Tag: dating in recovery

Sex, Drunk and Sober

Once I got sober again, I’d like to say my behavior towards men was completely different, that I only had sex when I was one hundred percent sure I wanted to, that I didn’t judge and hate.

I remember the first time I had sex. I was 26, far past the age of most of my friends, and I’d waited for the first man I really loved. My mom had said a few things regarding the subject when I was growing up: wait for someone you love, and act like a prostitute in bed. A bit different, the two pieces of advice, but both valid in their own rights. Fortunately or not, I took both pieces to heart. I waited, and I waited, and I waited… until I felt both safe and in love, and once I’d grown to feel comfortable in bed, I did act a bit; well, maybe I overacted.

The important part is: I remember the first time I had sex. As in, I was in a dry period in my life, a period that stretched about eight years when I wasn’t drinking/drugging and I wasn’t going to AA. I’d had my first drinks (or drunks) when I was quite young, but then I waited until I was an “adult” to really let go. My freshman year of college, I drank all the time. I went to so many fraternity parties I lost track, and each time I got drunk and found myself on a stranger’s bathroom floor throwing up into the toilet, I told myself that it would be the last time.

College Crushes and Fraternity Parties

That same year, I found myself in love with a fellow freshman from my English literature class. I spent the semester obsessing about him, how I would lose my virginity to him, and my emotional virginity, too—I’d had a boyfriend before but he never really knew me. Our high school relationship ended about three months into the beginning of my drinking career, when I found myself dating his friend while I was still dating him long distance. Nothing I would have done sober. Everything I would find myself doing drunk.

Which leads me astray from the young man I was in love with, the one with the dreamy blue eyes. My roommate, who’d become a good friend, told me one Saturday that the man I had a crush on was hideous and pale and ugly. I knew he was pale, a quality I found attractive on him, but hideous and ugly—that was a bit strong for a guy she hardly knew. Or maybe that was the point – she was tearing into someone she hardly knew. She then told me he was having sex with her good friend, who wanted to turn him into her boyfriend. I took this as: stay away, let her have a go at him, as if he was a piece of meat. I guess we did see men as meat back then.

That same day, he called me on the hall phone in my dormitory and asked me to come with him to his fraternity party, the same one my roommate and I were already going to that night. I told him as much, and said no. The truth is, after the conversation with my roommate, I was more interested in how I would get alcohol for the pre-party since we were still underage. My character defects were working overtime, and I had already decided I didn’t like him anymore. “Love” went to “like” in the scope of an hour.

I cared so much about what others thought—I was deep in my drinking stage (one of them)—and even though my roommate was looking out for her friend and not necessarily me, the warning was working: When we got to the party, each time my former love tried to approach me, we giggled and ran away.

Later, a mutual friend called me up to his room.

“I can’t believe you’re acting like this, it’s so out of character. You’re hurting his feelings. I didn’t think you were like that.”

I had no defense. Had I been in touch with my feelings, I would have said, “I’m not capable of an adult relationship. I’m not really an adult.” The truth is I didn’t want the responsibility that came with age; as much as I’d spent my childhood wanting to be older, I now found myself wanting to feel younger.

Sex and Blackouts

I was drunker that night than almost any night in my entire life. When I ran from my crush, the way alcohol crushes love and right thinking, I was ruined by beer and vodka and grain alcohol punch.

Wine before beer, drunk for a year, beer before liquor never been sicker. I think it was the latter that night. But I can’t blame my behavior on the alcohol any more than someone who gets a DUI can.

That night, I left the party with someone else—I ran straight into the arms of a young man from my high school, someone I thought was cute and kind, and he drove us to his dorm room where he started to try to take off my clothes. When I ran outside and threw up in the bushes, he brought me back in, stuck some toothpaste in my mouth, and started kissing me again and attempted to rape me. I was so drunk I couldn’t push him off, but I did say, “We know the same people,” which ended up having the same effect, thank God. A kind rapist, I remember thinking later, in my innocence, my youth.

I couldn’t have sex very often when I was drunk because I hardly had the capacity to move. I don’t remember one sexual encounter when I was drunk because, though I am sure that they happened, I was brown- or blacked-out at the time. Or maybe I have blocked it out. I do remember in my twenties asking strangers from bars and parties to come home with me, and then I kissed them and told them I wouldn’t have sex with them. I don’t remember anyone raping me when I was drunk, but I was putting myself at risk.

Once I got sober again, this time with the help of AA, I’d like to say my behavior towards men was completely different, that I only had sex when I was one hundred percent sure I wanted to, that I didn’t judge and hate like I had with my college crush. The truth is, I am flawed, even sober, or maybe especially sober. I take full responsibility for my behavior these days, so I feel the flaws strongly. I am older, but I am not perfect.

Learning to Date, Sober

I remember sex now, most of the time, and I enjoy it. It was difficult for me to feel when I was numbing myself, both emotionally and physically. Today, I have boyfriends who treat me well or I break up with them, even if it might take a little time to see the full extent of how they are treating me. I wish I could say it’s better when I date someone who is also sober, but relationships have their hard and soft angles, their anger and their beauty, whether we are drinking or not. I find that being sober doesn’t make us good people, but it does allow us to strive to be good people.

It’s not like I was a bad person when I was drinking, I was just too lost and empty, unable to find or create an ethical foundation for my behavior. I would read a book without taking it in, because I had nowhere to absorb emotion. I was a Flatsy, one of those dolls from my youth, where there is no space to put love, or its opposite.

View the original article at thefix.com

14 July 2019
Dating and relationships after getting sober
By Judith O’Callaghan

New possibilities in early recovery

Early recovery opens up a world of possibility. Along with the excitement of new beginnings, you might find that getting sober can be lonely. After all, you’ve given up so much! Even though toxic relationships with people, places and things can release you, they also create a big hole.

You might be tempted to jump into dating, starting a new relationship, or even ending an existing relationship or marriage and start over. But should you get romantically involved while in early recovery? Can dating endanger your progress in recovery or sobriety? Should you or shouldn’t you?

Experts recommend that people refrain from making big decisions and significant changes right away (for at least 12 months after getting sober). We invite you to continue reading to explore more on the subject here. Then, we invite you to send us your questions at the end. In fact, we try to respond to all reader comments with a personal and prompt reply.

Dating in early addiction recovery

As eager as you are to rebuild your life, you will do well to take it slow and not make any major changes in at least your first year of sobriety. Why is this? Early sobriety is a time for you to get to know yourself and learn self-acceptance. Oftentimes, being involved with someone else takes the focus off of you and puts it on someone else. Coping with changes in relationships in early recovery can put your sobriety at risk.. So, why open that can of worms?

Remember, your primary objective is to take care of yourself and avoid distractions while you are still vulnerable. This is your time to work in therapy and with a sponsor to examine your past behaviors and patterns. This is your time to focus on introducing consistent activities to fill the void now that you are no longer involved with your drug of choice.
Here are a few ideas:
- join a gym
- take a class
- discover a new hobby
- get involved with a home group
- find a sponsor
What if you are already in a relationship?

Understanding yourself and being comfortable with yourself in recovery, before introducing others into your life, helps build a better foundation from which other relationships can grow and thrive. But what if you’re ALREADY in a relationship when you get clean?

Unless you are in an abusive relationship or one that threatens your sobriety in some way, the “no major changes in the first year” rule also applies to previously existing relationships/marriages. This may be the time to go to couples therapy and learn new ways to relate to and communicate with one another. It may be helpful for your partner to learn more about addiction and how it is reflected in the roles that you play.

When is a good time to start a relationship?

It really depends.

Eventually, you will be ready to share your new life with someone else. You will have some solid sober time behind you, a good working relationship with your sponsor, and a strong program of recovery. Plus, you’ll attract someone who can vibe on your level of physical and emotional health.
Still, remember to take it slow!

3 things to keep in mind about recovery relationships

And keep these points in mind:

1. Avoid dating people with significantly less sobriety than you have. If you choose to be in a relationship with someone else in recovery, make sure you protect and prioritize your own sobriety and do not “blend into” each other. Each of you needs to be vigilant about your daily commitments and stay sober.

2. Avoid “testing yourself” by going to bars and other high risk places. Look for new opportunities to meet people in sober settings, such as volunteer groups, classes, etc. Seek advice and support from your sponsor and other peers in recovery.

3. A relationship is no guarantee of happiness, if you are not happy with yourself. Always keep your sobriety your priority.

Got any questions?

If you would like to learn more or discuss about addiction recovery, sobriety, dating and relationships, we welcome you to share your questions or experiences in the section below. We try to respond to all legitimate inquiries with a personal and prompt response.

—

About the Author: Judith O’Callaghan is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, Licensed Alcohol and Drug Counselor, Medication Assisted Treatment Specialist, and nationally and internationally certified Co-Occurring Disorders Professional. She has extensive experience working with individuals, couples, and families on a wide variety of issues, including addiction, co-occurring disorders, family and marital problems, grief and loss, and school and career issues. At Mountainside, Judith works as an Outpatient clinician, providing clients in the early stages of recovery with the tools necessary to manage the daily life stressors associated with reintegration to life after residential treatment.

View the original article at addictionblog.org
3 May 2019
The Ugly Side of Dating in 12-Step Programs

When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that’s what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn’t special or not special. I was typical.

Recently I was in a relationship with a guy I met in the program. We’d been together about four months, on again-off again. Really twice on, twice off.

The first breakup wasn’t pretty — we’d had an argument one evening and when we parted he wasn’t happy. I’d say he was disappointed, but it was more than that. But after years of working my AA program, my “people pleaser” was quick to reassure him we were “good.” In fact, while the argument wasn’t really that bad and could have even been food for growth, his anger had frightened me. I’m eleven years sober, he had four years. I thought the recipe was for love, not disaster.

The truth is: I’d been on the fence about him since we met.

On our first date, he told me that he’d threatened to kill someone during a relapse. This left me feeling unsettled, but when I told my friends and therapist, I learned it was apparently really, really bad. I thought well, it was a relapse, not the type of thing he would do sober. I remembered him also telling me of a breakup that had happened when he was still using. Maybe all of his negative behavior was when he was using. I’d been through this before with sober men, and it was altogether confusing. An ex had gotten physical with a few women before I knew him, and I assumed it was while he was drinking. I learned at the end of our relationship that it was actually during a dry period.

I sound so judgmental. I guess we all have to be, to some extent, while we’re choosing who and who not to date. But apparently I’m not judgmental enough. I ended up dating the man who’d threatened someone’s life, and now here we were, post-fight, all my protective feelings swirling around inside me. I hate it when people say they were a hot mess, because it implies that they are or were hot, which is a little too narcissistic for my taste, so let’s just say I was a mess. (Not that I’m completely free of narcissism, but I choose to believe in the good in myself and focus on my character defects one at a time, rather than bundling them together.)

I’d like to say I was fine, but really I wasn’t fine. I was going to act like I was, though, to maintain the status quo. In other words, I’d said everything was okay, so I’d act like it was. Acting as if is a skill I learned fairly early in sobriety, and it had served me well.

The morning after the fight I awoke to a long Facebook messenger message, really a few long messages from him, clustered together. This was the guy I was dating exclusively, and sleeping with, and basically in a “sober” relationship with. His messages were angry and spiteful. I’d thought all was okay enough to at least be civil to one another, but no such luck. And I felt sick about it.

I can’t remember if we spoke after the messages, but I don’t think we did. I was livid and hurt, an ugly combination of emotions. I broke up with him. Over messenger. The way we loved, we died.

The Resurrection

Until he started love-bombing me. I call it “The Resurrection.” It started with things he was going to give me, restaurants he wanted to take me to. He gifted me with a very personal family heirloom… and on and on. After about a month, I caved. Our second-round first date was at a park near my home. When this guy was on, he was on. We ended up kissing at my place, just kissing, and I was falling in love like I never had with him before. When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that’s what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn’t special or not special. I was typical.

The love affair lasted about two days, and then the old him reappeared: not listening well, an underlying frustration, a continuation of great and comforting sex (that’s where the connection stemmed from). All in all, except for the sex, nothing very exciting. Except I’m leaving out my behavior in the whole episode. Knowing I didn’t feel as strongly about him as he did about me, I should have ended it the first time around.

Then the second time, about a month in, we went to a couple of galleries and walked around on a Friday night when everyone in New York City, like us, was mulling around for free. I wasn’t in a very good mood; my insecurity and self-hatred were getting the best of me. We had an argument — again, not so bad — but he got too angry for the situation.

I woke up the next morning, upset and out of sorts, and called my sponsor, as I had a few times during our courtship. I asked her if I should keep my date with him that night. For the third time, she suggested I take a break from seeing him, but I didn’t listen. Suggestions are just that, I told myself, and at 11 years sober, who was I to have to listen to my sponsor.

I went over to his place around six that evening. We took a taxi to a restaurant we liked, and the whole ride there was awkward, with short bursts of forced conversation. It got worse at the restaurant and culminated in me telling him I didn’t have the same feelings for him that he had for me. Read: My Part. I shouldn’t have gone in the first place, should have broken up with him the night before (as I didn’t hesitate to mention during what I now realize was a fight from the minute I set foot in his apartment).

But then his anger moved in, like a dark cloud.

“I’m breaking up with you, bitch,” he said and slammed his hand on the table. He started to walk out, which I feared would leave me stranded, far from home, with no means of getting back to my warm apartment and my sweet cat. At times of high stress, I, like so many others, go to the worst place, a place of abandonment and rejection. And as much as he really might have been rejecting me, I knew in my heart I had left the relationship months ago.

I ended up begging him to let me ride home with him — that feeling of being stranded, scared, and alone that reminds me of all the reasons I drank and drugged — and we ended up sharing a taxi back to his apartment so I could take the subway the rest of the way home. During the 45-minute ride he alternated between yelling at me and saying he wasn’t going to be mean to me any longer, an agreement he broke countless times during the drive. He spewed hate at me while I mainly stayed silent and looked out the window. And then he said the most danger-filled and threatening thing anyone’s ever said to me: “if you think this is bad, try pouring alcohol and coke on it.”

The moral? I should have left sort-of-well-enough-alone. After I knew who he was, I never should have gone back and dated him the second time. Or, if I am honest with myself, the first. I’m glad I got out before something really awful happened, though I remain worried that he might stalk me. I don’t know if that’s his style, but he did tell me that I had reason to be terrified of him. He said there are only a few people in the city who he hates, and they are scared of him.

I’m dating again and it’s hard. I’ve had difficult breakups, in and out of sobriety, but this has to be the worst. It’s an all-time low; the one that leaves you with the most vile taste in your mouth. I don’t even know if I want to publish this, for fear he might read it, for fear you might. I’m going to go with HP on this one — pray like there’s no tomorrow, pray to be of service, to learn what HP has brought me in offering me this experience which I have embraced and then, finally, un-embraced, and to affirm that whatever happens, I’ll be taken care of.

View the original article at thefix.com

15 March 2019
Dating While (Newly) Sober

When my sponsor told me about the suggestion to not date for a year, that I should just concentrate on getting sober, I said: “I’m a really good multi-tasker.”

I thought that when I got sober, I’d get into the best shape of my life, start going to the gym all the time, train for a triathlon, become super successful and meet the man of my dreams. Basically, my version of what advertising says is the perfect life. I wasn’t thinking along the lines of what some people say: the gift of sobriety IS sobriety. Boring. I mean, I was and I wasn’t; I mostly just wanted to stop being miserable. I did a 90 and 90, got a sponsor, joined a gym, took a class in my career of choice, slept a lot, and met a guy.

When my sponsor told me about the suggestion to not date for a year, that I should just concentrate on getting sober, I said: “I’m a really good multi-tasker,” and “I can get sober and date at the same time.” Luckily for me, she didn’t say it was a rule, because there are no rules in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. Nowhere in the Big Book does it say: “no dating allowed in the first year.” It just talked about some people prefer a little more pepper in their sex life or whatever (page 69) and who are we to tell people what spices to proverbially cook with?

So thank god for that because in my first 90 days, I met a guy. He was a friend of a friend and when we met, he told me that he was going through a big transition in his life.

“What kind of a transition?” I asked, while thinking Oh my God! We have so much in common! We’re both going through transitions! As if a relationship could be built on that alone. Or even a marriage, because I thought that now that I had opened the book of sobriety, everything would change in the blink of an eye. It would be like I just woke up to a new life. That’s how it happens, right? I mean, don’t you kinda hear that all the time? The person’s life was shit and then they got sober and now they’re in this awesome marriage/job/house/car/babies and it all like happened in a year or maybe two? I’m smart and attractive. That shit should happen for me too! I can make that happen. I. CAN. MAKE. THAT. HAPPEN. Higher power who?

So, when I asked the guy what kind of transition, he said poetically, “It’s like my house was taken away so now I have no house, but at least I can see the moon.” And I was like “Wow, coooooool. I totally love the moon.”

For our first date, we went on a bike ride along the river, had lunch where I did not order a glass of wine (the first time that has ever happened) and ordered a coffee instead. I didn’t tell him that I was newly sober. I just told him I didn’t drink, and he said that was cool and he’s thought that maybe he should quite drinking too (uh oh); that he meditates and when he meditates, he feels super clear and drinking gets in the way of that (uh yeah). Then he walked me home and I remember feeling very sensitive and insecure. It was like I was eight years old again with a crush on a boy at school and I forgot how to walk my bike. Or talk. I felt awkward. Which is why, at 16, drinking and boys went hand in hand. Less feeling. More yay.

When I got home, I realized there was no way I could date right now. I knew that if I was rejected or even felt rejected, it would probably cause me to drink. I didn’t have the emotional tools. I talked to my sponsor about it and then called him up and said, “I really like you, but I’m going through something right now where I need to take a year off of dating. I hope you understand.” And he said, “Wow. I should probably do that, too.” Turns out he was going through a divorce and was in no place to be in a relationship or be the man of my dreams/dysfunction right now.

For the rest of the year, I concentrated on going to meetings, fellowship, making new AA friends, eating cookies and milk, binge watching Netflix at night, and it was the most awesome/horrible year of my life. I highly recommend it. I gained 10 or 20 pounds which was weird. Dudes can go through a rough time and get fat and grow a beard and still be considered likeable — but as a woman, it’s harder to hide behind a beard and 50 pounds and be cool. But a girl can dream.

So, a year later, guess who I ran into? No-house-moon dude. And yay! I was like a year sober so totally awesome and fixed, right? It. Was. On. We went on a few dates, and I honestly can’t remember if we had sex. It was only seven years ago and I know we did sexy things but I cannot for the life of me remember. I don’t think we did, because we would have needed to have the talk and well, let’s just say that the time I chose to have the talk was not a good time to have it. Take it from me when I say DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HAVE THE TALK WHEN HIS HEAD IS BETWEEN YOUR LEGS. That should be in the Big Book. It’s a real buzz kill for one and all. And our relationship (if you can call it that) ended shortly thereafter which was okay because he was seriously still mourning the loss of his ten-year marriage.

So that’s my take on dating in the first year. I do know a couple people who hooked up in their first year of sobriety and 30 years later are still married. That might happen to you. I knew that wasn’t going to happen for me. It wasn’t until year two that I met the man of my dreams AKA qualifier who really brought me to my knees (not in a good way) and into Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous which is like the nicest thing a guy can do. Kidding. But not in a way because Girrrrrrrl, I needed some of that SLAA in my life. Since then, I’ve moved to a place that I am happy to call home, am “healthy” dating and more will be revealed. But the best thing is that I like myself – dare I say love myself? I love my friends, my career, and my life and I don’t expect a man or any person or thing to save me. Because I don’t need saving any more. Thank god. Thank HP. Thank program. And thank you.

View the original article at thefix.com

17 July 2018
Touching What (I Thought) Was Gone

In the last 36 hours I’ve been to five meetings, sat three times in meditation and sobbed on a friend’s couch. But I’m OK.

Love, in my experience, has meant seismic emotional shifts and condemnation, turning even “what do you want for dinner” into a combat zone.

I was in a rage-fueled, co-dependent relationship with my ex-husband from ages 31 to 45. I didn’t know it then, I just thought he was controlling. This is a progressive disease.

I left him at 45, three years ago, and six months later got sober. I heeded AA’s suggestions super seriously, not dating for 2.5 years, partly due to not wanting to inflict my instability & blues onto another person, but largely due to self-protection.

Because I was terrified. I couldn’t imagine opening up to another man, fooling around sober – vulnerability was a liability. I thought my hunger to connect, to feel, was gone. And that was OK. So I waited. And waited.

And then I met Gabe. Online dating. Who knew? Suddenly, it seemed possible to separate falling in like from feeling beholden.

He was 11 years older than me, a warm widower who still held tight to his wife, even after six years. Their union, apparently, was the stuff dreams were made of, a complete 180 from my own. She had passed suddenly, and aside from one brief liaison, which he deemed “untenable,” he led a monk-like existence until me. Until me.

He didn’t kiss me until our sixth date, but when he did I awoke. My hands mysteriously floated to his face and we giggled together. He introduced me to his friends on date four, we sang Joni Mitchell while eating ravioli and watermelon in bed, and slept with our noses touching.

When we hugged, we’d hold on and sway.

I was freed.

As we ended our four-month relationship yesterday, he thanked me for “touching something he thought was gone” – We did that for each other this spring and summer, but, still, he drank from his wife’s coffee mug, her travel diary on the bedside table.

Because he had spent decades and raised a child with her, and just a few months with me, I understood our relationship was in its infancy, and was willing to view it as a sort of “practice” – A chance to relearn intimacy and communication, one day at a time, as opposed to labeling and binding each other. And it was lovely, for a time.

And then, as things often go, I wanted more. I no longer could wait in line behind his departed wife, daughter, mother, patients, and friends, and I told him so.

He conceded I deserved more than he could offer “at this point,” and thanked me for “touching something inside him he thought was gone” – We agreed we did that for each other, as I crumbled.

I believe that loss is cumulative, so I’m not only crying over my four sweet months with Gabe, I am grieving my marriage, and all the other wreckage I’ve created over four-plus decades of life.

In the last 36 hours I’ve been to five meetings, sat three times in meditation, sweat through three hours of yoga, and sobbed on a friend’s couch.

But here’s the thing – I’m OK. I’m better than OK. Because I know now that I CAN open myself and be vulnerable, I CAN value a man who treats me well, and with the support of our beautiful program, I can gracefully end a relationship with dignity. I can grieve and grow, and then I can get back up again.

“Thank you for your generosity, kindness, and for touching something inside me I thought was gone. I think we were both able to do that for each other. I wish you all good things.”

Following a two-decade career in marketing and event production, Cassie Magzamen has pivoted and become a Kid’s Yoga & Mindfulness Educator. She enjoys using yoga and mindfulness to empower children mentally, physically, and spiritually, simultaneous to pursuing a career in writing — a life-long dream.

Cassie holds a BA in Journalism & Mass Media from Rutgers University, and a 95-hour Little Flower Yoga & Mindfulness Teacher Training Certificate. She resides in Brooklyn, New York with her precious dog-daughter, Princess Sookie-Love.

View the original article at thefix.com

4 July 2018