from the past, I guess…

But, I’m not really into harkening back. I have rekindled some great relationships with my childhood friends, now that I’m back in Michigan, and a few of my college pals – but that’s different. I have met some amazing people from this blog, but they understand the journey.

There are some things best left in the past. Because I’ve been through a lot and I don’t want to have to explain. Or justify. Or give a second thought to whether you pity me or not. I certainly don’t want anyone to lose sleep over me. And there is no joy in considering a reconciliation or the rebirth of romance. Been there. Done that. “To know them is to be disappointed,” to quote you…

It’s like cleaning a closet. If you haven’t worn that Moschino jacket  for ten years, it’s unlikely you’ll wear it again, even though you paid a lot for it. Best to give it away. Or throw it away…

E2E – Be careful where you sit, sleep and walk. Wish we were there to take care of you…

The post Why do I get the impression you pity me? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I was driving around yesterday, picking up obscure items like those things you stick to the floor of slippery tubs so you don’t fall while taking a shower and knock yourself out and drown. I saw a sign on a billboard on 28th Street. The sign read, “I Forget the Last Time I Forgot”.

Brain Teasers…

That is the kind of brain teaser I usually can’t get out of my head. And it was especially meaty, because it was in front of a sad looking import shop.  I can picture the boss saying, “Get a message up on the sign out front that will drive traffic in here.” And some poor guy, with a handful of plastic letters chose this unsuitable aphorism.

Maybe he’s a recovering alcoholic.

Because, this recovering alcoholic can relate. It occurred to me, it has been ages since I have forgotten what happened the night before, or blanked out a conversation I had or unrecalled buying a puppy on the internet. That horrible, hollow feeling when the kids are saying, “Mom. You said we were going to Disney World today. Remember?”

Why Does too Much Booze Make you Forget?

According to an article by Denise Cummins Ph.D. in Psychology Today, “When the body’s alcohol level rises too high too fast, memory functions are impaired. The hippocampus, a brain structure that is crucial for transferring information from short-term to long-term memory, is impaired at a cellular level. The resulting amnesia can be en bloc (can’t remember anything) or fragmentary (bits and pieces something can be retrieved with proper cuing).”

And females are particularly at risk for blackouts.  Dr. Cummins says, “This is because females tend to weigh less than males and have less water in their bodies to dilute alcohol levels. They also have less of an enzyme called “alcohol dehydrogenase” in their guts to break down a small percentage of alcohol before it even gets into the body. Females also are more likely to skip meals to save calories when they drink, so there is less food in the stomach to help absorb the alcohol. As a result, more alcohol reaches the brain, where it plays havoc with sensory and memory functions.”

It is not exactly clear how alcohol creates a memory “blackout“. And the amount of  alcohol required to impair  memory and potentially cause a blackout, can vary. The type of alcohol, and the amount consumed is significant. If you are pounding moonshine, don’t expect to have sharp recall of how you got home (or to someone else’s home…).  And the faster you drink, the more impact there is on the brain and memory.

Mornings are the BEST Part of Being Sober…

I have said it before, but I’ll say it again. Mornings are the greatest part of a sober life. There is nothing like opening one’s eyes and feeling clear, clean and honest. And my memory is sharp enough now, I’m the one who recalls the details and says, “Remember?”

There seem to be benchmarks in alcohol recovery. At three or four months, the effects of post-acute withdrawal (PAWS) begin to dissipate. At two years, or “advanced recovery” cravings and triggers have less impact. And at 5 years the relapse rate drops from a whopping 75 percent in the first year of recovery, to 7 percent. People who successfully complete a formal treatment program or an intensive outpatient program (IOP) have higher recovery rates than those who do not. And day by day, benchmark by benchmark, the brain rewires.

For me, at four years sober, yesterday was another benchmark – marking that I’d forgotten I don’t forget anymore. And for a minute, as I ran normal, everyday errands I remembered there was a time when I would have run the same errands with wine shooters clinking in the glove box.

Best not to forget that…

The post I Forget the Last Time I Forgot… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I told Christine that I had just experienced the “move from hell.” She said, “Your last move was ‘the move from hell’ wasn’t it?” Which is kind of true, but also made me feel like my horrible moves are somehow my fault. As if I don’t have the moxie to pack my own belongings, or the strength to navigate flights of narrow stairs while juggling breakables. Like I’m fabricating these hellish, move-a-day outcomes to make a better story.

 

I had this idea to get cute photos of me perched on boxes for this blog. That crazy Mare – recovery on the move again!  But after the fortieth trip up three flights of stairs to get my hanging clothes, I didn’t have the heart for it. So there are no pictures of before and after. Suffice to say I am relocated. And I look like I used to look when I stayed out late drinking and fell down a lot.

 

The offending daybed, now in a garage…

 

I had help…

And it’s not like I had to do it all myself. I had a moving company for the heaviest lifting. But I am sitting here with a body full of bruises and a head full of horror stories to tell. Come on, who has a 4 to 6 hour estimated move take 12 hours? Who has the smiling waif of a moving boy drop 500 pounds of wooden cabinet on the cement stairs and break it into pieces?

 

And who stage manages two enormous, decorative “key pieces” of furniture out of the bell tower of a refurbished church, only to have them founder on the impenetrable entranceway of the new apartment (ne historic home). And what does one do when the movers (after trying two stairways and twisting the furniture every which way but loose) look at you and say, “We don’t know what to tell you lady, but this won’t fit and we can’t put it back on the truck.” At that point, I was tired of sweet talking, cajoling and demanding. I just didn’t care. But, it’s not like putting a rickety end table at the curb for someone to dumpster dive.

 

These pieces of furniture are so large and unwieldy you need, well, a moving truck to move them. Luckily, my new landlord owns cattycorner mansions. I mustered enough charm to negotiate temporary space in his garage across the street, and got Niles and Clem to carry my behemoths to yet another location.

 

Unpacking the shot glass collection and all those flasks, again…

And why my friends do I keep packing and moving my shot glass collection? Hoisting box after box of brandy snifters and my Grandfather’s Waterford sherry flutes? And why can’t I just throw away those gag cocktail napkins, whiskey flasks and the wine glass that holds an entire bottle? I don’t think there’s any nostalgia for the days when I carried a wine goblet like an affectation. So why not toss the alcoholic’s accouterments?

 

I’d like to say this is my final move. That I will never move again. But the truth is, this move is just the next step in my resurrection/recovery (I have a fireplace!). There will be moves in the future and more stories to tell. But I need that neat, little book by the Asian woman who helps people all over the world organize their dross (keep/give away/throw away). I need to keep only those things that “bring me joy”.

 

Which reminds me, it does not bring me joy to schlep all those extra wooden hangers and the throw pillows that keep multiplying. And for God sake Marilyn, you will not be hosting a martini buffet anytime soon, so give away the martini glasses. Give them away. They do not bring you joy…

 

Today I’m not drinking, because I am moving again and keeping only those things that make me blissful…

How come you’re not drinking?

E2E I hope you are finding joy…

The post Moving the Shot Glass Collection Again… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

We’re moving offices. I am sitting with stacked boxes, furniture with yellow dots and Halloween decorations  too big to package (don’t ask) waiting for the movers to arrive. It’s early, and I’ve been thinking about the positive aspects of change. Especially for those of us in recovery.

Cha cha cha changes…

Moving brings out the unique personality traits in people. There are those who hate change and the stoics who shrug, because they have done this before. In the past fifteen years, I have moved houses five times and coincidentally, work offices five times. I have downsized, stored, given away, lost and found a lifetime of possessions.

I love change, but as we began the office move, I thought about what I always think about – how does this thing I am doing impact my (and everybody else’s) recovery?

Curtail Change in Early Recovery?

Often we are told to curtail change in early recovery. “Don’t make any unnecessary decisions,” we are warned. And the ever popular, “Don’t even think about a new romance for a year.”

I understand it’s not wise to rescue a puppy in the wake of quitting your substance of choice. Because, learning and relearning self-care is most important to a person’s long term well-being. But, what about changing things up when the environment you have been in is toxic? Or filled with triggers? Or crowded with people who still use? I sold a house in The Bahamas immediately after getting sober and have not been back to the island in almost five years, because it felt dangerous to me then… It still does.

And as we tick off the months and years of our sobriety, we also gain knowledge of ourselves – what works to strengthen our recovery and what does not. We begin to feel confident in our choices. And we might even embrace change. I’ve come up with my list of those changes that are prudent to avoid and those to embrace in early recovery and beyond. Change it up!

Change to Avoid:

• Other than a goldfish (and even they require continuous care and die a lot) don’t be fooled into getting a new pet. Nuff said.
• Be careful of big relationship changes – don’t accept a marriage proposal smack out of treatment. Do not “fall in love” in rehab…
• Start small – job promotions that add to stress might be something to avoid. At least for a few months. Better to go back to a job part time than to create a situation where you are prone to unnecessary stressors.
• Temper social media outbursts (says the woman who started writing a blog six months into her sobriety) – announcing milestone sober dates on Twitter are okay as long as you stay sober – n’est-ce pas?
• Families push buttons. So, don’t volunteer to “do Thanksgiving” for the first time, when you are newly sober. In fact, have an exit strategy for any family get together.
• Avoid, when at all possible, the top twenty life stressors. The problem is, that things like substance use disorders and divorce (a sometimes unavoidable result of substance use) are on the list of stressors. My rule of thumb is – don’t court any big stressors. Also, be prepared for life’s foibles. They happen whether you are sober or not!

Change to Embrace…

• Recovery is the time to embrace any new-found passions you might have learned in treatment, AA meetings, group therapy or the school of hard knocks… Hike, sing in a choir, read to children at the library, write a book or a blog, and embrace the good change recovery brings.
• Change your way of looking at the world. There is great power in positive thinking!
• Move away from those situations that squeeze your emotional triggers. Moving is stressful, but a college student going back to an off-campus party house after treatment is a BAD idea. Better to pack up your things and MOVE if your environment is toxic to your recovery.
• You might not want to jump into a new romantic relationship, but one of the joys of newfound sobriety is forming lasting friendships.
• Change how you eat and how you take care of yourself.
• Change how you respond to your cravings or emotional triggers and rewire your brain! The best way to beat a “bad habit” is to respond differently to the cue, until it becomes second nature.
• And when it’s necessary, or outside of your control, try to take a deep breath and be open to change.

Change is Fun…

When you are open to change, the world gets bigger and life is more interesting. You experience more, meet new people and set the stage for a life full of, well, LIFE. After the long, rough road of addiction that sounds pretty awesome, doesn’t it?

Real life, desensitized, in all its glory.

The post Is Change Good For Addiction Recovery? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

There is what can only be described as a “bunny infestation” in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Cute, little rabbits are living in the middle of the city. Like foxes in London or baby alligators in Jacksonville, these creatures are lovable oddities until you have to get out of your car after a long day at the office and shoo them into the bushes.

Because bunnies don’t move…

The bunnies in Grand Rapids are either dumb or careless. (Something that could have been said about me in my drinking days.) Because, they scamper into the driveway at closing time and don’t move. The old house, where we work, is quite the microcosm. Birds tweet from the eaves troughs and chipmunks dive under the porch when I approach. Squirrels dash up tree trunks. Admittedly, I work odd hours, but these creatures seem to have a healthy respect for humans and a healthier fear of my impending Malibu.

Bunnies – not so much…

A few nights ago there were three bunnies in the drive when I left work. When city rabbits are confronted with four-thousand pounds of metal, they sit down. In front of the car, with big eyes staring into the rhododendrons, ears upright and whiskers twitching. So, I blew the horn and eased slowly toward them. Nothing. A hop or two, they looked at each other like, Did you hear something? I rolled down the window and shouted, “MOVE!” to no avail.

What’s the point of those big ears?

And more importantly, what does this have to do with alcoholism?

Nothing I suppose. But, last night a friend of mine (who is on the cusp of quitting) asked me, “Did you quit drinking more than once before you finally got sober? What made you quit once and for all?”

I answered in the usual way. I tried at least ten times to quit. I’d stop drinking for 30 days or two weeks or a long weekend. And then it would be a holiday or a birthday or it would rain and I would find an excuse to have a drink. You can’t have Thanksgiving without a glass (liter) of red wine, right? And I quit for good, because I disappointed my daughter one Christmas Eve. I didn’t quit then. I wasn’t quite ready, but I filed away the look on Lauren’s face…

And six months later, I had to pick my son up at the airport at midnight. I didn’t want to have to perform the usual machinations – get drunk early so that I could “sober up” enough to drive a car after 7 at night.  I felt like an overly-wet sponge. And I was just done with it all… It took a while, but it stuck.

And I keep thinking of those bunnies and my drinking. For two reasons:

1. In my drinking days I would have been a bit less tolerant of woodland creatures, inconveniently in my way. That is not to say I would have mown them down… But, I popped a lot of mailboxes with my rear-view mirror, because I was in a rush and distracted and careless. So, I’m just saying I don’t see myself getting out of the car and carefully herding rabbits to safety. More like Cruella, screaming out the window, “SCRAM!” and gunning it.

2.  I also can’t get it out of my head, that the bunnies sit in front of a moving car with those big eyes. Resigned. How even though they must be programmed to respond to danger, they ignore me. And that’s where the alcoholism metaphor comes in… (whew). We see the peril, we ignore the signs and we try and try again to talk ourselves out of something our brains have been rewired to do. Drink and drink and drink…

Now that I’m sober, I am kinder and gentler. I want to help. I get all the way out of the car and say, “Come on you guys, move out of the way. Take care of yourselves.”

Think about it. You wouldn’t stand in traffic, right? You wouldn’t deliberately run over bunnies….

The post Over-Drinking – It’s All Fun Till Someone Runs Over a Bunny… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I have talked about this before, but I climb a set of stairs in Grand Rapids for exercise. It is part of what Craig and I call, “David’s Loop” – a walk that begins in front of David’s house, down the hill into town, over a bridge and past the statue of Jerry Ford in the park. (I have pepper spray, we vary our times and we don’t carry cash, so don’t get any ideas…)

Are Challenges Always Painful?

The walk ends up at the stairs, and although Craig seems to do it without too much trouble, David and I struggle a bit. Whenever David says he doesn’t understand why it doesn’t get easier after all the times we have scaled its heights, I say, “That’s the thing with cardio – when it feels good, you have to do more. It’s supposed to hurt.” I learned this from my best friend Kim. The kind of person who, when I tell her I am tired, says, “Run (walk, climb) faster.” A theory I have never fully understood, but which seemed like the right advice to give David anyway.

It’s raining this morning and I slept in, but yesterday I was on my own and I climbed the stairs three times. Three times. I had great music in my earphones and there were a lot of super fit types on hand for inspiration. I observed that everyone has a different approach to conquering this challenge.

There was the dude (tool) who ran it, and stopped occasionally to do pushups on the stairs. And the blonde in Lulu Lemon with the topknot and the determined look, getting it all done without pause – at least five times. There was the woman who treated the climb like sets at the gym, resting between each go-round and furiously texting (help me?). Oh, and a guy who broad jumped the whole way. And the woman who was clearly there because her husband suggested it – he was all stretching and light-footed.  She paused at every landing and didn’t even try to look like she was not going to need the EMTs.

The bottom line is that every single person on the stairs was breathing hard at the top. It was painful for everyone. No matter what level of fitness…

The Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done…

I believe that challenges are always painful. It’s what makes them feel so good when you’re done. The hardest thing I’ve ever done is quit drinking. Bar none. It’s not just the quitting, but all the bells and whistles of alcoholism that goes with it. Making amends, putting shame and guilt on the back burner, restarting a life that seemed to be unresponsive…

But you have to accomplish a challenge your own way.

And I am always annoyed when I think someone is pushing their agenda for sobriety on me, as if there is only one way to get sober. As if, my way is doomed to fail because I have not followed some hard and fast rule. It’s like the guy who is broad-jumping the stairs telling me that walking the stairs, or even pausing on each landing, doesn’t count. As if EMT girl and I are not working hard enough.

That is not to say that a well meaning suggestion (or one of those staircase, sitting elevators) is not welcome, when the going gets tough.

The post How Do You Challenge Yourself? Is It Always Painful? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.