Answer Addiction

Tag: Rebecca Rush

  • 7 Ways to Be a Rebel…in Sobriety

    7 Ways to Be a Rebel…in Sobriety

    Alternate rebellion can help shake up ennui and distress, otherwise known as life. It’s a great act of self-acceptance in a world that wants you to follow their dumb unwritten rules. Guess what, world? I do what I want. 

    People who have struggled with addiction and alcoholism are rebels by nature. If you disagree, you’re just proving my point. Getting into recovery and following the rules we need to follow if we’re going to stay sober and have a better life can feel like something’s missing – that old Eff You to the face of the world. But what if there were ways to rebel that didn’t leave a trail of dumpster fires and broken bones in your wake?

    Alternate Rebellion, which is taught in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT), is the idea that there are healthy, nondestructive ways to rebel, or “act out.” There are many ways to feel like yourself without hurting yourself. It’s also highly effective as a tool for distress tolerance (a term that describes one’s capacity to cope with or withstand negative emotions or stressful conditions).

    What follows is a list of several acts of alternate rebellion I have found to be very satisfying, and a link to a more comprehensive (and less aggressive) list. We already know how to get creative under pressure when it comes to self-destruction. Now, that same energy and talent can be used in ways that make you feel good about yourself before, during, and after. After all, everything we do in life is because we’re searching for a certain feeling. There are so many more ways to get there than the limited world of self-harm.

    1. Cut off a friend you find boring

    I had a friend — I suspect most of us have had this friend — who was sweet and loyal and utterly boring. Half the time I didn’t know, or care, what the hell she was talking about. I think a lot of us feel like we have to take what we can get in terms of human connection because we’re so fundamentally unlovable, but we don’t. Even if, say, that friend was there for you during a really dark period in your life — you realize that was their choice, and of course they got something out of it too. Ignore their calls. Refuse to read the Twilight fan fiction they keep pushing on you. When they reach out to say “What happened? Are you dead?” Refrain from saying, “Bitch, you know I’ve been posting on Insta.” Say you just don’t feel like chatting right now. Because you don’t. To them. Revel in the fact that you just did something kinda bad. It feels good.

    2. Disagree with an overly confident person

    I cannot recommend this enough. Especially people who can’t handle being disagreed with. Los Angeles is lousy with them. And I hate to state the obvious, but they are usually straight white men. Easy to find. You don’t have to lie; I guarantee you hear things you don’t agree with every day. And just like that: Hey. I don’t agree. Smile. The smiling is the best part. If you want to present your opposing view, have at it, but often the look on their face and their sheer inability to deal with being disagreed with is enough.

    3. Get a tattoo 

    I went from having zero tattoos because commitment issues to having six in eighteen months because addiction issues. I regret nothing. That’s actually the first tattoo I got: je ne regrette rien. I am not French, but I do identify as a snob. There’s a great story behind it, which I will happily tell anyone hitting on me and also you. It was posted by a friend of mine who was dear to me in only the way someone you’ve followed on Tumblr for many years and only met twice in person can be. She wrote that she spoke French and nobody knew that about her and also that it’s the title of a gorgeous song, so she wanted to get it as a tattoo.

    It was one of her last posts. She died suddenly in her bed at the age of 32. So I got the tattoo to honor her, and because all the bullshit got me here. Also, it’s a chance to stick a needle in your arm, but in a good way. I love my tattoos. They make me feel like a badass. Some people say oh no, they are forever, but guess what? The body is so temporary. Also: lasers.

    4. Play uncool music with your windows down

    I’m partial to Miley Cyrus’s Party in the U.S.A. right now, but you do you, boo. Don’t play it so loud that you scare dogs and upset children, but, you know, a little loud. Just loud enough that you feel like you shouldn’t. And dance. Dance and don’t let anyone looking at you stop you. And don’t stop at a red light next to a Tesla containing an outwardly perfect person. Party. In the U.S.A.

    5. Travel somewhere you’ve always wanted to. Alone. Even if you don’t have “enough money.”

    Traveling alone is my jam. I always wanted to go to Italy, and in rehab I moaned over the fact that it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t drink wine in Italy. Guess what? Nobody was taking drunk me to Italy. Traveling alone is the best because you don’t ever have to compromise on what to do or where to go or what to eat – every rebel’s dream.

    In the past two years I’ve been to Costa Rica, Thailand, and Bali alone as well as a dozen states in the continental U.S. I frequently bring my dog, who flies and stays everywhere free because I have a letter from my therapist, another fantastic act of alternate rebellion. I love whenever someone tries to tell me I can’t have my pet somewhere. I quietly offer to show them paperwork, while in my head I’m screaming “EXCUSE ME HE’S AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ANIMAL HE KEEPS ME CALM.” I’ve been nervous about how I’m going to pay for my upcoming Italy/Greece trip, but writing this helped me remember that I had no idea how I was going to pull off any of the other international trips either. Financial insecurity is lame, so I cured it with another act of alternate rebellion. 

    6. Take a bath in the middle of the day

    I actually did this in the middle of writing this article and it felt fantastic. I was sitting here feeling resistant about doing one of my favorite things on earth, writing, and contemplating shutting the computer down and taking a nap, eating even though I’m not hungry, turning on the TV, or a host of other things that are mildly self-destructive and won’t help me feel good about myself in the long run. So I lit my best candles, threw some crystals in there, added a few handfuls of epsom salts and a liberal amount of lavender bubbles, and in went my Juul and I. Right before I did it, I thought: I’m totally not supposed to do this, but it isn’t hurting me or anyone, so YAY. That is pretty much the definition of an act of alternate rebellion. 

    7. Wear your jammies out in public

    A lot of people have strong opinions about people wearing sweatpants in public and I think it’s so outdated. It’s nice to be comfy, especially when you’re in distress. When I was drinking and using, sure, I’d look a mess and probably have unbrushed teeth and hair as I went in search of an open liquor store on any morning of the week, but it’s so lovely to put a little makeup on, brush my hair and teeth, and put on my most stylish and comfortable loungewear, and go out…anywhere. The grocery store? Oh yeah. The movies? Even better. Something about wearing sweatpants in public tickles me. Always has, ever since my college roommate said when we were hungover one Sunday, “You’re going to wear THAT to the dining hall?” Yes, bitch, I certainly am.

    My intention with this piece is not to convince others to do exactly what I have done, but to inspire your wheels to turn toward what feels good to you. Alternate rebellion can help shake up ennui and distress, otherwise known as life. It feels like a secret even though it’s often the opposite. It’s the individuation so many of us missed out on in our lost adolescences. More than anything, it’s saying yes to yourself, to your inner child, to exactly who you are exactly at this moment. It’s a great act of self-acceptance in a world that wants you to follow their dumb unwritten rules. Guess what, world? I do what I want. 

    A list of tiny alternate rebellions can be found here: https://www.dbtselfhelp.com/html/alternate_rebellion.html

    And more information on DBT here: https://behavioraltech.org/resources/faqs/dialectical-behavior-therapy-dbt/

    How do you rebel in recovery? Tell us in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Trauma, Addiction, and Abortion: My Story

    Trauma, Addiction, and Abortion: My Story

    I never allowed myself to accept that doing the right thing and feeling pain and loss aren’t mutually exclusive.

    I should avoid the comments on this piece, but I won’t. I’ve danced on a lot of bars and crashed a lot of cars. There isn’t anything anyone can call me that I haven’t already been called. Except “Mom.”

    With new laws sweeping the South making abortion past six weeks (generally around the time one finds out they are pregnant — if they’re lucky) a felony, it’s important to tell this story. It may offend dozens of people, but if it helps even one person release the shame around their past, I will know that I’ve done my job.

    Abortions are like relapses in liberal society. One is permissible: a slip, a do-over, an I’ve learned my lesson and never again. But more than one and it’s what the hell is wrong with you? Why aren’t you taking care of yourself? AS A WOMAN?! I don’t know the answer to that.

    I’ve had several; relapses and abortions. I’ve had relapses because of an abortion. And I’ve had an abortion because of a relapse. I was always on the pill, and I was always in or about to be in active addiction. For a long time, I saw the pill the same way I saw drugs and alcohol: I watched others use it with impunity and even though I was shown time and again that it didn’t work for me, I kept thinking I could figure out how to use it the right way.

    The first time I drank, I was seven. My parents’ friends brought over a box of liqueur-filled chocolates and I ate them all and played Twister. I was too young to understand what happened, I just thought I really loved Twister and was confused when it wasn’t as fun after that.

    The first time I tried to get sober, I was 27 and I hadn’t missed one day of cocaine in the previous 365 days. Things I had missed: work, the mortgage, all other bills, being faithful, knowing I could leave an abusive relationship.

    The last time I drank I was 37, the age I am now. I decided to have just one beer for a friend’s birthday. And I did just want to have one beer. But then I turned into a different person. And that person wanted to get wasted, do a pile of coke, and blow someone in a dive bar bathroom.

    In the past ten years I’ve let a lot of people down and I’ve caused a lot of harm. As I make my 9th step amends, the list continues to grow as my brain feels safe enough to allow the memories in. I owe a lot of amends, but none of them are to my child. Because of abortion, I don’t have one. The one saving grace through the insanity of my using is that I never dragged a child through it.

    I learned to drink from my mother, whose passed-out body I used to struggle to drag to the bedroom. She wasn’t there for me when she was awake, either. I would wake from night terrors and attempt to get comfort from her. I remember her scream: “Your mother is dead!” 

    My mother is in the program yet she has never made amends to me. I’ve often wished she would, but not everyone is ready to face themselves.

    I was born nine months after my mother had an abortion. A doctor told me that the body’s tricky that way: when you abort, it thinks you miscarried and sends another egg right away to take the lost one’s place. I can’t find any medical studies to support this but I learned firsthand one summer when I went to get a checkup and an IUD (which they will gladly give you once you’ve had more than one child or abortion) and found I was pregnant again. My boyfriend didn’t want to have that one either.

    I didn’t know my own origin story then but I knew that there was no way I could grow and care for a once again drunkenly-conceived embryo after I had just terminated the previous one. In that way I understood a bit of the complicated feelings my mother had for me. 

    My grandfather started a pro-life charity and my grandmother had a bumper sticker on her car that said, “Save the baby humans.” My favorite aunt sends out Christmas letters detailing the positive energy at the pro-life booth this year at the Big E. I never felt bad about what I had to do, except when I did. These things are endlessly complicated. 

    The first time I was pregnant I was 16. My high school sweetheart asked me if I was sure if it was his. There was never a doubt in my mind. When my mother found out, I was grounded for the remainder of the summer and forced to give up my first job. My boss, a strict Greek Orthodox woman, found out.

    “No!” she screamed. “You aren’t going to kill it!” 

    I saw no other option. That was my only surgical abortion and it hurt. I was 6.5 weeks along, just this side of felony. I dragged myself out of the room to a boyfriend upset that I didn’t bounce out like the woman before me. He never thought I responded appropriately to anything, even terminating our pregnancy. Twenty years later, he is finally ready to be a dad. I think he’ll be a good one. Now.

    The next time I got pregnant it was with the first man I did cocaine with, a man who once held me hostage in my own apartment, bit my hand, and sat on my back for several hours while telling me that I’d never publish anything. (Hi.) We were broken up when it happened and I had a restraining order. Restraining orders are aphrodisiacs to some men.

    Thankfully I remembered my symptoms from the previous time, and the early option pill was now available stateside. I took it. Seven weeks. 

    As I write this, the Mourner’s Kaddish runs through my head. Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba.

    I’ve been so protective of myself and so full of bravado because I know I did what I needed to do, that I’ve never really mourned. I never allowed myself to accept that doing the right thing and feeling pain and loss aren’t mutually exclusive. Women who’ve had abortions don’t need your shaming. We can feel bad all by ourselves. 

    Then I married, and I went to rehab, and I got divorced, and I got pregnant with my rehab boyfriend, the first man who ever shot me up. Such romance. He wasn’t ready to to be a dad, either, and with his history — dozens of rehabs, overdoses, having been declared legally dead more than once, and my own history not more stable, I agreed. Back to the gynecologist. They sent me back, saying it was too early. I was 5.5 weeks. Just under the new law’s limit.

    After me, that man met a very Christian woman. And now he has a child that he doesn’t see or take care of.

    My last abortion was almost six years ago. I was trying the pill (and controlled drinking and using) just one more time, and I was dating a guy with a baby he didn’t want on the way, the result of a work fling with a girl who insisted that she’d had too many abortions already to have another. He was so angry with her. I fell down the stairs drunk when he was in the hospital for the birth and hurt my shoulder. I went to the hospital and found out that I was pregnant too. When he came home as a new dad, I greeted him with “I’m sorry I didn’t fall down the stairs harder.” Humor is my best defense mechanism, my strongest armor. 

    That time I thought maybe I can do this. I tried the same argument his other baby momma used, but it didn’t work.

    “In eight years,” he said, “I’ll have an eight-year-old son. And you’ll be a waitress who does comedy at night.”

    Oh, Tanner. Always the charmers, the men I’ve had abortions with. So it was back to Planned Parenthood one final time, a place that has always treated me with respect and kindness and compassion. They’ve been there when no one else has.

    At 6.5 weeks I bled out my last pregnancy in a hidden room off the winter rental beach house I would get kicked out of early just a few months later. I watched the waves crash against the shore and I cried for every single one. And I cried for myself, a grown woman who was still unable to even raise herself on her own. A few weeks later I got fired from my job for stealing wine, which was, honestly, Tanner’s idea, and I chugged some tequila and swallowed a bunch of Xanax and drove right into the guardrail, which is probably my favorite thing to do when I’m drinking.

    Other than, obviously, get pregnant.

    The one boyfriend who gave me a hard time about my history is the one I never got pregnant with. He chased me into the shower after choking me and spat baby killer into my face. He has four children, ranging from 2 to 25, none of whom he can afford to care for, none of whom he didn’t severely damage with his using and his anger and his refusal to look at himself. Their mothers took up the slack, and I think most of them will be mostly okay. 

    Those were their choices, and these were mine. It’s a pretty extreme example, my story, and that’s why it needs to be told. If I can forgive myself, so can you. If I can walk through this world and know I did right by myself, that I did the best that I could in the place that I was in with the knowledge and abilities I had at the time, so can you.

    Trauma is handed down, and people in active addiction cannot care for children. The cycle of child abuse in my family stopped with me. Abortion is a basic human right, the hallmark of a civilized society.

    Je ne regrette rien.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • AA Takes Center Stage in "Love in Recovery" from BBC Radio

    AA Takes Center Stage in "Love in Recovery" from BBC Radio

    No one is well-behaved here – they cross-talk, cheat, gossip, fight – but they love each other in the way only a group of alcoholics who have bared their souls to each other can.

    Love in Recovery, an award-nominated BBC radio comedy drama set in Alcoholics Anonymous, is now available in the U.S. via Audible. 

    The three-season (plus Christmas Special) series features actors John Hannah, Rebecca Front, Sue Johnston, Paul Kaye, Eddie Marsan, Julie Deakin, Johnny Vegas, and Samantha Bond. It was created and written by Pete Jackson, and is based on his life experiences, but, according to him, “in an abstract way.”

    “None of the specific stories are taken from my life or anyone else’s. I certainly wouldn’t betray anyone else in recovery’s trust by drawing on any of their experiences. But what I did was take all of the facets of my own recovery — the shame and regret and hope and disappointment and confusion and so on, and invent stories to convey those things.”

    His hope in writing the series was to “explore the complexities of alcoholism, and perhaps show those who don’t struggle with it that alcoholism is in no way as simple as they might expect. I’m ten years sober and I still can’t make total sense of why I so desperately sought out oblivion for so long.”

    The cast is small, which allows a lot of character development and interaction, and most of the story takes place in their weekly AA meeting, allowing years to pass in only three seasons. 

    Many archetypes are represented. There is Andy, the self-appointed group leader, who cares more than anyone else. In a hilarious recurring bit that runs for the first two seasons, Andy is always first to the meeting to set up the chairs; he is literally the only character that does any service, and each time, he runs into the same cleaning woman who has no idea who he is. Is he here to teach dance, ceramics, have a party? She never recognizes him, and it frustrates him every time. Andy thinks nobody appreciates him or the time he puts in to making the meeting happen, and so it’s incredibly moving when they surprise him with a cake on his birthday. (This ain’t no L.A. sobriety – I mean actual day of birth.) 

    Then there is Julie, the older housewife whose husband left her due to her drinking. She has been sober several years now, “except for a few slips.” Julie’s unlikely friendship with Danno, a young gay man with a chest tattoo he is so terrified of revealing to his new boyfriend that the rest of the group thinks he’s talking about AIDS when he alludes to it, demonstrates another kind of love in recovery. As it says in the book, “we are people who would not normally meet.” 

    In the first episode, Fiona walks into her first AA meeting ever, not sure she is an alcoholic but sure something needs to change. Fiona, a high-powered banker sick of embarrassing herself at business functions and waking up in strange places, becomes a stellar AA after a lot of initial resistance, humbling herself by working as a receptionist. Fiona doesn’t relapse on booze during the series, but does (spoiler alert) cheat on her fiancé, Simon, right before their wedding with a man who treats her like garbage, a classic alcoholic move we can all relate to – self-sabotaging when life is going well in order to have control of the inevitable rug coming out from under us. 

    Simon is not an alcoholic, just a normal guy who was ordered to go to meetings for six weeks for drunk driving (though Brits call it drink driving, which, I promise, will inadvertently crack you up every time, and, if you’re like me, you’ll repeat it out loud and giggle more) and stays for the camaraderie and love. Simon shows us the difficulty that normal people have in understanding us alcoholic/addicts, and also teaches Fiona unconditional love. He gets frustrated with her extreme self-centeredness, but he believes in their love so deeply that they persevere.

    Unlike people in the U.S., Brits are known for being quite reserved, something my ex-patriot friends living in London found hard to get used to. This reticence makes what happens in the rooms of AA even more of a departure from everyday life. As Jackson says, “I have been shocked, and thrilled, by how quick some Americans are to open up and get to the heart of things. That’s why AA is an extraordinary place (in the U.K.) sometimes. Once the doors are closed, people open up and talk about themselves and their experiences in a very un-English way. And perhaps because it’s been bottled up so long, it often comes flooding out in an extraordinary way.”

    No one is well-behaved here — they cross-talk, cheat, gossip, fight — but they love each other in the way only a group of alcoholics who have bared their souls and hopes to each other can. We learn about their children, their extended families, their generational trauma and alcoholic mothers, their codependencies, and of course, the war stories. It’s impossible to listen to this and not fall in love.

    While listening, I often wished it was a television show; I wanted so badly to see the characters’ faces and watch their interactions. Jackson chose radio because “The freedom you’re given on radio is extraordinary. The commissioners and execs don’t read scripts or give notes, so you can go away and do exactly what you want, which, for something as personal as this, was very important, I thought. Myself and producer Ben Worsfield (who’s a bit of a genius and without whom the show wouldn’t exist) would sit and talk about the things I wanted to explore, put together a bit of an outline and then I’d go away and write it. Then we’d get the cast together and record it. It was incredibly streamlined and free. Also, radio draws the listener in. It requires a little more concentration I think, so people are more involved, and feel almost part of the group.”

    He isn’t wrong. Having to imagine the visuals requires a bit more work, but it did draw me in and I felt close to the characters. Having the audio alone was somehow more intimate than watching video; there was no digital screen separating me from everyone. I don’t know what this series would have been like on TV, but it doesn’t matter. It’s perfect the way it is. I fell in love with these characters, and I know you will too.

    You can download Love In Recovery here.

    And follow Pete Jackson on Twitter, to see what he comes up with next: @PeteJackson79.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Unexpected Things That Happened When I Surrendered

    5 Unexpected Things That Happened When I Surrendered

    Spiritual surrender is like letting out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. My next relapse no longer feels like it’s coming for me. I made it out. I’m alive!

    You are the sky. Everything else is just the weather.
    -Pema Chodron

    New Year’s Day, West Hollywood. I had three days sober off a brief marijuana relapse and was headed to an AA marathon. After parking, I realized I was out of juul pods so I went on a search, rectangling around the block on my way to the meeting hall, hoping to find a store.

    When the first meeting ended, I panicked. Where did I park? I ran out, saw my car, took a picture, and ran back in. 

    Several hours later I discovered that the photo wasn’t of my car. I have a gray Prius in L.A., which is every third car. I scoured the neighborhood. A well-meaning valet tried to help and I yelled at him. Hours passed. It grew dark and cold, my phone now at 11%. I stopped to breathe. Big fear.

    Voices and the tinkling of glass tumbled onto the street from a bar. The thought of drinking or using hadn’t occurred to me. And why would it? A glass of wine or a joint wouldn’t help me find my car.

    Just at that moment, the heavens opened up and God reached down a golden hand through pearly gates and spoke.

    That didn’t happen. But what did was pretty fucking rad.

    I saw that every problem in life is exactly the same as losing your car.

    I walked past the valet again and apologized. I knew that I had parked headfirst rather than parallel, near Robertson Boulevard.

    He pointed. “You’ve got one more block like this.” I stood at an actual turning point.

    I had been looking for my car on the wrong side of the street.

    I found it 30 seconds later. That was the moment the course of my life changed forever.

    These are some things that happened for me, and may happen for you when you cross the street of spiritual surrender. 

    1. I’ve stopped trying to get over on my addiction.

    Am I allowed to drink kratom? Vape CBD? Take pills? A doctor will happily prescribe whatever I think I need. And aren’t magic mushrooms a spiritual experience? I spent years in fauxbriety. I spent an entire summer posted up in a Kava Kava bar while we all nodded out on kratom tea and talked about our favorite AA meetings. Note: I am not talking about anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, other psychiatric medication, non-narcotics in general, and supervised pain management after injury.

    For the problems I have encountered in my own life thus far, holistic alternatives work better than anything big pharma wants to sell me. I never win. Addiction always wins. I was constantly sending myself the message that I wasn’t enough or okay just the way I was; I needed a drug that I considered not really a drug to fix it. Actually? I don’t. 

    2. I feel relieved. Like amazingly fucking relieved.

    Spiritual surrender is like letting out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. The shoulders go down the back, the face softens, and the respiratory system begins the great energetic exhale. It sounds like the ocean. My next relapse no longer feels like it’s coming for me. I made it out. I’m alive! There is hope. I don’t live in fear of what I may do to myself anymore.

    3. I can let go of people and summon new ones.

    I lived in a perpetual state of war. I believed that you were my problem and I saw boundaries as a personal attack. I clung to people who had limited love and empathy to give. I would give you more of my time, money, and energy than I could afford and blame you for it. I would let things build and build and build until I got blackout drunk and told you OFF.

    I have been working on myself pretty hard since 2012, and haven’t done most of the things most of the time since 2016. But until I surrendered, I didn’t believe I could let go of people before the relationship blew up. I didn’t even know what I wanted; I would just sense what you wanted, then decide whether or not I would give it to you. We live in a sick society full of broken toddlers. Emotionally, I’m in elementary school now. I no longer need to punish myself with reflections of a past me. Every time I let someone go I make space for someone new. I can see that many people are simply lost in their own pain, and can’t see past themselves. I can have compassion, and empathy. From a distance. 

    4. I can be in a world of pain without bleeding on everyone.

    As I grow older, traumas and patterns emerge, deeply embedded toxins and conditioning that wants to be felt and released. This week has been intense and painful. I felt attacked by the universe. In the past, when things like this happened, I panicked and made desperation phone calls to anyone who would listen. “I have to call in the troops,” I would say.

    Today I am able to allow emotions to flow through me even if it feels wrong at first. I can put down the looping stories and let myself feel. I can make the connections from current triggers to past traumas, advocate for myself when necessary, get on stage and be funny even when my life feels like it’s been dropped on the floor. Before surrender, the only time I was accused of being professional was on Seeking Arrangements. And there are lessons in pain. There are always lessons for those who are brave enough to look.

    5. I believe in myself enough to do the things I believe in.

    I am practicing Ashtanga yoga again, something I’ve been talking about for years. I’ve given up meat and most dairy. I believe that pigs enjoy warm baths just like I do, maybe more because they aren’t thinking about how many people downloaded their podcast. Also please download my podcast: Comics Book Club’s: Drunk & High on Petfinder.com with Amber Tozer. I pray, I meditate, I have cut down caffeine and have a plan to get off nicotine. I completed my first pilot script, waking up at five a.m. to write and rewrite so I’d be finished in time for a fellowship deadline.

    I used to hate myself so much I could rarely let myself enjoy anything, most of all my very favorite things. Now I am ready to do what I came here to do, with enough wild stories to last the rest of this life and a different sort of story to write into the fabric of my future.

    I’ve got my head just enough out of my own butt to see the world beyond myself. There is so much out there! Awakening is very exciting, and it feels. Oh, does it feel.

    I wish the same for you: May you be happy, may you be free, may you be at peace, may you be loved. May you believe in yourself. May you find a way to be ready to do what you came here to do. We are all worthy of that.

    Please feel free to share your stories of self-love, surrender, spiritual awakening, personal redemption, and your trolling (if you need to) in the comments. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 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

  • So You Want to Move to a New City in Recovery? First Ask Yourself These Five Questions

    So You Want to Move to a New City in Recovery? First Ask Yourself These Five Questions

    Moving might be the right choice, but examine your motives. When we were drinking and using, we were irrational, impulsive, and at the whim of our heartbreakingly horrible decisions. We get into recovery to be more than that.

    The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. – Lao Tzu
    Wherever you go, there you are. – Unknown

    We’ve all heard or tried the myth of the geographic cure: that we can change the unmanageability of our addictions simply by changing locations. The program suggests waiting a year to make major changes in our lives, such as moving to a new place or getting divorced. That suggestion directly contradicts another recovery recommendation: that we should change people, places, and things. And some of us, myself included, struggle for years or even decades to get to that one-year mark, and finally decide—maybe on our own, maybe after a psychic brings it up dozens of times—that the place we are living in isn’t working for us and it’s time to make a move. How do you know if it’s a viable idea? Here are five questions to ask yourself when considering a move.

    1. Do you have a safe, sustainable place to live?

    I cannot stress this enough, especially for the dream cities like New York and Los Angeles. Success in one does not necessarily translate to success in another. This may seem like common sense to some of you, but something about Los Angeles, where I currently live, makes people think they can show up with a dream, a few grand, and a month in an AirBnb in Koreatown.

    The feeling of home, sanctuary, and security is important for all humans, but it’s of paramount importance for those in recovery. The refrain I frequently hear is: “I never felt like I belonged anywhere.” Well, this feeling is exacerbated dramatically by a less than ideal living situation, so make absolutely sure you have a safe place. Is it as good as or better than where you currently live? And can you stay there for at least four to six months?

    1. Is this an impulse move?

    I’ve wanted to live in California my entire life, so much so that when I partied at the University of Hartford at the ages of 14 and 15, I told everyone I was a student at UCLA. I exposed myself when someone burst into the dorm asking where the Bruin was and I stared blankly ahead, not knowing the mascot of the school I pretended to attend. However, there were other moves I made or contemplated that were pure fantastical escapism; in fact, for a few years while I struggled in fauxbriety (marijuana and/or kratom and kava kava, Adderall, Xanax if you’re holding, mushrooms in the summer), I seriously contemplated moving to nearly every place I visited. I travel for my job as a stand-up, and for a few years I traveled desperately trying to “find myself.” Each and every time, I was sure the move would solve the problem of myself. I am now grateful I didn’t have the money and agency then.

    A lot can be said for waiting in recovery. Waiting for the miracle to happen, waiting to date, waiting to speak (so guilty on this), waiting to move. Most things in life that are meant for you will be there when you are ready. Unless you relapse. Sobriety is the only thing that is imperative to grab onto NOW.

    1. Do you know what it’s like to actually live in this place rather than be a tourist?

    Visiting a place is often not a good indicator of whether you will like it as a resident. I really thought I would hate LA. When I got here, it hit me that what I really hated (other than myself and my fauxbriety) were all the costs and inconveniences of staying in a hotel, and not knowing anyone or where the good meetings were. In short, #touristprobs.

    If you’re a person who goes to recovery groups or does a community-based activity like yoga, this is the time to use those resources and talk to other people. If for some reason you aren’t able to spend time in a place before you move there, get creative in searching out Facebook groups, Insta hashtags (actually maybe not that one) and message boards (Miami has an excellent resource for this: MiamiBeach411.com).

    1. Are you motivated by people, places, and things or is this a geographic trap?

    This one is perhaps the trickiest question of all. For me, I don’t know if I would have been able to stay away if I hadn’t first moved away from my ex-husband. Moving away from a person can also lead you to the important but painful conclusion that the hate is coming from inside the house. Our external realities reflect our internal state of being. There are always more of that archetype waiting for you wherever you go. Even Thailand. Costs and benefits, baby.

    Miami, for me, was a people, a place, and a thing. I can go there now if I have a reason to, and even enjoy it. At one year out, I went to meet with my divorce lawyer and send some stuff home that I had left at a friend’s. I relapsed off the plane on mojitos, which led to cocaine, which led to spending days holed up with my ex-husband, missing my meeting and flight home, and trusting him to ship off my journals and personal effects. Soon I received an email that said, “You wrote in here I was BAD IN BED, here are detailed instructions on how to hang yourself, I threw out your shit.” I guess what I am saying is: usually you don’t have to make a dramatic move, like crossing state lines, to escape people, places, and things. However, if you have been in an abusive relationship where you were using together, moving across state lines or even across the country may be the best thing to do—that is, if you have a safe place to live. Which leads us to the final question…

    1. Work, work, work, work, work, work?

    It is a sometimes unfortunate fact of life that most of us must work, even in early sobriety. If you are lucky enough to not have to, I say hold off as long as you can. Your career isn’t going anywhere. Momentum is somewhat of a myth. It can be achieved later, from a more stable foundation. But if you can’t afford or don’t have time to scope out the job situation in advance of your move, you might not be able to make this move in a healthy and sustainable way.

    Imagine this scenario: You are a sober bartender in New York to great applause. However, you don’t have a great online presence, which seems to matter here in Los Angeles. Pride keeps you from raising your hand when suggested, but eventually sharing outside of meetings gets you an offer with a sober-owned cater waiter company. It isn’t bartending, and doesn’t fit in with your idea of yourself, so you decline, deciding the problem is that you keep getting asked about your Insta followers at interviews. Soon you will know what it’s like to follow your dreams across the country; you’re gonna sleep in your car. My point is this: manage your expectations on the job front, and research as much as you can. Visit and meet locals. Ask them questions. Listen… If you are working on recovery, less than stellar work opportunities are SO temporary. I promise you that. So take them. And try to appear grateful.

    I hope I’ve got you thinking seriously about your possible plan to move, or perhaps made you feel a little better about your lack of plan to move. Either way, amassing information and managing pride and expectations, otherwise known as willingness, stands at the forefront. It all comes down to love and fear. Examine your motives. Safety concerns are paramount. Talk to someone (you are welcome to email me: [email protected]) before you go. Get a second opinion. Nobody knows everything. Meditate on it. Make lists of pros and cons. Pray.

    When we were drinking and using, we were irrational, impulsive, and at the whim of our heartbreakingly horrible decisions. We get into recovery to be more than that. Perhaps you are thinking, well, that just isn’t how I operate! Try it. I spent years wanting to move to California. Now that I am finally here, I am so grateful I didn’t move one moment earlier—had I done so, I’d be smoking meth in a tent in DTLA right now. I’m really glad I don’t have to do that. And that you don’t either.

    Did you make a move in early recovery? Give us the details: was it a good or bad experience? 

    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

  • The Most Important Person in the Room

    The Most Important Person in the Room

    There’s no need to worry about my career, or lack of intimate relationships, or future, or even quitting nicotine. I’m taking it easy, I’m in my first year of sobriety.

    Every time I relapse I forget I am not God.

    I am no longer able to allow the darkness to bloom into the grand external circumstances I once did; when it does, while the bigger picture slowly darkens, there’s a life constantly poised to begin.

    I think that continuous sobriety is boring; I must, based on the evidence of my own life, of my own lies.

    Imagine this: You are playing soccer. You’re on defense, almost as far away from the goal as you can get but you take the ball from the other team, all the way through their offensive and then defensive line with intense speed. You’re in front of the goal now, with a wide open shot. You flub the kick. The ball rolls just a foot. The goalie grabs it. It was all for nothing. This is how I played soccer. 

    Imagine the beginning of the semester: You love beginnings and showing what you are capable of, so you get A’s and read everything for the first month or two. Then you lose interest, get bored maybe, stop paying attention. You let your grades dip until it gets scary, until a note gets sent home. And then you have to work your ass off to get back to maybe a B+ final grade. If you really pull it off you might get an A-. That is what kind of student I was. 

    It seems like I need others and myself to know that I am capable, but also that I can’t be counted on. I want you to know that I can win, but I won’t. I don’t want to be expected to. It’s been almost ten years since my first attempt at recovery. I’ve never been sober long enough to date, to move, to make any major life changes within the constraints of the program’s suggestions.

    I’m addicted to each part of the cycle – the descent into not giving a fuck, the bloody climb from the pyre of my own making. As I get too close or move too fast towards what I want, the part of me that knows I am not worthy of it, the part that’s sure I don’t want the responsibility of a better life screws me. There’s a lot of fragmentation.

    When we—and by “we” I mean my perception of you and the culture-at-large—when we look at a chronic relapser, our tendency is to look at the drug as the thing they can’t let go of – and it is, mostly. For those of us who know what the other side can hold and yet continue to throw the ships of ourselves against the rocks, chasing siren songs, the guilt and shame only add fuel to the orgiastic pull of destruction. 

    Shame is our primary emotion and perhaps our greatest addiction.

    I recall every slide toward rock bottom I created, every flail out, the night spent hurling my body into the door of the drunk tank with piss-soaked pants, finally settling down to bite off each fingernail and howl. And I remember what comes after; being so broken I would allow help, would allow others to love me; how my father would prove he cared by letting me use a lawyer from his firm for my DUI case, how a nice lady from a meeting paid my October rent, how friends brought me to look for a job. 

    I get a new boyfriend, a new job, everything working out until I find myself moving down the mountain too fast, and, turning the tips of my skis inward to slow down, I fall.

    And when I come back to recovery, it’s the same. Just a few people to believe that this time’s different. The climb feels like springtime, that’s why I make sure to do one at least every spring. In fact, looking back over the data, a bottom out in winter followed by a good 4-6 month sober stretch is my usual.

    I won’t take AA seriously until I have nothing else left and nobody left to talk to. Or at least, that’s how it used to be. Now it’s more of an internal emptiness, as the fear mounts that I may not get another shot to take the ball all the way up the field. Until I start to feel better, until my life starts to get bigger, until I’m in front of the goal again. I choke, over and over and over, and I climb back out, over and over and over. I raise my hand: “I have two days back,” and I get the applause, again and again. I’m the most important person in the room.

    There’s a sense that I will always be on the verge, never quite crossing the line into success. I want more, or do I? The cycle is a familiar distraction.

    There’s no need to worry about my career, or lack of intimate relationships, or future, or even quitting nicotine. I’m taking it easy, I’m in my first year of sobriety. And there’s always new people.

    I almost believe it. 

    This is the place where I used to blame my abusive mother, and believe me, I would really like to. She loved nothing more than to break me so that she could comfort my brokenness. But I’m an adult now. Once I was a victim, now I am a volunteer; now I have internalized my abuser. I have some of her weapons, and some I have added. I do it when I talk to myself, when I won’t get out of bed, when I couldn’t finish this article for a month.

    And at the same time I have a picture of three-year-old me, my inner child, and ten-year-old me, my outer child, on my refrigerator. I talk to them, too. I tell them they are good enough, worthy of love and happiness and all the things the rest of the world seems able to allow themselves to have. I hope that one day we’ll all believe it. 

    What if life on the other side of a year of continuous sobriety isn’t beyond my wildest dreams? No need to worry about that, I’ll probably never get there. My promise is an unopened present, though I have shaken the box more than a few times. Now, it’s possibly rotting.

    How do I change? When does my sobriety and not my ego, not my love of a pattern repeating, become the most important person in the room? Will this time be different? Every time is. Will it be different in the way that I need it to be? I don’t know. 

    If the first step is honesty, these words are my only hope. These are the thoughts I keep in the shadows, the patterns with which I choose to keep myself trapped, the self-victimization through which I am still waiting to awaken, still waiting to let down my golden hair for some knucklehead prince to save me.

    What if I could climb past the first plateau of growth in recovery and keep climbing? What if I could continue to work on sobriety on the days I don’t feel like I need it? What if I could stop wanting to be something and start working on becoming it? 

    Every time I come back, I remember that I am not God. That I don’t have to do it on my own, that nobody really cares if I’m happy besides me.

    I would say wish me luck, but I’ve had so much of that. Wish me consistency over time. Wish me willingness. I am tossed by the waves yet I do not sink; I have proven that. Wish me, to stay.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Comedian Jake Fogelnest: From Self-Loathing to a Life Beyond His Wildest Dreams

    Comedian Jake Fogelnest: From Self-Loathing to a Life Beyond His Wildest Dreams

    Notice they don’t call it the “9th Step Maybes.” It’s not the “9th Step Possibilities.” It’s the “9TH STEP PROMISES.” It’s very clear: we must be painstaking and take the suggestions. But if we DO…some amazing stuff will happen before we know it.

    Comedy Central, VH1, MTV, Netflix. Jake Fogelnest’s TV writing/producing credits are too long to list – and he wouldn’t want me to. I know Jake as a kind, funny, and humble man I met outside of the Hollywood Improv last summer, who treats everyone he meets with the same consideration. I was thrilled when he agreed to be part of this interview series.

    The Fix: What is your favorite thing about being sober in comedy?

    Jake Fogelnest: My favorite thing about being sober in comedy is that I’m ready to work WHENEVER. Whether it’s late nights or early mornings, I’m ready to show up. If I’m writing alone, there’s nothing better than going to bed at 10pm, waking up at 6:00am and just starting to write as the sun comes up. If I’m in a writers’ room, I love being able to come in fresh and ready to go until we need to stop (hopefully at a reasonable hour – usually we do). Or if I’m shooting something, I love that I can make a 4:30am call-time and be relatively alert. Adding a hangover into any of those situations? NO THANKS.

    I even have friends who can drink “normally.” Maybe they’ll overdo it once a year and then have to show up for work hungover and just suffer through it. I always feel SO bad for them! My sobriety ensures I never have a day like that! It’s such freedom! The worst thing I’ve had to endure in sobriety are days where I didn’t get enough sleep or if I have a minor (not contagious) cold. 

    This may sound really simple. I’m basically saying, “My favorite thing about being sober in comedy is that I can show up to work like every normal person on the planet does for their job every day.” I know there’s gotta be some Al-Anon people reading this right now going: “Oh, he’s all proud that shows up for work on time? Let’s throw this little asshole a parade.” Sorry. I know it’s small, but even after all these years of recovery, I’m grateful I can show up. I could be dead! 

    What is the most challenging thing?

    The most challenging thing is recognizing where alcoholism shows up in other areas of my life. Just because I stopped drinking and using drugs 12 years ago doesn’t mean that I don’t have the disease of alcoholism. I’m in recovery, but the alcoholic thinking is still there. It has been HUMBLING to recognize how my character defects can still show up. They find new creative ways to do so all the time!

    If there was an Emmy Award for “Outstanding Achievement in Holding onto Resentment,” I’m afraid I would be at least eligible for a nomination. I might not win, but I think I’d be a strong contender. I could list who I think some of the other nominees might be. It would give you a hell of a headline! Sadly, through recovery I’ve learned restraint of pen and tongue… which really fucks up clickbait! 

    Seriously, it’s all challenging, you know? It really depends on the day. You get some time under your belt and you think, “I got this.” And yeah, maybe I do “got this” in the sense that I’m probably not going to go out and drink tonight. However the underlying stuff that made me reach for a drink in the first place? That comes up all the time. Most people would never know. Or maybe everyone knows! Truth is, I don’t care anymore. As long as I’m taking the night right action and not being a jerk. 

    I can say I’ve been a LOT better this year about practicing self-care, reaching out for help and making sure I stay in touch with my higher power. It sneaks up on me, but I do get reminded: this journey is never done. I think I’ve only recently come into TRUE acceptance of that. I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with the concept of uncertainty. I had to because I realized IT WAS NEVER GOING AWAY. They say this disease is cunning, baffling and powerful. What I have found challenging is how cunning, baffling and powerful it can be… and it has NOTHING to do with drinking. Now it’s just about living. 

    How has your career evolved since you committed to recovery?

    I wouldn’t have a career if I didn’t have recovery. Recovery has to come before everything else. There are times in my sobriety and my career where I didn’t put it first and WOW did that always come back to bite me in the ass. Recovery first, everything else second. Always. 

    I also think accepting that things don’t happen on MY timetable has been a huge blessing in making my way through career stuff. It’s show business. There are so many ups and downs. There is also so much waiting. You also need to self-motivate. All things that can totally activate an alcoholic. 

    Today I am grateful for a fantastic career. Is it exactly where I want it to be in this moment? NOPE! But I don’t think it ever will be. I think that has less to do with alcoholism and more about being any type of creative! Even for the most successful people in the world, there’s always going to be SOMETHING unfinished or unrealized. Some script you can’t quite crack, some project you can’t find financing for, some scheduling that doesn’t work out. Who’s a big successful person? Steven Spielberg? He’s big, right? I bet even Mr. Steven Spielberg himself has at least ONE thing he just can’t get made. Maybe it’s a sequel to E.T. where E.T. comes back to teach Elliott about SPACE JAZZ! I just made that up, if Steven likes the idea, he can call WME. But bringing it back to recovery (sorry I brought it to SPACE JAZZ), I truly believe that everything happens when it is supposed to. Some days do I get a LITTLE impatient with that stuff? FUCK YES. But that’s when I turn it over… or call a friend and complain. 

    No compare and despair shit though. Someone else’s success is NOT my failure. Others might be able to do that. For me, it’s bad for my brain and recovery. 

    I’m just incredibly grateful that nothing has come to me a SECOND before I was truly ready to handle it. If it were up to me and things were operating entirely on my timeline, I bet “my best thinking” would lead me straight into a brick wall. Having a spiritual connection and knowing that more will be revealed is essential to me. But yeah, at the same time, I really should have an overall deal somewhere. I mean, fucking come on. (It’s good to have a HEALTHY bit of ego.)

    In the Big Book of AA, the 9th step promises say: “If we are painstaking about this phase of our recovery, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.” Are you amazed?

    I love the promises so much. It’s probably my favorite thing in the big book. 

    Am I amazed? CONSTANTLY. Where my life was before sobriety and where it is today? They say “beyond your wildest dreams” and they aren’t kidding. I could sit here and rattle off all the ways the promises have come true in my life. I could even throw in some stuff about the “cash and prizes.” But I don’t want to speak from a place of ego. I think it’s more valuable to share about the promises and how important they are to show to newcomers! 

    Whenever I find myself talking with people early in their sobriety, I point them straight to the 9th step promises. I think it’s a BIG thing to make a promise. Think about how cruel it would be to promise all that stuff to someone and not deliver on it? Notice they don’t call it the “9th Step Maybes.” It’s not the “9th Step Possibilities.” It’s the “9TH STEP PROMISES.” It’s made very clear: we must be painstaking and take the suggestions. But if we DO… some amazing stuff will happen before we know it. 

    Here’s another way I’m amazed — and this one isn’t so cheery. Even though I have felt the promises first hand and I’ve seen them come true for others, as I continue to deepen my recovery— I still battle with willingness! I have a lot of fear of fear that holds me back. Not so much with career stuff anymore, but in other areas of my life. That being said, it feels really GOOD to talk about this knowing that I am back at being painstaking as I continue to look at this new stuff. For example (and this is a lame small one), after 12 years of sobriety, today is one month and 24 days without smoking a cigarette. It feels great. I hate it.

    How did you handle your first 30 days in relation to your comedy / writing career?

    For my first 30 days I didn’t worry about my comedy/writing career. I worried about getting sober. It’s not like anyone was knocking down my door at that time, but even if they were — I still had to put recovery first. There is no career if I’m sick. 

    I did what I had to do to make a living and that’s about it. I was VERY lucky that my employers at the time were actually directly responsible for getting me to a place of acceptance that I needed recovery. The “wildest dreams” took a backseat. I think there’s this misconception people have in early sobriety that they’re going to “miss out” on something, particularly “momentum in show business.” Guess what? Show business keeps moving without you. If you’re talented and you work your program, show business will be waiting for you when you’re healthy and ready. Whatever big opportunity you think you’re missing out on is NOTHING compared to what could come your way in sobriety. 

    What do you think it is about comedy and the entertainment industry in general that attracts so many addicts? Or the addicts that are attracted to comedy?

    Addicts are sensitive people. So are creatives. It makes sense that sensitive creatives would seek to self-medicate. That’s all creatives, not just comedians! But let’s talk about people who do comedy for a second. The job of a comic is to be hyper aware of the world and reflect it back to people in a funny way. That can be a painful process filled with sensory overload. You’re gonna want to numb out. Shut your brain off. In fact, it’s essential that you do so, otherwise you’re gonna go insane. There’s just a healthy way to do that and an unhealthy way to do it. Ugh, I remember sitting in a meeting early in sobriety listening to some asshole saying something like, “Just breathe” and I wanted to punch his fucking lights out. 

    The guy was right by the way. Breathing is good. Sorry.

    What advice would you give a comedian who struggles with chronic relapse?

    Relapse is part of recovery. I’ve relapsed. I’m very grateful to have 12 years now, but it took a few rounds to get there. The biggest piece of advice I could give? That SHAME you have around relapsing? Yeah, that’s fucking useless. I’m not saying don’t take it seriously. I’m not saying there’s not consequences to your actions. I just find addicts and alcoholics put this tremendous extra layer of ULTRA-SHAME and SUPER-GUILT on top of everything that really serves us NO purpose. It’s bullshit self-loathing. Believe me, I’ve been sober a long time and I’m a fucking expert at doing it. I could teach a masterclass on that website. 

    Here’s the thing though: FUCK THAT SHAME. Just come back. No one gives a shit. No one is judging you harder than you are judging yourself. I guarantee, you’re your own worst critic when it comes to relapsing. Just fucking come back. 

    Anything I missed?

    No one’s life has ever gotten worse because they decided to stop drinking. No one. Ever.  

    Jake’s story shows that it’s possible to stay fully grounded despite achievements, never forgetting what recovery has always been about: one addict helping another.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Jackie Kashian: From Drunk Driver to Hero of This Story

    Jackie Kashian: From Drunk Driver to Hero of This Story

    I would love to just check out with booze. But whatever I want to check out from will still be there when I sober up – plus whatever drunken stealing, screwing or hitting I did while I was drunk will have to be fixed.

    Last summer, I had a 12-step sponsor who counted performing as a relapse: weed, alcohol, stand-up comedy. Those were the things I needed to stay away from. She promised I was building a foundation for a life “more profound than pussy jokes.” But that’s not a life I want. Without comedy, and before comedy, I never cared about my life enough to even want to stop drinking. This summer, my sponsor is a fellow comedian, but one who started comedy in sobriety. So I’m asking all my favorite sober stand-ups how they do comedy and stay sober. AT THE SAME TIME.

    On Jackie Kashian’s website, there is a page of the advice she was given in 1986 as a new comic. It ends with: “You are a sweet, intelligent, powerful, exuberant comic.” Watching her perform at the Portland Maine Comedy festival a few weeks ago, I couldn’t come up with a more fitting description, other than to add on what she’s gained through the years: powerhouse. And one she rarely mentions: sober. 

    I first came across Jackie when I moved to NYC three years ago and began listening to her second podcast, “The Jackie and Laurie Show.” Jackie and her cohost Laurie Kilmartin had been there, done that, and sold the t-shirts. They are authentic, wise, and most importantly, hilarious. I spent my first year in the city feeling invisible, drinking intermittently (I bombed at an open mic! Time to throw away seven months and GET WASTED!) and waiting for their next episode to come out.

    Her latest album may be called I Am Not the Hero of This Story, but she’s certainly a hero of mine. 

    The Fix: How did you get sober and continue to do comedy?

    Jackie Kashian: I stopped drinking and “got sober” after I got my second DUI. One in Minnesota and one in California. So they both counted as “first DUI’s” because different states and we do not—still to this day and counting—have a national ID card. I couldn’t go on the road for three months which helped me get a solid block of time of me not drinking at comedy clubs in town. I would go do sets, get a Diet Coke and last as long as I could after the show. It wasn’t that long because watching people you like get drunk is not attractive. And not getting drunk was not fun. 

    Note: no one else was psyched when I got drunk… just me. 

    When I first went back on the road I was terrified. I was doing a run of one-nighters in Illinois and ended up featuring the week with this guy (I can’t remember his name but it was a city and a name, like Boston Bill but it was Charleston Chuck). He was a real road dog guy in the fact that he only worked the road. His stand-up was good for the one-nighters and I was worried he was going to be one of those guys that encouraged shots and tried to get laid. Turns out… that guy? He was 15 years offa the booze juice. And he was super supportive. So he didn’t get drunk. He didn’t cheat on his wife after the show and we had a couple brunches that week. It made me realize that it could be done. It was an awesome coincidence that helped a lot. And a friend of mine who’s sober also sent me on the road (it was a three week run) with 21 envelopes, one to be opened each day. Inside was the name of a famous writer, comic or whatever person who was sober. That was inspiring too.

    What is the hardest thing about being sober in showbiz?

    The hardest thing about being sober around comics and showbidness is that I have a constant committee meeting in my head telling me I’d be further along if I partied with so and so. I’m sure if I wanted to sleep around, the meeting minutes would be about how I’d get more work if I slept with more random dudes. It’s not true by the way. When I stopped drinking I was mostly scared of not being funny anymore. It turns out that life is, actually, more absurd stone cold sober. 

    What is the best?

    The best thing about being sober is not being in jail for driving drunk. I’m sober so the things I get from not being drunk all stem from the fact that I drove drunk every night I drank. I never did have one shot and a beer. See how I didn’t just type one beer? I needed to add the shot. And I did stand-up at least four times a week and stand-up is most often in places with booze. So at least four nights a week I was drunk driving. The best results of not doing that… hell… let’s list them after not being arrested. I wake up without a hangover at a reasonable hour (let’s go with 9am because I’m a comic). Even if I screw around much of the day I can still be awake and writing and sending avails and asking for jobs and shows for two hours a day. That bare minimum of a work ethic gets me 40 weeks of work a year. 

    How do/did you deal with hanging around/with other comics?

    I don’t do late hangs and have recently just been organizing brunch hangs with comics. I love hanging with comics and comics love an 11am something. So I invite comics to meet me at a diner around 11am every week and we riff and bust each other and talk shop and eat eggs. It’s the best. 

    Advice for the chronically relapsing comic?

    Comics (and people, but comics a lot) are certain, because they’re so smart, that they can practice, think or work around the problems. I tried to stop drinking for a couple years before it took this time. I used to “practice” turning down drinks. Some woman once said to me a couple things: “Who’s offering you drinks in your mind?” She was right, because I was buying my own drinks. And “No is a complete sentence.” You don’t need to practice it. “No thank you” if you’re feeling polite.

    How do you feel about selling booze (part of the job of a comedy show) as a former heavy drinker?

    I am so interested in what everyone else is drinking. Saw a guy the other night at a comedy show – he had five glasses of wine. How do I know? I don’t remember counting them but hot damn, I was. I’m not a prohibitionist if that’s what you mean. I say, drink as long as you can. You’ll know if it’s screwing up your life. You know. I tell my nieces and nephews “if you treat it with the right amount of wariness you might last longer than me.” Unsaid is, “cuz yer probably a crummy drinker like me and will have to quit eventually.” Ah well.

    Anything else?

    Other than that… it’s a simple idea to not drink. But things that are simple are not easy, right? It’s like you’re banging your head against a door. It’s the right door but that doesn’t mean that your head doesn’t hurt. I don’t know if that analogy works. But maybe you get it. It’s a simple idea… but I have to remind myself all the time that I don’t drink. Because I would dearly love to check the fuck out and booze is really good at making that happen. But whatever I want to check out from will still be there when I sober up – plus whatever drunken stealing, screwing or hitting I did while I was drunk will have to be fixed. So I’ll have double the nonsense to fix. Sober is preferable to fixing double the nonsense. Best not have the drink.

    ***

    I spent some time last spring after my winter relapse (like an old familiar scarf that you’re also allergic to) introducing a joke about alcoholism by saying, “If you’re thinking of buying me a drink after the show, don’t!” But when I read Jackie’s answers to my questions, I realized that scenario was only happening in my mind. Nobody was thinking of buying me a drink after the show. Except for me, trying to put the responsibility on the audience.

    Recovery is not about running from all you love so you can hide away in a safe space with no triggers. That former sponsor who told me to stay away from comedy was a would-be photographer with almost ten years clean – and still not feeling ready to pursue that dream. Recovery is about taking away the thing that is slowing you down – the active addiction- so that all is left is to run towards what you love.

     

    Jackie is fond of saying: “Tonight I get to do my favorite thing in the world, stand-up comedy.” If you’re still searching for your passion, check out Jackie’s original podcast, Dork Forest. It’s 476 episodes of people talking about their favorite things in the world. 

    View the original article at thefix.com