I am free to bloom

 Whenever I woke up from a drinking black out, usually around 4 a.m., I would think, “I wish I could crawl into a hole and die.” A few hours later, I would force myself out of bed for a cigarette and shower in the dark. That was my morning ritual for years. 

Maybe I did crawl into that hole for a while. I tried to make it my permanent address because that felt way easier than being with myself through the pain. Eventually, though, I wanted out. 

Years before my sobriety began to stick, I attempted different routines and planted various seeds to aid my recovery. I tried rehab, meetings, halfway houses, several antidepressants and vivitrol, drinking herbal tea, getting a dog, studying Brene, Glennon, and Oprah, writing my own blog, and countless therapists. 

One ritual that really stuck was reading a book of poetry before bed called All Along You Were Blooming by Morgan Harper Nichols. Here is one of my favorite pieces: 

"The sight of old photographs 

sends a sharp pain up your spine. 

The days are not going to look the same 

from this day forward, 

but you will move forward, 

for all you have endured, 

you have blossomed. 

Which was possible only by the rain. 

And perhaps this is your becoming, 

your unfolding into a grace-filled bloom."

Her words reminded me that I was free to bloom, even while buried in that hole I had created. I was still free to dig myself out of the dirt and grow with the sunrise. Now, after a few months of hangover-free mornings and witnessing the perennials fill my life with vibrant color after a long winter, I can feel myself blooming, too.

 Things got dark.

That’s okay. 

 I am free to bloom.