Answer Addiction

Tag: freedom

  • Nothing Left to Prove: The Joy of Growing Older in Recovery

    Nothing Left to Prove: The Joy of Growing Older in Recovery

    I entered recovery in handcuffs. I had chipped teeth, abscesses, a fresh diagnosis of Hepatitis C. But there I was, sitting in my County orange-colored jumpsuit, breathing in the fragrance of fresh opportunities.

    I invested hundreds of thousands of dollars with the idea that I would be dead by the time I was 30 years old. I was killing myself on an installment plan, knowing the bill would one day be due. I’m not sure if it was genetics or environment, but unfortunately suicidal ideation was a frequent companion starting when I was in sixth grade. The soft-spoken psychologist in the glasses with the round frames said I was “depressed.” I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. I did know I was restless in my own skin. It would be five more years before the warm gloss of drugs lacquered over my feelings.

    If an early demise was the result of continuing on this path, young me speculated that I was willing to pay the price. I didn’t want to live long enough to be touched by the ugly reality the future had in store for me. Ugly was the world my parents lived in: Married for decades, they argued on a daily basis over his drinking and her compulsive shopping. I would sit in my footie pajamas, playing with my stuffed animals, pretending for a moment I was someone else. This was good training for my years of active addiction. I always wished I was someone different. 

    Addiction Was for Other People

    As I delved into the world of drugs, I saw the premature expiration date emerge in the people around me. People just looked older — pain trapped in their cloudy eyes. Young me said that could never happen. Addiction was for other people.

    I was both naive and nihilistic when I took those first few forays into “partying.” Day drinking led to cocaine-fueled nights. There were benzos and meth and whatever I could get my hands on. By the time I got to opioids, I was firmly entrenched in addiction. Heroin became the cornerstone of my self-defeating belief system: The only day worth living was today; that day was only worth living if I had enough drugs. As my habit increased, so did the sinking feeling in the pit of my upset stomach that any day might be my last.

    Maybe this wasn’t what I actually wanted for myself. 

    If Only…

    Wrapped in the covering of a slowly hardening young woman was still this quiet little being who wanted to know what it felt like to be loved. My body was a means for getting the attention I desired, the substances the keys to unlocking my inhibitions. I desperately sought the approval of others. If only I was thin enough, if only I was pretty enough, if only I changed these few things about myself maybe then you would love me. But heroin numbed my ability to care. 

    I had no value beyond what my body could obtain for me. While my addiction included many radically low points, the wear and tear on this unit forced me to gain perspective. Time was crawling along at the same snail’s pace of the dealers I paged from dirty payphones. This can’t be all that life has to offer. I spent nearly a decade dying — what would it be like to live?

    At 27-years-young, I entered recovery in handcuffs. The legacy of impermanence was marked on my physical self: chipped teeth, stretch marks from the weight I’d lost, gained, lost, and gained again. There were circles on my body from areas where I had picked my skin. Holes from abscesses. A fresh diagnosis of Hepatitis C. But there I was, sitting in my County orange-colored jumpsuit, breathing in the fragrance of fresh opportunities. 

    No Shortcuts to Healing

    Asking for rehab was, as the judge stated, the first “intelligent decision” I had made in a decade. I briskly completed a god-awful rehab with horrible success rates as I was eager to move to the next phase of life. I moved into a sober living facility with two garbage bags of belongings and the weight of all my regrets. It wasn’t the material possessions that concerned me, it was the fact that I was going to have to learn to adapt to the world using the vague internal strength I was told I possessed. I was now in charge of the well-being of this newly sober woman of substance. There would be no shortcuts to healing. 

    The process of unraveling the years of unhealthy living started with a whimper. There were 12-step meetings, shitty jobs, meditation, yoga, long walks, inventories, caffeine, terrible sex, and tears shed in front of a paid professional. I needed to cast off the attachment inherent to the vessel given to me by the universe before I could see my value. The adversity I have experienced has made me stronger; like coal pressed into a diamond, I learned I could shine. 

    The day before my 30th birthday, I started dating someone who I would later discover to be the love of my life. This was a less than perfect love, not like the ones in the books I read as a child. It was a realistic love, one that takes out the garbage. It was the kind of love I needed. I finished my degree at 35, and finished graduate school at 37. I found a career I actually enjoyed. I had my last child when I was almost 41. I began to not only see a future for myself but actually start to create one. 

    Hot Flashes and Freedom

    The passing of time has had many challenges: the death of my beloved mother, a few surgeries requiring opioids, my kids screaming they hate me. I have also outlived nearly everyone I knew. Yet, I am happier than I have ever been. There is a liberation of the spirit in knowing I have nothing left to prove. I enjoy the simple pleasures of a good face cream and a tight hug. I also dress in layers. 

    Perimenopause has been a horrible wake-up call. There are days when the anxiety makes me feel like I am slowly being ripped out of my skin. Caffeine, my last addiction, has become my enemy. In my 40’s, a bottomless cup of coffee has been replaced by herbal tea. Sleeping in a pool of sweat under two blankets and a sleeping bag was something I never expected to experience again after I kicked dope. It’s like my body is its own micro climate. My hair is thinning in spots. My nails are brittle. My tolerance for foolishness is at an all-time low. Yet, there is a freedom in being the raw and uncut version of myself. I have acceptance of my strengths and limitations. I want to enjoy every single day of my life. 

    I’m old now, or at least what I once considered old. I have three pairs of reading glasses strewn about my house. Hot flashes and night sweats are the current alarm bells that wake me up in the morning. My chest is starting to sag, followed by my neck. There’s the consistent search for garments that can adequately hide my midsection. I find myself asking for recommendations for shoes that have arch support. But I’ve also achieved a level of satisfaction knowing I have 21 years of mostly good decisions under my belt. At 49, I have the freedom I so desperately sought in my youth. 

    Tomorrow is not promised. And I don’t know how much longer I have left in this world. I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to kill myself. But in the process of dying, I realized I wanted to live.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Myths About Leaving 12-Step Fellowships

    5 Myths About Leaving 12-Step Fellowships

    We have a responsibility to do whatever we can — even if that means pointing someone to an alternative (non-12-step) pathway of recovery.

    I’ve lost count of the number of conversations I’ve had with people who are frightened to leave 12-step fellowships. They contact me because they heard that I left Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous over a year ago, and want to see if it’s true that I’m okay — that is, stayed sober.

    It’s true: I left 12-step fellowships in March 2017, and not only have I stayed sober, but my resilience, independence, and emotional well-being have grown exponentially. I’d even say that my sobriety has evolved more over the last year than the five years I spent in AA.

    What saddens me the most about these conversations — which echo my own fears of leaving — is that some members of 12-step groups believe sobriety is contingent upon their membership in AA or NA. So deep-rooted is this conditioning that they believe that if they stop attending meetings, they will return to using alcohol or drugs. Well-rehearsed 12-step myths say that without a program a person will become a “dry drunk,” or that they lack gratitude. Yet another surefire way of keeping people in the program is to tell them that leaving means they are unwilling to help newcomers.

    My experience, along with that of many others who have left 12-step fellowships, is that these beliefs are dogmatic conditioning. I will never tire of debunking these myths.

    Last month, a woman who spent over 20 years in a fellowship contacted me because she was tired of attending, fearful about leaving, and concerned that people mistakenly thought the length of her sobriety meant that she had the secret to long-term recovery. Such was her sense of responsibility that she blamed herself for the unfortunate fate of some people in the program. I’m saddened that someone in long-term recovery felt so confused and frightened about leaving.

    Today, my recovery represents independence. I now understand recovery as a knowing of myself and reclaiming my instincts. After six years in recovery, I’d like to think that I can make decisions based on what is right for me, rather than on the judgments of others if if I go against the grain. But this isn’t the reality for many who attend 12-step groups and they believe they have no control over their own sobriety other than showing up at meetings and working the program.

    These are just a few examples of the reasons many people have contacted me to discuss these very real fears and they’re always the same. Here is what I have to say about some of these common myths:

    • How will I help newcomers if I leave?

    First off, newcomers don’t always show up in meetings. They need someone to tell them that a meeting exists before they know to walk through that door. Second, there are a million ways to share a message of recovery: writing about your journey; giving peer support at a recovery center; sharing your experience in a treatment center or prison; offering help to someone who is struggling; or telling your friends, family, and doctor that they can refer someone who needs help to you. By leading a fulfilling life in recovery, you’re providing a real example to others that healthy and happy recovery is possible. I’d argue that all of these examples of helping a newcomer are equally, if not more, powerful than sharing your story and your telephone number in a meeting.

    • If I leave, I’ll relapse..

    This most pervasive myth of all has proven false for me and for hundreds of people I know who have left 12-step meetings. We feel a sense of freedom from breaking free of the dogmatic messaging and have taken back our power by choosing a pathway that is right for us.

    If someone wants to use drugs, they will find a way to do so whether they attend meetings or not. I don’t use substances because I choose not to, and because I care enough about myself to stop harming my body and preventing my ability to lead a fulfilling life. I no longer believe that I have a monster living inside of me, or a disease doing pushups in the parking lot waiting for me to mess up. Those are simply myths designed to keep me surrendering my will to an illusory bearded man who lives in a church basement, listening to people’s sad stories.

    • AA is the only way to recover.

    This statement is simply untrue. There are many effective pathways to recovery. In fact, a leading study shows that tens of millions of Americans have successfully resolved an alcohol or drug problem through a variety of traditional and nontraditional means. Specifically, 53.9 percent reported “assisted pathway use” that consisted of mutual-aid groups (45.1 percent), treatment (27.6 percent), and emerging recovery support services (21.8 percent). 95.8 percent of those who used mutual-aid groups attended 12-step mutual aid meetings. However, just under half of those who did not report using an assisted pathway recovered without the use of formal treatment and recovery supports.

    Another study comparing 12-step groups to alternative mutual aid groups found that LifeRing, SMART, and Women for Sobriety were just as effective as 12-step groups. Study author Dr. Sarah Zenmore and her team reported that “findings for high levels of participation, satisfaction, and cohesion among members of the mutual help alternatives suggest promise for these groups in addressing addiction problems.”

    • If you don’t feel suited to a 12-step program, you’re incapable of being honest with yourself.

    We’ve all heard of that paragraph in AA’s Big Book, “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves.” Really?! What about atheists who feel uncomfortable at the idea of handing over their life to God? I’d argue that it is being honest with yourself to acknowledge that the 12-step program doesn’t align with your values and beliefs.

    It is harmful to suggest that you are the problem if AA doesn’t work for you. If the 12 steps are so powerful, how come their success rate varies wildly from 20 percent to only 60 percent? Shaming isn’t the answer to long-term recovery — that only deepens an already desperately low self-esteem. Supporting someone as they find the right pathway is a far more compassionate, helpful approach. When so many people are dying from substance use disorder, there is no room for shame. We have a responsibility to do whatever we can — even if that means pointing someone to alternative pathways of recovery — so that we have a fighting chance at saving some lives.

    • My desire to leave is my disease talking.

    You don’t have a monster with a different voice living inside you. Yes, our behavior changes when we use drugs, and yes, drugs override our ability to make rational choices. We also have a desire to avoid painful realities — that’s what got most of us in the habit of using drugs in the first place. But attributing your realization that something isn’t right for you to a walking, talking disease is utter nonsense. I decided to leave because I was sick and tired of entering church basements in a cloud of cigarette smoke to hang out with people eating candy, drinking tar-like coffee, talking through people’s shares, and listening to the same old story on repeat. There was a time that community was helpful, but a point came where I wanted to go out and live my life. After all, this program was designed to be a bridge to living normally.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Ways Sobriety Changes Over Time

    5 Ways Sobriety Changes Over Time

    I want to be able to use my story to let people know that getting and staying sober at a young age is possible and even enjoyable.

    When I first got sober a little over five years ago, I couldn’t imagine a time when sobriety wouldn’t be front and center in my life. The beginning of sobriety felt so all-consuming. It came into play in every aspect of my life and dictated what I chose to do and who I chose to do it with. It was the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing I thought about before going to bed. I thought it would always be that way. 

    But now, five years later, sobriety is just a part of who I am. The role it plays in my life, as well as its prominence, has changed. I no longer think about it every single day. I no longer wonder how I will manage at a social gathering. I no longer worry about what people will think. 

    People so often talk about how sobriety has changed their life, but they rarely talk about how their sobriety itself has changed. As with most things in life, it doesn’t stay the same forever. Here are just a few ways I’ve noticed my recovery change as time has passed. 

    1. It becomes freeing rather than limiting. Five years ago, I viewed sobriety as something restrictive, something that was going to make my life smaller. I thought it would keep me from doing things like going out with friends, traveling, celebrating special occasions. I had no idea that over time, it would actually prove to be the opposite. Over the years, my sobriety has morphed into something that makes my life bigger. It allows me to take chances with confidence I’ve built, not confidence that comes from alcohol. It gives me the opportunity be fully present for every single moment, which is especially rewarding when it comes to traveling. 

    2. It fades from the foreground of your life. Maybe this isn’t the case for everyone, but for me it has been. Early on in sobriety, I thought about it all the time. I planned my days around treatment and 12-step meetings. I talked about recovery often, and about the milestones along the way. Now this isn’t really the case. It isn’t that these things aren’t still important to me, because they are. It’s just that they have become normal parts of life to an extent. Sometimes days can pass and I realize I haven’t even thought about the fact that I am sober. Today it’s just part of who I am at the core and that is something I have become comfortable with.

    3. The motivating factors change and evolve. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still glad I’m sober for many of the same reasons I had when I initially stopped drinking. I’m glad I don’t wake up having to apologize. I’m glad I know what I did the night before. I’m glad I get to skip over the whole hangover thing. But it’s more than all that now. Now, my motivation has deeper roots. Much of the time I’ve been sober, I’ve spent sharing my story and hoping to help others. Over the past few years, that has become my biggest motivator to stay sober. I want to be able to use my story to let people know that getting and staying sober at a young age is possible and even enjoyable. In early sobriety, that was far from a motivation for me because I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say. Today, I know they do. 

    4. It becomes less taboo of a topic. Early on in sobriety, I often felt like people were tiptoeing around the topic of my sobriety. I’m not sure whether they didn’t know what to say or were just scared to bring it up. Either way, it felt like it was off limits for some people. As time passed, friends and acquaintances seemed to become more comfortable asking me questions, like if I minded if they drank around me, or how sobriety as a whole was going. I know my own comfort level played a role in other’s feeling comfortable speaking about it, but I think some of it was just a natural progression as well. When you stick with something for a long time, it becomes part of who you are and people seem to be more open to discussing it, which I’ve found to be beneficial for both myself and them.

    5. It becomes a source of pride rather than insecurity. It took me awhile, but today I can say I do not have a single ounce of insecurity about my sobriety. I no longer wonder what people will think or whether I should even tell them I am sober. I no longer worry that their opinion of me will change drastically. I’ve realized that it’s on them and not me if they have an issue with the way I choose to live. Today I get to be comfortable in who I am and how I choose to lead my life. Today my sobriety is something I am beyond proud of. I am 26 years old and I have been sober for more than five years. That’s pretty damn neat if you ask me, and I’ve learned that anyone who thinks otherwise isn’t someone I need in my life.

    In writing this, I fully realize these are my own experiences. No one person’s sobriety and recovery is the same as another person’s. As such, the way sobriety grows and evolves will vary. But no matter what, I think it’s important to stop every so often and evaluate how your sobriety is different now compared to early on, and whether those changes are positive ones. It’s so vital to stay in touch with yourself and know what is going on inside, and that is often tied into recovery.

    View the original article at thefix.com