Answer Addiction

Tag: vulnerability

  • 5 Lessons from 5 Years of Sobriety

    5 Lessons from 5 Years of Sobriety

    When I reflect on this choice I’ve made every day for five years, I realize sobriety is a limitless resource, readily available for anyone who needs it. I won’t run out of sobriety one day if someone else becomes sober. I won’t run out if 500,000 people become sober.

    I’m entering my fifth year of sobriety this April. Finding and maintaining sobriety has been no small task and I’ve learned a lot about myself over this time. I’ve changed from who I was as a drunk and as a newly sober person to who I am now. There have been high points, low points, and everything in between.

    I’ve had many opportunities to share my experience with others: I’ve spoken at conferences, written articles for The Fix and many other online publications, been interviewed by WIRED, and been a guest on numerous podcasts and radio programs. I’ve felt scared and vulnerable sharing my stories and experiences, but on each of these occasions I’ve been rewarded with community support and increased accountability. Inevitably someone reaches out to thank me, in person or virtually. I believe this human bond we create through sharing is critical for all who struggle with addiction. 

    In this post, I am commemorating my fifth sober anniversary with a reflection on five lessons I’ve learned. Holy shit! Did you read that? I’ve been sober for five years. I didn’t know I could make it five days, let alone one year. I would have laughed if someone told me I’d make it five years. Wasn’t I just pulling a typical Victor and waiting for the fallout from one of my drunken rampages to calm down? Turns out I am able to stick with something.

    I’ve spent most of the last five years examining myself and reflecting on life. One thing is clear, I am full of contradictory thoughts and actions. We all are. As famed American poet (and proponent of being naked in nature) Walt Whitman wrote in Song of Myself:

    Do I contradict myself?
    Very well then I contradict myself,
    (I am large, I contain multitudes.)

    You will see my contradictions here and elsewhere. Let’s jump in to the lessons.

    1. Recovery Does Not Equal Recovered

    I still have cravings for alcohol. I still need to remove myself from situations that make me feel out of control. My life is not perfect and I’m not all better. I have the same shit, the same trials and temptations to deal with, but now I address them as a sober person. I don’t believe in full recovery – not for myself. I’ll define recovered as either a complete lack of interest in drinking or the ability to drink in moderation with no chance of falling back into abuse.

    I’m aware some people identify as recovered and no longer have issues. I don’t dispute their recovery but I have enough self-awareness to know this has yet to occur for me. My thoughts when I crave alcohol are to feel drunk, to overconsume, to try one more time for the elusive buzz I spent over 10 years unsuccessfully chasing. To stay successful in recovery, I need an in recovery–not recovered–mindset.

    2. Sobriety Is What You Make of It

    Sobriety without additional work has a limited impact on your life. It might be a huge impact, but the ceiling extends drastically upward when you combine it with additional work on yourself. Alcohol abuse wasn’t the only issue I had and being sober allows me to begin addressing these underlying issues. I’ve needed to continue working on myself beyond sobriety. I have areas of deficiency I’ll need to work on for years, if not forever. For the sake of brevity, I’ll refrain from listing these.

    Sobriety (from alcohol) at its most basic level is a period of time spent not drinking. I understand why many people commit to the day at a time mindset. You need to have small, achievable time frames to get through cravings, days which you spend refocusing, creating healthier habits, rebuilding or building a new life, and building your support system. Simply staying sober will heal your body. Staying sober while learning and growing will heal your mind as well.

    I haven’t always been successful at doing more than staying sober. In fact, I’ve recently gone through a year or so of backsliding when it comes to handling my anxiety and mental health and building social support, which has resulted in some drastic negative changes in some of my closest relationships. However, I have stayed sober and this has allowed me to correct my course. I’ve become proactive in using techniques to manage anxiety and I’ve pushed myself to develop new and deeper relationships with positive people who support me. I’m seeking new opportunities to grow in the right direction.

    3. Sobriety Is My Soulmate

    Sound dramatic? How about, sobriety is my rock? Sobriety is my better half? Sobriety is the one thing that has been there for me every single day for five years. Sometimes I didn’t want it around and sometimes I’ve had to fight to keep it. I’ve gained and lost a number of things over the past five years but sobriety is the one consistent positive presence in my life. I get to choose every day whether I want to keep my sobriety or not. Choosing yes for another day deepens my commitment and strengthens the neural pathways that help me resist temptation.

    When I reflect on this choice I’ve made every day for five years, I realize sobriety is a limitless resource, readily available for anyone who needs it. I won’t run out of sobriety one day if someone else becomes sober. I won’t run out of sobriety if 500,000 people become sober. Sobriety can be everyone’s soulmate simultaneously.

    Sobriety won’t leave me if I slip up. These five years are made up of a string of days where I’ve made the same choice. If I had chosen to drink on any of these days, sobriety wouldn’t be any less available to me; I could have come back the following day. In that sense, five years is meaningless. Regardless of what stage you’re at, or even if you’re just thinking about it – sobriety will be there when you’re ready for it. Sobriety won’t judge you. Sobriety doesn’t care if you had a drink yesterday, or if you’ll have another drink in a week.

    4. Drunk Conversations Are Toxic to Everyone

    I remember being the drunk who shared my philosophy of the world with anyone who’d listen. I was so smart, my insight incomparable, my language spot on. If only I could hold on to that level of confidence when I’d sober up the next day, I’d show everyone how great I was. Yet I could never muster the words or confidence when I wasn’t drunk. In sobriety, I see drunk conversations as absurd, pathetic, or sad at best. Few sober people would say the words that so comfortably spill out of the mouths of drunks.

    I still frequent bars and venues where alcohol is a focus and I still encounter plenty of drunk conversations. They fall into three categories:

    1. Drunk with plans to conquer the world. You have the ultimate plan and you know how to execute it. If only the rest of us were as excited as you are about it. You’re going to pass out before you can start making progress.
    2. Drunk with plans to conquer their date. This is disgusting. You are seducing your date with slurred words and poorly veiled references to sex. They are looking around to assess their exit strategy. Hopefully you don’t throw up on them.
    3. Drunks who are sad, whiny, or complaining about life. Bartenders find themselves having to support these conversations unless it’s a group of drunks and then it becomes a contest over who is the most aggrieved. Sometimes these folks end the night with fighting or violence. Regardless of how tough you talk or how many people you fight, drunk shit-talking still boils down to being a sad, whiny loser.

    I’ve written these three conversations out using a judgmental tone. And while I am judging, I am also aware that I’ve been an active contributor to each type of drunk conversation on dozens of occasions. I’ve done my part to give others uncomfortable experiences. I apologize for that and hope some of my work in sobriety has atoned for some of what I’ve done.

    5. Being Vulnerable Without Alcohol is More Authentic and More Rewarding

    I had what I refer to as diarrhea mouth when I would get drunk. I couldn’t stop talking. Alcohol was a truth serum for me: I could get drunk and tell you exactly what I was thinking and feeling. I could express elation, I could express sorrow. I could tell you I hate your fucking guts. The words came easy (see my previous lesson!). Speaking the truth while being vulnerable without alcohol is more difficult, but it’s also more authentic.

    I now pause before I share my thoughts and feelings. I have coherent thoughts during this pause where I calculate whether what I’m saying might be harmful to others. I also consider if what I’m saying leaves me exposed to criticism or hurt. This pause didn’t exist when I was drunk. I’m also fighting my natural tendency to withdraw from being social during the pause. Sober Victor is someone who is less comfortable sharing what is happening inside of him. I still end up saying hurtful things or oversharing in ways that might make others feel uncomfortable, but I am aware of and accept the consequences.

    My vulnerability extends beyond what I say. Writing exposes me to criticism in the form of online comments or posts in other forums. Opening myself up to written criticism from others is a reversal of how I used writing as a drunk. I used my writing to hurt people: mean texts, drunken Facebook posts, belligerent emails, and even hand-written letters were a hallmark of my absurd drunken behavior. Again, I hope the words I write now to share what I’ve learned provide some atonement for the words I’ve written to hurt people.

    Here is a sixth bonus lesson. I plan to write more about this in the near future. My reflection on my history of alcohol use has led me to conclude:

    6. I’ve Abused Alcohol Since My First Encounter

    I didn’t progressively become an alcohol abuser. Yes, my abuse became worse, but I abused from the beginning. I’m fairly certain I’ve never had a single healthy experience using alcohol. If you can relate to this, consider stopping your drinking until you can figure out if you do have an issue.

    Five years have passed in the blink of an eye. I had no concept of what five years would be like when I first stopped drinking and I’m not sure I fully understand or appreciate the magnitude of this accomplishment. I’m not sure I’d have been healthy or alive to write this if I hadn’t found sobriety.

    What do I see for the next five years? I’m committed to staying sober and I’ll need to make some adjustments to accomplish this. I have recommitted to seeking support in the form of healthy relationships with other sober people, attending support groups, journaling, and practicing mindfulness. My sobriety is not on cruise control. I also intend to stay an active contributor to The Fix and other relevant publications; I find it helps me stay accountable.

    Thank you for reading this post. Thank you for being part of my journey. Please share this with anyone who might find it useful.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Learning How to Love and Be Loved: An Interview with Eva Hagberg Fisher

    Learning How to Love and Be Loved: An Interview with Eva Hagberg Fisher

    I think illness was the great wind that just blew through my life and cleared away a lot of the resistance that I had to being vulnerable, by making my need to ask for help a literally life and death decision.

    A medical mystery intertwined with a tale of friendship and sobriety, Eva Hagberg Fisher’s How To Be Loved: A Memoir of Lifesaving Friendship provides a lesson that many of us need to learn: true love does not exist only in the realm of family or romance. Sometimes the most meaningful and life-changing love is found in friendships: the ones who stay even when it gets messy, even when you don’t want them to.

    For Fisher, overcoming addiction and embracing long-term recovery did not mean the end of suffering. Mysterious illnesses, warped family dynamics, and complicated relationships threaten and almost undermine her sobriety. When the doctors are baffled as extreme havoc dominates her health, she wonders how she’ll maintain her balance and move forward with faith in the future.

    With the help of friends made in 12-step programs and elsewhere, Fisher faces the hardest challenges of her health crisis. But maybe the biggest challenge is allowing herself to be loved, which requires more than being brave; it means she’ll have to be vulnerable. In this stirring memoir, Fisher learns to surrender, and through surrender she finds relief, courage, gratitude, resilience, and love.

    Of course, we wanted to know more.

    The Fix: How do you define radical surrender and what part has it played in your life? In 12-step programs, they often say that the meaning of surrender is “joining the winning side.” Do you agree?

    Eva Hagberg Fisher: For me, it’s a constant, ideally daily practice. I don’t know if it’s joining the winning side so much as, for me, joining the only side that is ever going to give me a chance at having a good life. Or any kind of life that’s worth living. Life keeps happening to me, even though the book has an ending! And I need to keep surrendering. I want to keep surrendering because the feeling of safety and relief that I get is what I was always looking for.

    The Buddha’s First Noble Truth is that “Life is suffering.” Do you believe we need to suffer to a certain extent to learn how to grow spiritually? Is the recognition of suffering and how a person then handles that challenge a key to spiritual growth?

    I don’t know that we need to, but it does seem to sort of fast-track a greater sense of compassion and the need for connection. I don’t know whether or not my suffering was necessary, but I think that the way in which I kept wanting to be awake for what was happening is what led me to be able to experience what I’ve seen described as post-traumatic growth.

    Somewhat similar to your experience, my friend just underwent his second operation on a brain tumor and is now going through radiation treatments. It astounds me that he can maintain his sobriety and his sanity through such a life-altering time. Humor and music both seem to play a significant role for him. How were you able to accomplish this?

    I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. And I’m so glad that he has you there. For me, a sense of humor and just highlighting how ridiculous and seemingly inconceivable the complications I faced were was just essential. I think a lot of that is just innate personality — my father is intensely optimistic, as am I. And my friends helped me to have a sense of humor; once they saw that laughing about my situation was really helpful for me, they put a lot of emphasis on being funny with me.

    In September 2015, you were diagnosed with a rare disease called mast cell activation syndrome. This devastating syndrome makes the body feel like it’s allergic to everything. How did you overcome this condition?

    A variety of treatments: a really intense antihistamine protocol, bio-energetic de-sensitization, various meditative modalities, frequency-specific microcurrent, supplements, nettle tea, time. It’s so different for everyone, so I’m definitely not recommending this, but it’s what I did.

    In your book, your illness becomes the force that opens the door to profound friendship. Do you feel like you needed an extreme crisis to be vulnerable enough to accept such friendship and be such a friend?

    Definitely. I think illness was the great wind that just blew through my life and cleared away a lot of the resistance that I had to being vulnerable, by making my need to ask for help a literally life and death decision.

    When you say that you were “constitutionally unlovable” before the events of the book happened, what do you mean?

    I just felt and believed that at my core I was a bad person. That all the mistakes I’d made were evidence for my being constitutionally bad, and that I didn’t inherently deserve to be loved. That I had to prove my value by being helpful or useful or financially supportive.

    What role should the ego play in the context of friendship?

    The role of ego is definitely one that I play with – I try to remember that my true friends are the ones who can spot my ego and lovingly point it out and help me to ground myself. And I also think that my ego drives me to produce art, and be in the world, and I’m grateful for it.

    Tell us a little about Allison and the role she has played in your life.

    She is someone who saw me really clearly — and saw so many other people really clearly — and had no compunction about accepting that everyone has deep and often irreversible flaws, and they are still worthy of love. We had a sort of imbalanced friendship for a while, and then when I got sick I lived with her for a few weeks and prepared for brain surgery, and she showed me how to get through something that I thought was totally unsurvivable. She loved me really completely, and that experience started to put new grooves into my brain for what being really loved could feel like.

    You have said, “My wish is for people who are suffering to not feel like they have to hide it or fit into a certain narrative.” What narrative did people try to fit you into during both your illness and your recovery? What working narrative did you choose to create for yourself?

    I think it’s common for people to see a sick person as a sort of wise sage. It’s definitely a role that I also love because it helps me feel strong and smart and therefore safe, but I think also people were just really compassionate and felt really bad for me that I was going through this, and wanted to be helpful. My own narrative changes all the time — sometimes I want to feel like I’m really blowing everyone’s minds with deep thoughts from the edge of the abyss, and sometimes I just want to feel really kind of regular and like I’m just the same as all my friends.

    This interview has been edited for length and clarity

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • When My “Give a F**k” Broke

    When My “Give a F**k” Broke

    I stood on the edge of this abyss and began my free fall to find healthy. I had nothing left to lose.

    “I am fine,” was my go to response for years. When anyone would ask, I would answer with that canned response, and if the typical follow up question was “Really?”, I was prepared. I would look them square in the eye and state firmly, “There is no other option.”

    During my almost three-year sexual assault investigation and prosecution, this was my warrior’s response. If someone was brave enough to follow up with that second question and meet my eyes for the response, typically they took a step back or walked away. Even my therapists tried to break through that façade, but my walls were thick, my stilettos were high, and my eyes were piercing. I was not for the faint of heart and no one was getting in.

    I was a mom first, a single mom. A single mom operating as both Mom and Dad to two beautiful girls. That man was so disengaged, he moved to Dubai but continued to send—not child support—but rather criticizing emails on how I should raise our children. Thank God for email filters – his crap went straight to a file I almost never opened.

    I was a sexual assault survivor who learned a life lesson that I could rely on no one and safety did not exist. Life taught me how to use my presence and my voice to keep people at bay, and also how to motivate people to act. Safety was not real, so I had to make it so. But my triggers were substantial and regular, and the constant awareness that what happened to me could happen to my daughters often paralyzed me.

    Those two daughters were my everything. I became a warrior on their behalf. When the school administration failed to protect my daughter from bullies, I fought them, and then finally moved. When my daughter was struck in a hit and run that was so severe it totaled my new car, I allowed my mother bear instinct to come out but limited my rage so I would not be put in prison.

    I carried a mortgage, student loan debt, and at one time allowed a homeless family of four to live with us in our home until the pregnant mother could give birth and they could get on their feet. Meanwhile, professionally, I endured a passive-aggressive boss who enjoyed playing head games for sport. I supervised (and truly enjoyed) over 60 adjunct professors who taught amazing students at a graduate school. With what little personal time I had, any attempts at dating were laughable; the caliber of men available was lower than I could settle for and the unavailable men who attempted to gain my affection repulsed me. I was hard, I was strong, and I was lonely – but it worked. I didn’t have a choice. I did not have the luxury of time to handle hurt or to feel more than what was necessary to be functional. I was safe if I exposed myself to nothing and no one. I was this way unintentionally most of the time, but knew how to call upon it when necessary. Still, I was absolutely perplexed when I was given feedback that I was intimidating. I just wanted to survive and I was doing it the only way I knew how.

    When my daughter was committed to a mental health facility twice for attempting suicide and given the diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder with PTSD, I finally broke. The realization that I really could not protect my children from all the unknowns absolutely unraveled me. I sat in the emergency room, sobbing. All my deepest fears and suppressed anguish came to the surface. The reality that I could not keep my children from hurt translated into absolute failure as their mother. When the emergency room doctor came over for my statement, I was crying so hard that I could not talk. She asked me that dreaded question, “Are you okay?” I finally answered honestly, and it was the only word I could get out, “No.” That simple and honest answer broke through years of protective walls and it was devastating.

    During the months that followed, my newfound vulnerability did not settle well. I needed back in the driver’s seat; it was a non-stop internal battle. I hustled myself back into therapy, where, at one point, I told my amazing therapist that I could not talk to him unless I laid flat on the floor of his office. I was convinced I was losing my mind. He assured me I was not but I did not believe him.

    I was broken. My “Give A F**k” was now in a constant state of zero and my moral compass was constantly spinning. I felt exposed and vulnerable and very, very confused. The belief system I had created to make sense of the violence that had happened to me and to generate an environment of safety for my daughters was an illusion that had been destroyed. I had perfected this for years and it was gone in an instant. I was drowning. I could not breathe.

    What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was a gift. The dam wall had broken and all of the harbored pain was released and it forced me to process it. A healthy, accepting mindset was as foreign to me as Egyptian hieroglyphics and I had to change. My mental health and my ability to be a good mother and human depended on it. I stood on the edge of this abyss and began my free fall to find healthy. I had nothing left to lose.

    Fresh eyes saw the world for all its flaws and beauty. I learned to address flaws as a simple ingredient of life and not as a threat; I began to accept people and situations for who they were, and it was freeing. Another key step to my freedom was learning to listen to my gut and unapologetically responding as such. If I did not feel comfortable in the presence of someone, I simply removed myself gracefully and did not look back. My gut owed no one an explanation, and that was empowering. Kindness was no longer seen as weakness and connecting with people was no longer dangerous. The world was not a field of landmines but rather an adventure with twists and turns.

    I felt like I was breathing fresh air for the first time. I laughed freely without hesitation, I smiled boldly without fear, and I slept so well. I loved with all of me and I loved ME. Everything in me relaxed for the first time in over a dozen years and my mental health was good, for REAL. I was no longer simply “fine,” I was “good,” teetering on great.

    Unhealthy people in my life were not so supportive of my new healthy lifestyle, but healthy people supported me with fervor. My manipulative boss was the least supportive because she would no longer get the intended response. She was a daily practice for me though, providing regular situations that allowed me to implement healthy responses. She eventually began ignoring me. Unhealthy friendships fell to the wayside. My youngest daughter, who was working on her own demons, did not understand my choices and decided to go live with her father overseas. I mourned her decision, but the friends and loved ones who accepted me, even when I went into my Xena: Warrior Princess mode, kept me grounded.

    Shortly after reconnecting with my emotions and releasing my fear, I met a man who changed my life. He was so healthy and good, kind and unconditionally accepting. Jumping into the abyss landed me in the arms of someone who did not see me as broken and on the mend. I was also able to connect with my oldest daughter on a level that I cannot explain other than she is one of my best friends. She accepts my flaws as I accept hers, and we connect almost every day.

    I left my stressful position in that unhealthy working environment and began working as an independent contractor, providing trainings to first responders on how to communicate with victims of trauma. I began writing educational materials and speaking at conferences, utilizing my rape and prosecution experience as an educational opportunity for those who work within the criminal justice, mental health and medical professions. This work is sometimes emotional and tiring, but highly rewarding. It gives me purpose and satisfaction to know that I can make a difference.

    My “Give a F**k” may have broken, but I didn’t, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

    View the original article at thefix.com