Answer Addiction

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  • 7 Tips to Help You Find the Right Therapist (and Why You Need One)

    7 Tips to Help You Find the Right Therapist (and Why You Need One)

    It was a therapist who first told me that I wasn’t in therapy because I was bad and out of control, like my mother said; I was in therapy to learn how to deal with having an emotionally unstable mother.

    My mother believes everyone needs therapy. And she’s right, they do. After being around her. Everyone, that is, except her. Don’t be like my mother, requiring the world to change around you. (It won’t.) And don’t be like my Dad either, who tells me I’m overreacting every time I have an emotion. Don’t be like me, either, an asshole exploiting her parents for profit. Wait. 

    Do you need therapy? Probably. Could you benefit from therapy? Definitely. Can you afford therapy? More easily than you think. Many therapists keep sliding scale spots open in their practice, for those who need help but don’t have health insurance or a large income. I found my current gem of a therapist through Open Path Collective, a network of clinicians who offer therapy at a rate of $30 to $60 per session for individuals.

    It was a therapist who first told me that I wasn’t in therapy because I was bad and out of control, like my mother said; I was in therapy to learn how to deal with having an emotionally unstable mother. And I didn’t talk too much and ask too many questions; actually I was curious, the therapist said, and had a lot to say.

    It was a therapist who said: “I can’t see you and your husband at the same time, the relationship is too damaged and he just shuts down and threatens to end it.” The same therapist asked “Are you drinking every single night?” And, “Have you tried AA?” And when I couldn’t get myself to stop or go to AA, she found a rehab, called my parents, and helped make all the arrangements from her office.

    It hasn’t been all Aha! moments and cleansing cries on couches though. I’ve had a couple of negative experiences. None, however, were as negative as the summer I tried to therapize myself on my own with just books. That experiment ended with me smoking crack for the first time, shooting up heroin while smoking crack (neither of those were my thing, but that summer!), and my first DUI.

    Maybe you’re surviving – but you could be thriving. 

    It might be helpful to look for a therapist who specializes in addiction or whatever you believe your specific issues are, but it’s not necessary. Your intuition is your greatest asset in your search. If you don’t like your therapist, leave and find another one. Repeat until you have the seven experiences I describe below.

    1. Your emotions are validated.

    Therapy helps you accept that your emotions are valid, something our culture certainly doesn’t want you to do. Allowing yourself to feel your feelings is an underrated gift. Your emotions may seem out of proportion to the event that caused them, and that’s okay. You learn that they are actually a response triggered by the event to a deeper, older wound. You will learn, as the poet Rumi said, to “meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.”

    2. You get to talk about anything you want.

    This is one of the most exciting things with a trusted therapist, thinking what would I like to discuss today? The toxic friendship I want to find the courage to give up; that awful conversation with my dad; or do I want to recount everything that happened this week? It’s all up to you! You can plan it in advance, and you don’t even have to stick to the plan, you can talk about whatever comes up! Where else do you have this kind of freedom, where you don’t have to dance around sensitive issues, where there is no fear of being judged that isn’t your own projection, where you are safe, completely safe, to talk about the most trivial and most traumatizing of issues? What joy! The time is truly yours.

    3. You don’t have to caretake or worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings.

    If you aren’t worried about your friend’s thoughts and feelings at all and constantly dump your problems on them, quit being an asshole. That isn’t their job, even if they think it is. The only thing addicts are better at finding than their drug is codependents. Your therapist is one of only people in the world with whom you don’t have this burden. This doesn’t mean you should abuse them, just that you don’t have to worry if they are sick of hearing about your dumb boyfriend again. 

    4. Unconditional presence.

    Therapists are masters at the art of holding space. They are fully with you as you explore the pains and confusions of life. You are never too much, never unacceptable. You just are. We live in a culture that doesn’t teach anything unconditional, least of all love and presence. People have to learn how to do it. Your therapist knows how, and it is their job to provide this for you. Your therapist isn’t invested in pushing the journey to a certain place for their own benefit. They are just there to walk with you along the way. My therapist held that space and accepted me until I could learn to accept myself. When I beat myself up after another relapse, she didn’t join in. Her unconditional presence and nonjudgmental interest helped me to finally break that pattern.

    5. You’re given the space to work out your problems on your own.

    Therapists aren’t there to solve your problems for you. They are impartial witnesses, bringing a gentle, open, and noncritical attitude to your experience. It’s the exact opposite of my childhood. I can tell you from experience that nothing feels better than figuring out a problem on your own, with someone with no skin in the game standing by as a witness, someone who only wants to see you do well and who isn’t going to scold you when you fall (but will encourage you to explore why).

    6. They notice, and can help point out your patterns.

    After I stopped obsessing about a man who treated me carelessly, my therapist pointed out that I had a pattern of acting as if sex was all I had to offer and offering it to people who didn’t deserve it. I remember the moment because she said it so gently, as a question, and then she paused. She knew to bring it up only after I had described a scenario which shown I had grown in self-love and respect. It blows my mind how she is able to hold back until the moment is right. I had a previous therapist who I never let get a single word in, and when I finally asked after a year, “What do you think?” She said, “I thought you’d never ask!” She told me that she had been planning to bring it up soon, but that she sensed that it was going to take what it took for me to learn to trust her.

    7. Safety.

    Before we can change anything, we first need to get to a place of safety. I breathe a huge sigh of relief every time I walk into my therapist’s office. There is nothing more important than feeling safe. And it is so rare in this world, in this time. To paraphrase the great Eddie Pepitone, “It’s a sign that a society is falling apart when murder is entertainment, though the Ted Bundy special was very good.” I can’t think of anyone I know who hasn’t had their car broken into, or their body broken into, or their mind hijacked by the needs of another who didn’t see them as real. Therapy is a true safe space. And in therapy, you can learn to create safe space within yourself, which is something nobody can take from you. 

    In conclusion, get a therapist. I mean it. What are you waiting for? Give your friends a break. Learn to see your parents as flawed humans who did the best they could. Lean on your sponsor for no more and no less than they can handle. Get. A. Therapist. You don’t have to stay stuck anymore, you don’t have to keep hurting yourself with a million tiny infractions. Help yourself. Allow yourself to be helped.

    I love you. Especially the nastiest among you. You need it the most. Leave your excuses in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 3 Things My Father Taught Me About Addiction

    3 Things My Father Taught Me About Addiction

    Reframing the addiction as a disease helped me understand that my father didn’t want to hurt himself or my family.

    Every time I talk to my dad about his experience with addiction, I come away with beautiful—although sometimes painful—new insights. Listening to him talk about his longtime struggle with opioid addiction has taught me not only about the complex and labyrinthine nature of addiction itself, but also about love and forgiveness.

    The most important thing I’ve learned is that no matter the struggle, there is a person who deserves real compassion—before (or under) the addiction, before (or under) the trauma that may have caused them to use drugs, before (or under) the pain and suffering.

    I’ve seen prison time, loss of custody, and disease take hold as a result of addiction, and yet I can see the other side as well. While everyone’s experiences are different, here’s what I’ve learned from my father and his experience:

    1. People with addictions don’t want to be addicted

    Within the dark void of addiction—and its loneliness, shame, powerlessness, and disaster—it can be hard to really see the person who is suffering. This is true both from the outside and if it’s yourself you’re looking to find. It’s also hard to accept that someone isn’t making an active choice to suffer (and cause suffering around them). They may have made a choice to pick up a drug, but addiction is an actual disease, and its grip is real.

    According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, “Many people don’t understand why or how other people become addicted to drugs. They may mistakenly think that those who use drugs lack moral principles or willpower and that they could stop their drug use simply by choosing to. In reality, drug addiction is a complex disease, and quitting usually takes more than good intentions or a strong will. Drugs change the brain in ways that make quitting hard, even for those who want to.”

    Reframing the addiction as a disease helped me understand that my father didn’t want to hurt himself or my family. And in talking frankly with him today, it’s very clear that he knew he was suffering, but he simply couldn’t figure out the steps to get out of it. It took so much loss before he got himself into recovery, and that’s something I stay compassionate about. I think this empathy can go a long way in both understanding your family’s narrative and forging a path toward potential forgiveness (and maybe even advocacy for others).

    1. Addiction doesn’t magically disappear

    On a trip to see my dad recently, I was taken aback when he said, “I still get cravings.” Although I know—I mean, rationally—that just because someone is in recovery doesn’t mean they won’t feel temptation or relapse, it’s harder to hear it from your parents. It’s scary, yes, but it’s also just sad. On my end, I wanted to say, “But you’re okay, right?!”

    I held my tongue. Instead of seeking comfort from him in his truth and struggle, I decided to simply listen—as an adult, as a human. As a child of two people who have struggled with addiction, I have learned to see my parents as humans, and part of that is constantly reminding myself to actively choose to listen and find compassion in their story. It’s not always easy—and some will argue that this isn’t fair to the child—but it’s what has worked for me.

    I asked my dad, “So when do these cravings happen? Is it often?” And I simply listened to what he had to say. I learned about the mechanics of his addiction, how he manages it, and what he feels in those moments.

    That illumination has given me insight and compassion, and even though it’s hard, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s enabled me to treat others as human beings and advocate when and how I can. It also helps me to see my dad fairly.

    1. Hardship often creates beauty and wisdom

    Although there’s no way this can be true for everyone, and although it’s almost a cliché, sometimes our suffering can yield something beautiful—even when it’s not our intention.

    Sitting in my dad’s house, I watched him pull out notebook after notebook filled with song lyrics and poetry. Most of these poems were about his addiction, and the sadness, loneliness, pain, and self-questioning it caused. Some of the poems were about finding a divine source, or fighting past the pain. Some weren’t so positive. Reading his words surprised me. I’ve been an active poet for years, and yet I had no idea how prolific a writer my dad is, and how he uses writing to cope with trauma as well.

    Reading his words connected me to him, but it did more than that: It proved that even in our darkest moments, humanity has an uncanny ability to try to cipher that pain into something bigger than ourselves. This is not just a mythology we tell ourselves, though. It’s real: Just look at the many writers, for example, who lived with addiction throughout their lives.

    I am grateful to see the so-called silver lining in these insights, but it only underscores the real tragedy of addiction: that far more people with substance use disorders are misunderstood and underrepresented, and that their stories, when told, are told poorly and without nuance. There is grief and hope in addiction. There is recovery and there is relapse, and there is everything in between.

    There is access to care for some and a desperate lack of access to care for others. There are abstinence-touting programs and there are clean needle centers. Addiction is a huge issue, with no one story or approach or outcome that represents everyone’s perspective. But as someone watching from the outside, as a family member, it’s my goal to listen, be compassionate, and share what I’ve learned in a way that makes space for some good.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How to Find Sobriety in the New Year

    How to Find Sobriety in the New Year

    If you’re abusing alcohol and have decided it’s time to stop, here are some tactics that helped me to get and stay sober. You don’t have to undertake this daunting task alone.

    You stumble to your car after a night out drinking. Not just any night, New Year’s Fucking Eve! You pounded more beers and downed more shots than the other people in your party combined. Some of them are wondering how you are still conscious. Yet they let you drive home – again. You wake up the next morning only half remembering the night before. You can’t remember how the hell you got home – again. This has to stop. Your resolution is sobriety in the New Year – again.

    Quitting drinking is one of the hardest things for an alcoholic to do. I’ve struggled with drinking and have now been sober for over four years. In this time, I have completely changed my life for the better. I’ve written about my struggle and the role the industry I work in plays in promoting alcohol use and abuse. I want to share insight and actionable tips on how I’ve managed to stop drinking and stay clean since April 2014 – known as forever in active alcohol abuser years. I hope this will help people struggling with alcohol abuse to make the decision to find sobriety, and help others to support people who are trying to stay sober.

    Most people don’t realize overnight that they are abusing alcohol. It takes a whole lot of wasted time that you can never get back. Alcoholics are burning the candle of life at both ends when we couple blackout drinking with the life-shortening ailments that come along with binge and heavy drinking. A New Year brings the opportunity for you to inventory your life and make a change if needed.

    Realizing I was an alcoholic was a slow process, like realizing I was Sasquatch or some other mythical creature I had heard others talk about in hushed voices, but never truly thought existed. I have some traits that are similar to Sasquatch, I would wake up thinking, and, I’ll try harder not to be Sasquatch. But I’d usually go to bed as Sasquatch that night.

    Accepting I was an alcoholic was even harder. I thought embracing the label meant embracing my banishment from society. We don’t see Sasquatch running around in the open and no one needed to tell me alcohol abusers are stigmatized. “We do not associate with alcoholics,” my mother had told me from as young as I could remember, referencing my multiple drunk uncles we would see only on the holidays.

    My Life As an Alcoholic

    I struggled with alcohol all of my adult life. I started as a lightweight, puking my plunder every time I would drink and downing a six-pack of whatever beer I could get my hands on. It was all about speed. “Am I drunk yet?” I would think while chugging past the point of no return. Meanwhile, people around me were still on their first beer, even when it was time for me to retire for the night. I continued to push the throttle on drinking. Sasquatch loved the taste of beer.

    I developed a tolerance. I was wrapping up my PhD and working full time, which left me with enough time to engage in a nightly ritual of drinking until I passed out. Sasquatch liked routines. I also argued with my girlfriend when I drank. It would usually start on a Friday, mid-afternoon, and I would be buzzed or beyond by the time she got home from work. Sasquatch was waiting to pounce.

    I started missing work, often when traveling, due to being hungover. I worked for a place that didn’t reimburse for alcohol, but my meals were free which meant I could make up the savings in beer. I would show up for a morning meeting and claim to feel ill from dinner the night before, then excuse myself to spend the rest of the day throwing up in my hotel room.

    When I hit my early 30’s the blackouts started. I entered a period where I struggled to remember the details of nights involving drinking, with the only record in the form of angry emails sent to those I felt had crossed me, stupid Facebook posts (song lyrics, ugh), and texts to random people I’d met at the bar.

    I ignored the problem: Sasquatch dressed in business casual trying to blend in behind a computer; Sasquatch stumbling across the bar and spilling other people’s drinks as he laughs his way to the bathroom; Sasquatch, in bed next to his fiancé with the room spinning, staring at the ceiling, wasted for another night. I wasn’t fooling anyone, particularly not myself.

    I didn’t embrace the role alcohol was playing in my downfall until I was 35. My lack of satisfaction with life was tangible. I was doing the same thing daily and getting the same outcome. I woke up one day surrounded by my smashed possessions, with a great paying job but no money to replace them. I was frustrated at work, in my personal life, and with my health. Sasquatch needed help.

    Accepting I had a problem with alcohol felt like accepting I was a failure. Sasquatch blew his cover. I had to accept I had wasted all the time and money I’d invested in alcohol over the years. I had no idea how I could go about changing as there were no former Sasquatches in my life that I was aware of – no reference points setting a path for me to follow.

    Sasquatch alone in a haunted forest.

    I was able to find my way to sobriety, though it wasn’t an easy path, and I needed help. If you’re abusing alcohol, and have decided it is time to stop, here are some tactics I found helpful. You don’t have to undertake this daunting task alone.

    Find Support

    This comes first for a reason. I cannot stress how important it is to share what you are going through with others. Many have come before you, so you don’t need to do this alone. You need a reference point for sobriety and a sober lifestyle. Most likely, you have been hanging out with people who won’t serve as good examples for an alcohol-free lifestyle.

    I did both counseling and AA for the first few months of sobriety. My counselor challenged me to do AA meetings for 90 straight days. I did about 50 in that time and continued attending meetings for the first four months of my sobriety. I wouldn’t give them back for anything. You don’t have to do AA specifically, but it is a huge organization with a lot of diversity. There are atheist meetings, LGBTQ+ meetings, and more, and people of all ages and walks of life attend. If you can’t get to an in-person meeting, you can attend meetings online via Skype or a chat room. I found it encouraging in my fledgling days of sobriety to hear about the experiences of those with more time under their belt, hearing over and over that it gets easier, and learning how many of them had turned their life, health, and relationships around in the same way I was seeking. You might find a similar situation in any other group in existence, so please don’t tune me out because I say AA worked for me.

    Replace the Habit

    How does someone go from being fixated on something 95% of the time to reducing that to near nil? By fixating on other things. I’ve already written about my experience with channeling my compulsions. Addicts are good at routines and fixating on things, not just drinking. The goal, from my perspective, is to find something positive to fixate on: your job, your wife, your writing, your church, your local professional organization, jump roping. Anything that doesn’t destroy your life physically or mentally is better than something that does. Anyone that says you shouldn’t replace an addiction with something else is giving bad advice.

    I knew I wanted to write more. I daydreamed about writing while drinking myself into a stupor. Now I had the dream and the ability to achieve it. I implemented a writing routine as structured as my drinking routine. This led to publishing multiple articles in relevant professional publications, and achieving a lifelong goal of writing a book.

    Maintain Perspective

    If you attend an AA meeting or know others that have become sober, you will know that falling off the wagon is a common story. Staying sober is nothing short of altering your life in every way. This does not happen magically overnight. If you slip up in your pursuit of sobriety it means you are normal. Get over it and keep trying. It will get easier as you accrue more sober days.

    I haven’t slipped up, but it’s not because I’m above it. I have frequent cravings and fond memories of the good old days. I stood in the airport three weeks into sobriety while traveling for work and knew I could slide into a comfy seat at the bar and get loaded before my plane boarded. No one would ever find out and I could pretend I had stayed sober when I returned. Instead, I bought the largest Perrier I could find and downloaded some new music to listen to on the flight. I hope I would have been gentle on myself if I had made the decision to take a drink that day. It happens.

    Find a Goal

    Set goals. Set lofty, impossible goals, then achieve them. Don’t set a goal of trying every beer on tap in a single night, or tasting every vintage of wine the local vineyard produces. Those are shitty goals for an alcohol abuser. They waste your time and hurt those around you.

    Positive goals include: losing weight and gaining muscle, learning something new, spending more quality time with your family, doing volunteer work, presenting at a conference, professional development, getting a promotion or new job, starting (or returning to) a hobby, or not being drunk for an entire week. You see where this is going. Goals are like New Year’s resolutions you actually keep.

    Stay Motivated

    You will need to keep your eye on the prize of sobriety, especially during the times you are craving one drink or ten. Look around and find something to motivate you: your children, your marriage, your colleague who was promoted over you. Get pumped up. You can do it! But not if you’re drunk.

    I have created an imaginary enemy; someone who would relish the fact that I fail in my attempt to stay sober. I use this to motivate me when I need a confidence boost and then get to tell this imaginary asshole I got another article published, another book deal, or that my family is happy with my sobriety. I couldn’t say any of this if I went back to being a drunk.

    Put It Into Practice

    I’ve covered a few things that help me stay sober. You need to remember that not every day is easy. Especially in the beginning, you will actively look for reasons to have a drink. My car was broken into and vandalized and my work computer permanently crashed within the first two weeks of my sobriety and I wanted these to be signs from above that I deserved a drink. Instead I chose to occupy my time in other ways and I’m glad I did. I recommend trying everything I’ve discussed in this article, and many others here on The Fix, and using what works for you to stay sober.

    What worked for you? Let us know in the comments!

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Self-Destructive Habits to Leave Behind in 2018

    5 Self-Destructive Habits to Leave Behind in 2018

    Here’s to deeper connection through owning our imperfections, attracting more abundance by believing there’s enough for everyone, and freeing ourselves from these other self-destructive habits.

    New Year, New You? How about New Year, Real You? I do not think Life is about becoming some other person, as society would have you believe. I think Life is about shedding the things that are not you, about remembering who you truly are, about becoming who you already are and bringing into this reality who you were meant to be. 

    It’s so easy to get caught up in the false refuge of maladaptive beliefs and behaviors — everybody is doing it. As the year prepares to turn over, there is a symbolic and energetic push for a fresh start. 

    If your goals for the new year involve getting your whites whiter, finding a partner, and ditching sugar for good!, stop reading now. 

    But perhaps this is the year you strive for internal rearrangement. Maybe you will find that when you put that first, the rest sort of falls into place. Even your butt.

    1. Scarcity Mindset
    When you’re in scarcity mindset you feel like there isn’t enough of anything, yet you’re also unwilling to get out of your comfort zone to look for more opportunities. Scarcity turns everyone else into our enemies, as we perceive they are taking from a finite pool of resources and therefore anything that they have means there is less available to us. The saddest of scarcity mindsets revolve around love. Love begets more love, but sometimes we feel that any love being directed at something else is love being taken away from us. If you’ve ever wondered how someone can be jealous of a little puppy, the answer is scarcity mindset. This is prevalent in my field, stand-up comedy, as there are only so many clubs and so many weekends a year in which to get booked. But what if people in comedy focused on lifting each other up? Wouldn’t comedy as a whole get better? And if that happened, wouldn’t there be more comedy fans and more demand? And then more clubs and more spots?

    2. Dissociating
    This is when we run away without leaving the room. First, we separate the details of an event from our awareness; it can be as simple as ignoring red flags on a first date. We can dissociate the meaning of something to make excuses for it — that way we don’t have to take responsibility or act based on what is actually happening. He jumped out of the cab and left me to pay for it because….I paid for things earlier in the night and he didn’t want to be emasculated by watching me pay again…Uhhhh. Maybe he’s just a dick?

    When you’re dissociating, you’re spaced out, you’re numb. I remember thinking I had a superpower in my early 20’s when I learned I could dissociate in the dentist’s chair and not need Novocain. This magic gift was just a side effect of child abuse. You’re thinking: this shouldn’t be happening right now, and then you leave. You are there, but you aren’t. We use our phones to leave the present all the time. But we came to this earth at this time for a reason — to be here. You can stop dissociating by grounding yourself in the present reality with your five senses. Grab a cold drink or take a hot shower. Get back in your body. It’s okay to feel your emotions; I often dissociate when I get social anxiety and then I tell myself that it’s not okay to have social anxiety and then I “fix” the unwanted emotion by fleeing it. Self-compassion helps me stay in the moment and feeling. I remember that everything belongs, even this unwanted emotion. 

    3. Playing Prisoner and Warden
    The most common way we do this is in intimate relationships, as in the old refrain of “He/She/They won’t let me. We make others play one of these roles so we can rebel against it. It’s an externalization of a fragment of ourselves that is judging the behavior that we are seemingly trying to get over on our designated warden. For example, once I relapsed (LOL ONCE) at a birthday party at a bar full of my peers. I spotted someone there who was in recovery. They were not my sponsor or even my friend, and deep down, I knew my recovery and relapse had absolutely nothing to do with them. But I hid from them all night long; I even triangulated, telling other people I couldn’t have them see me drink! I actually hid the can behind my back when I talked to them, though it was all for naught when I drunkenly tripped and fell flat on my face a few minutes later. Here’s the thing: they didn’t know or care. I used this person to deflect responsibility for myself, to shame myself, and to rebel against myself. 

    4. Explaining Yourself
    I always felt I needed to explain my existence, and could give you a detailed history that led me to such a place, but the irony! Explaining yourself is goddamn exhausting for everyone. I actively work to not do this by asking myself what people truly need to know during interactions. It’s always less than my original impulse. When I was in college I was such an extreme over-explainer that I felt like every time I ran into someone, I had to tell them everything that had happened since we last spoke. I never had time to see what was going on with them, and that is how I went through life, just assuming others were better than me and together and I needed everyone to understand how hard it was for me and you would, maybe you would, if you’d only let me explain. Every time I don’t explain myself or make excuses for my actions and existence I call a tiny bit of my power back. I become a bit more self-contained, a bit more confident. I feel like a grown-up in the very best way.

    5. Waiting to Enjoy It
    The idea that you can only enjoy your life once you’ve become a person worthy of enjoying it is a lie and it needs to be smashed. You have value simply because you exist. You are here, and that is the only requirement for being worth enjoying life. If you swear you’ll allow yourself to enjoy being alive once you attain a certain external achievement — no matter what it is — you’ll be disappointed when you attain it. There is nothing that can fill the void of feeling unworthy, except, perhaps, deciding to enjoy your life and yourself as they are. The great paradox is that it’s only when you get there that you can truly effect lasting change. We are all in such a rush to get nowhere. The end of the road is just another road. There is no arriving, and there is always a state of arrival. A palm tree against a darkening sky, a joke landing perfectly, your dog snuggling into you in the night. There isn’t much more to life than that, and if you’re really inhabiting your life, you don’t need there to be. Enjoy it. What are you waiting for? There’s a caveat though: it’s impossible to enjoy your life and control your life at the same time. Good luck. Oh, also, sometimes I say you when I mean I.

    As you can see, these maladaptive behavioral traits overlap as they all transform dysfunction into a grand discord of an unfulfilled life. 

    When I first met recovery I couldn’t admit anything I did wrong. I was so afraid to look at myself, terrified of what I might find. I found that when I was able to admit mistakes and faults that people actually responded better to me than when I was pretending that I was perfect. I was never fooling anyone. That was the beginning of learning to own my shit, but in order to own my shit, I had to look at my shit too. I may not have created the problem, but it is my responsibility to solve it. I know what I want. Sometimes I don’t think I can have it, or I am looking for permission. Actually I am always looking for permission, so if you’re like me, consider this your permission slip. You have permission to go after the things you truly want. Yes, even you. Yes, even that.

    We’ve all got more work to do on ourselves than we hope, but it’s not as insurmountable as we fear. I promise you that. Here’s to more freedom through discipline, deeper connection through owning our imperfections, attracting more abundance by believing there’s enough for everyone, and all the other paradoxes that make life worth living. May this list serve to remind you and validate what your inner being knows already. Happy New Year!

    Now, go be you. You’re doing a great job.

    Further reading:

    7 Reasons to Shift from a Scarcity Mindset to an Abundance Mindset – Lucy Vinestock

    The Scarcity Mindset – Shahram Heshmat Ph.D.

    Dissociation Isn’t a Life Skill – Sandra L. Brown M.A.

    Triangulation: The Trap Of The Problematic Person – Támara Hill, MS, LPC

    Stop Looking Outside Yourself for Answers – Kathryn Eggins

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 7 Reasons Why I Thought AA Wasn't for "Someone Like Me"

    7 Reasons Why I Thought AA Wasn't for "Someone Like Me"

    By the end, as we stood in a circle holding hands, I thought: “This is a cult, right? This has to be a cult.”

    I remember the first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous that I ever attended, about three years ago. I’ll be honest — I wasn’t the friendliest face at that meeting. I had a ready criticism for just about everything that anyone said.

    By the end, as we stood in a circle holding hands, I thought: “This is a cult, right? This has to be a cult.”

    I asked the newcomer liaison — who I was convinced was just a recruiter for this undercover religious operation — how I could know whether or not I was an alcoholic, and if I really needed AA.

    One thing she said in particular stood out: “Sometimes you aren’t ready, you know? Some folks go and do more ‘research’ and then a couple years later we see them in the rooms again.”

    In hindsight, I have to chuckle. Of all of the advice she gave me, the only part I seem to have listened to was the part that justified drinking more. (I’d later learn that this is the exact kind of “selective hearing” that alcoholics are known for.)

    I didn’t know it at the time, but her comment would foreshadow my journey to the letter. A few years later, after another catastrophic relapse, I remembered her words: If it was meant to be, I would be back.

    “Sam, you could’ve died,” my therapist told me when I described my latest binge. That’s when I knew my “research” was over. It was time to go back.

    I sat in the back row (another typical newbie move, I’d later learn), and just as the Serenity Prayer was being read, I saw the same woman from before — the one who predicted, whether intentionally or not, that I would be in those rooms again.

    “I know you, right?” she said to me after the meeting.

    “Yeah,” I replied, smiling. “And you’re a big reason why I came back. Because I knew I could.”

    I didn’t know what to expect, but that didn’t matter; I was just grateful to have a place to go where I didn’t feel so crazy.

    As time went on, I quickly realized that the reasons I believed that AA wasn’t for me weren’t just misguided, they were completely wrong. While I wish I’d had these realizations sooner, I’m grateful now for the fellowship I found when I was finally able to open my heart and mind.

    So what, exactly, held me back the first time around? These are seven of the big reasons why I thought AA wasn’t for me — and what ultimately changed my mind.

    1. I’m not Christian (or even religious).

    Despite being told that your higher power in AA could be virtually anything, the “God” language was so off-putting that I couldn’t get past it at first. What I didn’t know was that AA is home to people with all sorts of beliefs, including atheists and agnostics (for whom a whole chapter in the Big Book is actually written).

    But why would someone who wasn’t religious opt for a program that talks about a higher power?

    The short answer? To get outside of ourselves. Part of what makes addiction so tricky is that we often get stuck in our own heads, leading us to miss the forest for the trees. A focus on some compassionate, loving force outside of ourselves allows us to take a step back from the addictive obsessing and see the big picture at work.

    That “God” can be your own inner wisdom or spirit (you know, the tiny voice or gut feeling that says: “I shouldn’t be doing this”). It can refer to your fellowship (e.g. Group Of Drunks) and community, or it can even be the stars or your ancestors.

    Whatever your higher power is, it exists to anchor you in the present moment, when your own thoughts are derailing you (part of what fuels cravings, I’ve found, is the mental obsession that goes along with them). Projecting your focus outside yourself can be a powerful tool in recovery.

    2. Alcohol wasn’t my biggest problem.

    I always thought of my alcohol abuse as a symptom of a problem rather than an issue in its own right. As someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and a trauma history (C-PTSD), I figured that if I got my mental illness under control, my drinking would somehow become normal again; that it would, in essence, “work itself out.”

    As irrational as it sounds, I really believed that if I just “stayed mentally healthy” for the rest of my life, alcohol wouldn’t be a problem.

    It should be a lot easier to sober up than to be perfectly happy and healthy 100% of the time, but the alcoholic mind doesn’t care about what’s actually possible — it just cares about drinking again.

    I’ve learned with time that my alcoholism is very much a compulsive behavior. And once compulsions are activated, they’re only made worse when you engage with them. As a person with OCD, and therefore lots of compulsions, I know this better than anyone.

    A lot of alcoholics look at every other issue in their lives as The Real Problem, while their drinking isn’t much more than an inconvenient and temporary side effect. But more often than not, the only “phase” we’re really talking about here is denial.

    3. I figured I could manage on my own.

    Here’s the thing: Whether or not you can manage sobriety on your own, why should you? If there’s an entire community of people, ready and able to support you, why deprive yourself of that resource?

    These days, I ignore the voice in my head that says, “You don’t need this.” It’s irrelevant either way; I don’t need to muscle through this and there’s no good reason to.

    This fellowship is a gift I can give to myself — the gift of unconditional acceptance, and an opportunity for continued personal growth in a supportive community.

    4. I thought I was too young and “inexperienced.”

    My drinking didn’t really take off until I was 21 years old. Yet by the time I was 24, I was at my first AA meeting. Was it possible to become an alcoholic in three years? I didn’t think so. I hadn’t racked up any DUIs and I wasn’t drinking vodka every morning, so what did I need AA for?

    But my definition of alcoholism has evolved a lot since then.  Alcoholism, to me, is a spectrum of experiences defined by two things: (1) psychological dependence on alcohol and (2) strong urges to drink (which we call “cravings”).

    Drinking had become a coping strategy (one that often failed me) to deal with issues in my life. And rather than choosing to drink and choosing to stop — which is usually, on some level, premeditated and deliberate — I had the urge to drink, and that urge often had me behaving in ways that ran counter to what I planned or wanted, assuming I had a plan at all.

    Sometimes I drank only to resolve the urge itself — an urge which could involve unbearable levels of anxiety, agitation, obsessing, and impulsiveness.

    It took just a few years for my drinking to reach this level of unmanageability. And when it led me to be hospitalized twice in my early twenties, I realized that if I continued I would die before I ever considered myself “experienced” or “old enough.”

    You are never too young or inexperienced to get sober. If there are signs that your drinking has become dangerous, you don’t need to wait to get support — and you shouldn’t.

    5. I’m queer and transgender.

    One of the biggest reasons why I rejected AA was because I felt, as someone who was both transgender and gay, that I would feel like an outsider. And while I can’t speak for every meeting in existence, I’ve been fortunate to find meetings where I could show up as my authentic self.

    Living in the Bay Area, I’m privileged to now have access to meetings that are specifically for the LGBTQ+ community, though I regularly attend all kinds of meetings and have found them to be fulfilling in their own way. My sponsor is queer, too, which is incredibly empowering.

    Many people I’ve known in other parts of the country have been able to connect with their local LGBTQ+ community center (either city or statewide) to get recommendations on which recovery spaces would be best for them.

    Some LGBTQ+ centers even have AA meetings specifically on-site for the community.

    The best way to find out is to call around. You don’t know what’s out there, and recovery is always worth the effort.

    6. I take psychiatric medications.

    As someone who takes medication for my mental health conditions, I was scared that people in AA would look down on me or believe I wasn’t really sober.

    In particular, I rely on Adderall to manage my ADHD. I take it exactly as prescribed without any trouble. If I don’t take it, it’s difficult for me to keep up at my job because my concentration issues make my life incredibly unmanageable.

    But Adderall is a stimulant and has a reputation as a drug of abuse. I worried that I would be pressured to stop taking it.

    Instead, I’ve been given the exact opposite advice in AA. I’ve been told repeatedly that if my psychiatric medications contribute to my mental wellness, they are an essential and indispensable part of my recovery.

    With mental health conditions frequently co-occurring with substance abuse, you’re likely to find a lot of people in AA who rely on these medications to maintain balance in their lives. So don’t be discouraged: you aren’t alone.

    7. My history didn’t seem “bad enough.”

    Sometimes I’d listen to a speaker talk about getting drunk at age 12, growing up in the foster system, or getting their second DUI, and I’d think to myself, “Why am I even here? My story is nothing like theirs.”

    But as I attended more and more meetings, I began to see the similarities, rather than focusing so much on the differences. I realized that even the most extraordinary stories had some kind of wisdom to offer me, as long as I gave myself permission to be fully present.

    As I heard a speaker say last month, “Bottom is when you stop digging.” Recovery begins when you’re open to it, not when you’ve passed some magical threshold of having “suffered enough.”

    Your story is enough, exactly as it is in this moment. You don’t need to have the most tragic backstory, the biggest relapse, or the most catastrophic “bottom” moment.

    You don’t have to earn a seat at the table. As I learned this last year, that seat will be there for you when you’re ready, no matter how many times you fall down or slip up.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Things I Wish I Knew When I Hit Rock Bottom

    5 Things I Wish I Knew When I Hit Rock Bottom

    When you’re at your lowest point, it’s easy to feel like there is no hope, like you are completely alone, like your life will never be full again.

    Rock bottom is such a common term in the world of recovery. And while everyone has a rock bottom, no one has the same one. When you’re at your lowest point, it’s easy to feel like there is no hope, like you are completely alone, like your life will never be full again. I certainly felt all those things and more a little over five years ago when I hit my bottom.

    But they say hindsight is 20/20, and in looking back, there are a few things I wish I had been able to reach out and grasp from my bottom. In hopes that they might help someone else, here they are:

    1. There Is Always a Light at the End of the Tunnel

    When I think back to the first few days and weeks following my rock bottom, I remember an all-encompassing feeling of utter hopelessness. I felt there was literally no way life would ever get better, that things would only get worse as time went on. I didn’t think there was any way out of the hole I had found myself in. I was really, truly incapable of envisioning a life in which I was happy without alcohol. I know I’m not alone in those feelings. Those emotions and struggles are true of many people when they hit their lowest of lows. It is called rock bottom for a reason — that reason being that you cannot go any lower. The only direction to go is up. But in the midst of it all, it’s so hard to see that. At rock bottom, I wish I had been able to reach out and grasp that little bit of hope that everything would be OK, rather than fixating on how my life was falling apart at the seams. Seeing that light at the end of the tunnel is something that would have been helpful. But what matters is that the light eventually made its way to me, and when it did, I kept walking toward it. Some days, I still am.

    2. Even in Your Loneliest Moments, You Are Not Alone

    In addition to feeling utterly hopeless early on, I also felt completely, wholly alone — more alone than I have ever felt in my life. I couldn’t imagine that anyone in the world was going through what I was going through. And maybe that’s true, to an extent. But it’s also true that there were people going through similar things; I just hadn’t crossed paths with them yet. I also felt alone in the sense that I was scared to talk to the people closest to me about what I was feeling and thinking. Instead, I kept it all bottled inside, isolating myself even more. It was only when I began to let my guard down that I realized I had had people beside me all along. I had never been alone, I had just convinced myself that was the case.

    3. The People Who Matter Will Remain by Your Side

    As my life was falling apart five and a half years ago, one of my main concerns was what would happen to my relationships. I was so scared of losing the people who I thought were important to me. And the truth is that not all of my relationships would survive the coming weeks and months. There were some friends who I came to find were really just drinking buddies. Those were the ones who slowly faded away. But at my lowest point, the people who really cared about me as a person came forward and made it known. So many of my relationships became stronger in the months following my rock bottom, to the point that I barely noticed the relationships that hadn’t pulled through. When everything is changing without your permission, it’s easy to feel as if it’s for the worst. But just remember that’s not always the case.

    4. People Won’t Judge You as Harshly as You Think They Will

    This was one of my biggest fears at my rock bottom and is what kept me from moving forward in my recovery for some time. I was so terrified that when people found out what had happened in my life, they would pass judgement and jump to conclusions. I was afraid that they would look at me differently or tell me I was overreacting. And sure, some people did. But the majority of people commended me for realizing that my life was spiraling out of control and for taking the steps to better it. Most people were and are beyond supportive of the decision I made five years ago, and I wish I’d known that would be the case when I made that decision. One thing I’ve learned is that people will always surprise you — you just have to give them the opportunity to do so.

    5. Rock Bottom Is an Opportunity to Recreate Your Life

    Before I hit my rock bottom, I thought the life I was living was pretty good. I didn’t realize that I was disappointed in my behavior, unhappy with my physical appearance, frustrated with the way I was becoming a person I didn’t respect. But rock bottom gave me the clarity to see all those things. And while that wasn’t fun at first, it eventually gave me the chance to start doing my life the right way. I got back on track, whether it was with my morals, my workout regimen, my diet, my relationships. Getting sober gave me the time to focus on what I really wanted my life to look like and figure out how to get to that point.

    As I said before, rock bottom is different for everyone. But the common factor is that it’s a point that is the lowest of lows and it can be difficult to image anything getting better. So if you remember one thing in the depths of your rock bottom, just hold onto the fact that it really can only get better — as long as that is what you truly want for yourself.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Best Indie Films of 2018: The Fix Picks

    Best Indie Films of 2018: The Fix Picks

    In early recovery I had moments where I was sure I could not stay sober for one more minute. That’s when my friends offered sound advice: Don’t think, and go to movies.

    In early recovery I found myself inundated with obsessive worries scurrying around in my head. It was repetitive dark noise that I ached to shush with alcohol. At times I was sure that I could not stay sober for one more minute. That’s when my friends offered sound advice: “Don’t think, and go to movies.”

    So, as we head into fall with the looming Nov. 6 midterms, a real-life nail biter, let’s talk about the great escape—indies!

    This first film is an uplifting true story about an exceptional human being. He is a creative philanthropist with an unexpected approach to helping people with addiction and ex-cons who are way down on their luck.

    Skid Row Marathon is about a superior court judge in Los Angeles. Craig Mitchell is a one-man crusade helping addicts and ex-cons who live in tents and cardboard boxes on LA’s Skid Row. The worst part of his day job is sending criminals to prison. The compassionate judge came up with a way to have a positive impact. He gets the homeless back on their feet with a running club.

    Wife-and-husband team, Gabi and Mark Hayes, heard about the judge who trains the homeless to run marathons.

    Mark told The Fix. “Many of the homeless are on drugs—crack, heroin, crystal meth, alcohol, you name it. Gabi and I wanted to do something [to help]. My wife is the real runner. Me? I go kicking and screaming.”

    When the couple first approached Judge Mitchell about doing a documentary, Mark said Mitchell’s response was, “’You can’t just show up with a camera and start filming people at the lowest point of their lives.’”

    “The judge was right,” said Mark. “At first, some threw bottles at us. But we hung in there and put in the time to get to know them until they felt safe enough to speak to us. We were there to help, not exploit them.”

    The response to their film has been high praise and enthusiastic reviews.

    “I think [the film] resonates with so many audiences because people know everybody deserves a second chance,” said Gabi. “The homeless situation is heartbreaking and it keeps getting worse. More and more tents keep popping up and there are people lying in the streets. They just took a wrong turn in life.”

    Runners find purpose when they show up to run with the judge and are treated with respect. Their self-image improves which helps them to get off and stay off the drugs. Skid Row Marathon has raked in 21 awards at film festivals across America—including Best Director, Best Editing, and multiple audience awards. To find out how to see it, visit the website.

    For this next winner, it doesn’t matter if you weren’t born yet or if you can’t remember a thing about the 60s and 70s because you were too damn high. Any age is the right audience for this one.

    Nico, 1988 is about the last year in the life of German model-singer-actress Nico (neé Christa Päffgen). Her glory had faded long ago, as did her exquisite beauty. She looked ravaged beyond her years due to her 15-year heroin addiction. In one scene, Nico (Trine Dyrholm) is sharing a cigarette with a friend.

    “Am I ugly?” She asks. He jokingly replies: “Yeah. Really.”

    “Good,” she says. “I wasn’t happy when I was beautiful.”

    In her teens she was a model for Vogue and Elle which led to acting in a number of films. But Nico is best known as Andy Warhol’s muse and as a singer for the Velvet Underground. Lou Reed wrote the band’s revolutionary lyrics about heroin, prostitution, and sadism.

    In 2003, that first album ranked number 13 in Rolling Stone magazine’s “500 Greatest Albums of All Time.” If Nico had been alive to see that, she would not have been impressed.

    “I don’t need everybody to like me,” she says in the film. “I don’t care.”

    She says in the movie that Jim Morrison suggested that she form her own band. When asked if she’s disappointed that her band never had commercial success, she rasps “I hate the word commercial.”

    Smartly directed by Susanna Nicchiarelli, Nico, 1988 is a fiery and fascinating study of another rock and roll tragedy. Though there’s nothing glamorous about watching someone eaten away by drugs, it was a great reminder to stay sober. Don’t miss the explosive tour de force by Dryholm. It brings chills.

    After I gave up substances, I became aware of—and had to let go of—magical thinking. Ironically, my next pick is about two dreamers who built a fantastical world that sparkled like a disco ball:

    Studio 54

    In Manhattan, 254 West 54th Street was the place to be. Studio 54 opened in 1977 and it was a smash hit—a nightly revelry of drinking, drugging and disco dancing. We’re talking gobs of cocaine, mountains of Quaaludes, and A-listers. Everyone else had to wait outside hoping they would be allowed in.

    Owners Steve Rubell and Ian Schrager, two Jewish guys from Brooklyn, became great friends at Syracuse University. Rubell’s charisma was always on but Schrager avoided attention—until now. The 71-year-old finally told details from 40 years ago that nobody has ever heard. Director Matt Tyrnauer got his hands on loads of never-before-seen footage.

    The owners were not prepared for the club’s instant success. It became a haven for celebrating sex and drugs. You’ll see Rubell zipping around, spoiling his guests, flashing open a long coat to reveal a drugstore in pockets—a smorgasbord of chemical delights.

    Rubell paid steeply for his 24/7 bacchanal. So, although the flick triggered my euphoric recall—wild nights hoovering cocaine, glugging Bacardi and dancing all night—I also remember what it cost me. I’m lucky—I did survive, hey, hey.

    The following film is about an unusual triangle between a girl and a “good” mother (the only mom she’d known) and an alcoholic stranger that kicks off a psychodrama.

    Daughter of Mine (Figlia mia) is a fictional story set on the coast of Sardinia, Italy. Two women, adoptive-mom Tina (Valeria Golino) and alcoholic biological-mom Angelica (Alba Rohrwacher), compete for the love and attention of 10-year-old Vittoria (Sara Casu).

    The shy, fair-skinned, redheaded girl had no idea that she was adopted. Heavy drinker Angelica has a life that is totally unmanageable. She’s being kicked off a farm for not paying her bills, but before slinking out of town, this “bad” mom begs adoptive mom Tina to let her spend time with Vittoria. Tina, who is compassionate but wary, finally agrees. She thinks What’s the harm? Angelica will be gone soon.

    Vittoria, however, is enchanted by her wild birth mother that looks so much like her. As they bond, Tina’s anxiety skyrockets. The story is at times predictable but that doesn’t take away from its emotionality or the power of the acting.

    Italian director Laura Bispuri described it as “three characters who are all placed in a conflict that…breaks their heart.”

    The thoughtful, slower pace of a European indie is refreshing. The backdrop of rural Sardinia, with its cliffs, expansive sky and turquoise water, adds to the film’s richness. After the U.S. debut at Tribeca, Strand Releasing purchased this touching award-winner, which is now available on Netflix and DVD.

    This next indie won the top award at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival for Best Narrative Feature. It also won Best Screenplay and Best Cinematography. All prizes are well-deserved.

    Diane stars Mary Kay Place as a sad, retired widow (badly in need of Al-Anon, if you ask me) who exhausts herself by putting the needs of others first. Her mess-of-a-son Brian (Jake Lacy) is a man-child who’s in and out of rehabs and opiate stupors. It’s maddening to see what she puts up with. Both actors give industrial-super-strength performances, as does the rest of the cast which includes Estelle Parsons and Glynnis O’Connor. Diane is the first narrative feature for documentarian Kent Jones (Hitchcock/Truffaut) who wrote and directed. Jones is also Director of the New York Film Festival at Lincoln Center. Martin Scorsese is executive producer.

    Diane spends her days schlepping long distances, performing good deeds. She feeds the homeless at soup kitchens, visits sick friends, and tends to her dying cousin and the rest of the extended family. She meets her klatch of old friends for lunch, where she has angry outbursts (Oh, Diane! Get thee to Al-Anon). The actress is a master at comedic nuances. Her self-blame is a mystery until the satisfying reveal and her character’s profound spiritual arc. IFC bought the film. Theater release date to be announced.

     

    Mary Kay Place in Diane

    Next is an award-winning narrative feature from the UK. It’s got the right ingredients: excellent writing, directing, acting, and cinematography—all in the first sequence. Clever, subtle hints show the audience what they need to know about the year (2011), the place (London), and the protagonist.

    Obey is explosive. Nineteen-year-old Leon (Marcus Rutherford) has been gone for four years. He came home to care for his alcoholic mother (T’Nia Miller). But there is one condition: she has to stop drinking. The good news is that his father is gone. Bad news? His mother replaced Leon’s abusive dad with a creepy, scary boyfriend who enables her addiction.

    Leon likes to hang out with his friends, box at the gym, and inhale nitrous oxide from balloons. Things intensify when he meets the movie’s female lead, Twiggy (Sophie Kennedy Clark). She’s a blonde with big blue eyes and luscious full lips. Leon is transfixed but femme fatale Twiggy has a boyfriend. Leon’s tension builds. It’s all too much and he is going to blow. Leon hates his mother’s boyfriend and her alcoholism, and outside is the chaos of the 2011 London Riots. Director James Jones uses actual news footage seamlessly. To find out how to see it, visit the website.

    Blowin’ Up is a documentary about sex workers who are caught in the legal system. Many who end up in “the life” have substance use disorders. Director Stephanie Wang-Breal presents their gripping stories without judgment as the film zeroes in on an experimental program in a Queens court. The compassion in the film is its biggest strength. The heroes are an empathic team of women, including a judge and DA, who work diligently to help the workers find a new start. Counseling is used to help them fight their way off of drugs and out of the life-sucking cycle of turning tricks, getting arrested and seeing their lives circle the drain. This solution-oriented program offers a chance at redemption. The new approach toward an age-old problem appears to be working. It is inspiring and brings hope for America’s failing justice system where recidivism is commonplace.

    [Allison: What do you think of these 2 quick mentions as blurbs with internal links as a Sidebar?]

    Pssst. Don’t miss these options:

    Roll Red Roll is a documentary directed by Nancy Schwartzman. It tells the horrifying story of a sexual assault case that took place in Steubenville, Ohio. Male high-schoolers, clearly intoxicated, were caught on cell phone videos, laughing about raping a teenage girl while she was in and out of consciousness. Much of the town mocked her on social media and sided with the local boys. She was ridiculed for being drunk. It’s a powerful film that shines the light on how vulnerable one is when intoxicated. Crime blogger Alexandria Goddard broke the case. The hacking group Anonymous became involved in order to fight for justice. If you ask me, not enough justice was served.

    Read more: Roll Red Roll

    Jellyfish is a fictional story about Sarah Taylor (Liv Hill), an overburdened teenage girl living in Margate, a dreary seaside town in England. Her mother, Karen (Sinéad Matthews), stays in bed all day while Sarah rushes her younger siblings, boy and girl twins (Henry Lile and Jemima Newman) to school. Sarah pedals madly on a bicycle with the youngsters seated in a makeshift wooden trailer that’s hooked to the back. It’s a sad rickety setup that instantly conveys how poverty stricken they are.

    Read more: Jellyfish Captures the Reality of Growing Up with a Mentally Ill Parent

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • No Vacation from Recovery: A Packing List

    No Vacation from Recovery: A Packing List

    Recovery cannot be left to chance but requires planning, even—and maybe especially—on vacation with its temptations: tropical drinks, laissez-faire schedule, swim-up bars, and late nights.

    For a long time, when my bipolar disorder, alcoholism, and eating disorder were out of control, I believed that the geographic cure, specifically travel, was the antidote to all my ills, as if I could take a vacation from addiction and mental illness. I would pack my bags and land in some exotic port of call, a Greek island, for instance, certain that I would find happiness in the reliable sunshine, the deep blue water, the daily swims, the Mediterranean food, and in a self somehow suddenly better—better in illness and better in soul.

    “Surely, surely the less frenetic island pace will slow me down,” I would tell myself. “I’m always happy there, lying on the beach, eating ripe peaches, hiking through the olive groves, and snorkeling in search of sea urchin shells.” Within days of arrival, I’d be miserable, again, flat out suicidal, wanting to swim out into the blue sea, going and going, or wanting to hurl myself off a steep cliff. No vacation from addiction and mental illness.

    What I have learned in my eight years of stability and sobriety is that there is no vacation from recovery, either.

    My first sober vacation with my now-ex-husband was to Jamaica. Hubris testing those waters, which was a paradise for my ex with its endless supply of Red Stripe and ganja but treacherous for me, only a few months sober. My then-husband had been travelling to Negril for twenty years chasing that perfect beach buzz while I was trying to stay steady, surrounded by all these happy (seeming) vacationers, and trying to remember why I did not want to drink, why I could not ever drink again. Naively, I packed without a contingency plan, bringing just a bikini, sunscreen, and a dress. Nothing to support my recovery. Thankfully, my Higher Power had a contingency plan. 

    The first day while we were lazing in the sun, another couple, Amy and Rich*, sat in the lounge chairs beside us. We made small talk and my then-husband said, “I’m heading up to the bar for a Red Stripe. Anybody want anything?”

    “Coke for me,” I said.

    “I’ll take a coke,” Rich said. “Thanks.”

    “Me, too,” Amy said.

    My antennae attuned, I said, “Are you guys in the club, too?”

    They knew what I meant and from then on, we were inseparable. Amy and Rich, sober for decades, prepared in advance for the trip. With a little online research, they’d found a 12-step meeting off the beach in a tiny church and we went together, in flipflop solidarity. Lesson learned? Recovery cannot be left to chance but requires planning, even—and maybe especially—on vacation with its temptations: tropical drinks, laissez-faire schedule, swim-up bars, and late nights. What happens in Vegas or London or New York City or Rome or Kathmandu doesn’t stay there, but stays with you, a permanent souvenir. In recovery, we don’t get a free pass.

    I now have a packing list that I stick to for all my travels, the practical essentials and spiritual necessities that support my recovery and stability. When we leave home for the unknown, we can get lost, even with the precision of GPS, even with years of sobriety or stability, even if we are confident in our now reliable happiness.

    My Recovery Packing List:

    1. Proper Running Shoes: Know whether you are running away from your life or running towards a bigger life. I have used travel as an escape from myself, from the circumstances of my life that felt out of control (my drinking, my starving, my depression). Every time I tried to run away to some other place, I wound up desperate, without family or friends, without a support system, and hit a new bottom each time. But when I am running on stable ground towards a joyful life? A few years ago, I stayed at a yoga ashram in the Bahamas. One morning, I took a sunrise walk down the beach and felt utterly content breathing in the sun and sea, at ease with myself in my solitude. 
    1. A Map: Know where you came from, where you are now, and where you are going. On a three-week solo trip to Morocco, I meticulously planned the route between the Atlas Mountains and Marrakech and Ouarzazate and Essaouria—unfamiliar terrain without a co-pilot. But more, I needed to remember how far I had come in sobriety so that I could travel alone, out into the world, without family and friends worrying that I might hit bottom, and to know that my journey forward was now one filled with adventure rather than danger. So, I wrote myself a note that I kept inside my wallet: I was once at the bottom of the well; I am now on dry land; I am heading for the horizon!
    1. Carry On (Not Checked Luggage): That is pack light. Don’t carry the weight of the past, only your sober and stable self. What use are sandals and sneakers and snorkels and sunscreen and travel guides and a Kindle downloaded with beach reads if you don’t have room for The Big Book or a journal to record 12-step work? And what use are these essentials for continued recovery if they get lost in checked baggage? If books are too heavy, download 12-step apps and The Big Book to your phone. And why bring them along if you don’t read them? Begin the day reading whatever you might find that anchors you to recovery. Me? It is usually the poem “Late Fragment” by Raymond Carver:

    And did you get what
    you wanted from this life, even so?
    I did.
    And what did you want?
    To call myself beloved, to feel myself
    beloved on the earth. 

    1. Emergency Contacts: Not just family and friends, but sponsors, therapists, and doctors. Too expensive to call overseas? Download an app (such as WhatsApp) so it is free to call people who will remind you who you are becoming, to hear a familiar voice when you’re out there wandering the world and veer off map. In the middle of the Sahara, just off a camel ride through a sandstorm, I Skyped with my sponsor. “Hellooooo,” I said. “I’m calling from the middle of nowhere though I am somewhere beautiful and not at all lost!”
    1. Local Hangouts: Once upon a time, you might have researched bars and nightspots. Now, as I learned from Amy and Rich, I research local 12-step meetings and make it a traveling priority to attend the meetings. Fellowship exists across this world and all we have to do is walk through the door to find our tribe. And if no meeting exists? Keep our antennae attuned to those around us who aren’t ordering booze. On a recent trip to Ireland, I met a local over dinner who I noticed wasn’t drinking. I mentioned to him that I didn’t drink either. “Are you a friend of Bill W.?” he asked, then invited me to go with him to a 12-step meeting later that night. Home on the road.

    Of course, make sure your passport—proof of citizenship and of far-flung travel—is up-to-date. A passport is a dream journal: where have I been and where do I want to go? And in recovery, a passport is a record of courage (those stamps) and of hope (those blank pages) that says: I want to risk myself in the world and am ready for the journey. Necessities packed. Never alone on the road.

     *Not their real names

    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

  • 5 Tips For Staying Sober In College

    5 Tips For Staying Sober In College

    At the end of the day, the college experience is about so much more than just alcohol.

    For most people, college is not associated with sobriety.

    Such was the case for me during the first two years I spent away from home. I drank often and partied hard, convincing myself that it was normal. I liked to be the one outdoing everyone else, thought there was some badge of honor I could earn by doing so. And honestly, I had a blast—until I didn’t. I didn’t realize this right away, but I drank differently than my peers. While they knew how and when to stop, I didn’t. I all too often crossed from having fun to being a sloppy, drunk mess, saying and doing things I regretted come morning light.

    It all came to a head at the end of my sophomore year, when I ended up hospitalized with a .34 blood alcohol content. My parents gave me an ultimatum: get sober, or I wasn’t allowed back home for the summer. I went along with getting sober, never planning for it to actually be something I stuck with. I wasn’t even 21 and was still in college. Who got sober in college? I didn’t know of anyone, and I didn’t intend to be that person.

    But as time passed and I refrained from drinking, I realized that I felt good, both physically and emotionally. I liked being in control of my actions, knowing what happened the night before. It felt freeing. So, I ran with the whole sobriety thing, staying sober my junior and senior year of college, and now, for the three years following college.

    I won’t lie, maintaining a social life while being sober in college wasn’t easy. In fact, at times it was one of the hardest things I’ve done. But it is possible. Along the way I discovered a number of tricks that helped remind me why I was sober and made it easier to stay that way. Here are a few:

    1. Be honest with the people close to you. Sobriety isn’t easy. But it’s even harder when you try to do it alone. It’s understandable that telling people about your decision to stop drinking is scary. It’s not something very many people choose to be open about, especially in college. But if you can, pick two or three people you are close to and tell them the truth. Tell them why you decided to get sober and why it’s important to you to maintain that sobriety. If they ask how they can help, tell them. Express what you need, what makes you feel supported. They wouldn’t ask if they didn’t genuinely care and want to do what is best for you. Give people the chance to surprise you with their support, because they often will.
    1. Make self-care a priority. It’s easy to let self-care fall to the side in college. You get so busy with classes, with friends, with study groups, with sports, that you forget to take time for yourself. This is always important, but even more so when you are sober. In sobriety, you need to know when and how to take time for yourself. This means different things for different people. For one person, it may be a bubble bath and reading a book for fun. For another, it could be working out, or journaling, or attending 12-step meetings. Whatever the case, make sure you identify what it is you need and make it a priority in your schedule.
    1. Remind yourself you won’t be hungover come morning. For some reason, this was always a powerful tool for me. Just knowing how physically awful hangovers felt and how unproductive they made me for the entire next day was usually enough to quell any desire for a drink. When I first got sober, someone told me hangovers are actually a form of withdrawals from alcohol, which is why mine had been getting progressively worse. Reminding myself that the morning would be clear and I would be able to be productive and reach my full potential always brought me back to reality when I found myself wishing I could drink with my college friends.
    1. Connect with sober peers. Though it’s somewhat unlikely you will find these people in college, it’s not impossible. But if you don’t, there are other options. Because I went to a semi-small college, there were no other people my age who had gotten sober. But by going to some 12-step meetings and joining online communities, I was able to connect with people who shared my experiences and who were in situations similar to mine. Having that connection with others in recovery is vital in moments when you need support and understanding, or even need someone to tell you it just isn’t worth it to pick up a drink.
    1. Remember that the main reason for college is to receive an education—an expensive one, at that. This may sound odd, but for some reason it really helped me when I was wishing I could have a “normal” college experience and drink with my friends. I found it helpful to remind myself that first and foremost I was at college to get an education so I could pursue the career I wanted to pursue. College is not a cheap investment by any means. If I had continued to drink at the rate I had been, I likely would have wasted a good amount of money and not received the quality education I had hoped to attain at the college I chose. But today, I can say I got the most out of my education (the last two years of it at least) because I was fully present and invested.

    At the end of the day, the college experience is about so much more than just alcohol. Sure, at times this may be hard to remember. There will be days when it may seem like everyone around you is drinking or talking about drinking. It’s easy to feel left out, like you’re missing out on a college rite of passage. But that’s not true. These are the days it’s important to remind yourself why you set out to live a sober life and why it’s important for you to continue to do so.

    View the original article at thefix.com