I practice comfort and joy

Yesterday while walking my dog, Teddy, I found myself crying as the first few snowflakes of the season landed on my cheeks. My garden has shriveled up and the sunset now arrives at 5pm. The frigid November air is always a reminder that the holidays are just around the corner. And let me tell you, nothing stirs up unwanted emotions within me quite like the holidays.

In 2015 I spent the holidays - Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and my 28th birthday - in (court mandated) rehab. My drinking and bulimia had reached a point where I was deemed too out of control to be trusted with myself. It felt like I had officially become too crazy to be home celebrating with my family.

When I try to reflect back on that time, everything is blurry. I had completely disassociated from my surroundings and entered survival mode. I could not crawl out from underneath my own pile of shame, while being completely cut off from the outside world, and hanging in church basements with strangers during the holidays. The allotted one hour supervised Christmas visit with my parents felt like torture, not therapy. It was like I had become something “other.” Something different. Something unworthy of holiday comfort and joy.

Ever since then, year after year, I start feeling triggered as the seasons change and the holidays approach. Like many of you, the relationship I have with my family is complex. Everyone still imbibes; holiday drinking begins at (or before) noon. So, even though I am no longer in rehab for the holidays, I still feel like I don’t belong.

This year, I am dedicating the season to my own comfort and joy practices. If going home for the holidays feels too overwhelming, I do not have to go. Sobriety gives me the space to both, sort through past holiday trauma, and discover my own comfort and joy practices. I can meet the hard parts of sobriety, like loneliness and grief, with new traditions.

For example: I can decorate a gingerbread house, bake cookies, go sledding, ice skating, or snowshoeing, simmer alcohol-free mulled cider on the stove all day, string twinkle lights from my houseplants, DIY popcorn tree garland, blast my favorite Christmas album, buy peppermint mocha coffee creamer, light evergreen scented candles, hang a stocking for Teddy, stay connected with my Tempest family, and cozy up with cathartic classics like Home Alone, The Holiday, and The Polar Express.

My past with alcohol, the holidays, and my family is messy - and that’s okay. This year, as Ted and I bundle up for brisk morning walks, I will inhale comfort and joy, and exhale past holiday trauma.

I practice comfort and joy.

I welcome the What If's

One of my biggest fears is re-entering the working world sober. I just got a call for my first interview since beginning my sobriety journey; and instantly, my brain began scheming ways to get my hands on some booze ASAP.

Working and alcohol became enmeshed ten years ago when I graduated from culinary school and began working at a winery in Northern Michigan. My internship took me to Aspen, Colorado and The Food and Wine Classic. Everyone thought I was living the dream, but in reality, I was learning to pair champagne with breakfast.

During those years, I quickly learned how much (fake) prestige and power and connectedness the wine world holds. I thought becoming a sommelier was THE dream occupation. I started a wine journal and recorded the (fake) smooth, oaky tasting notes in a ten dollar bottle of Cabernet.

My family was so proud of me. As daily drinkers themselves, they were eager to visit and bring home a discounted case of wine. My cousin even honeymooned at my work and raved about the experience for years.

Now, when I look back at that time, all I see is pain. Photos circa 2011 reveal an emaciated, drunken Kelsi desperately searching for acceptance. It’s not surprising that my first (super drunk) DUI happened on my way home from work at the winery.

Job interviews transport me back to that girl who believed alcohol provided a sense of belonging. While sitting in this intense fear, I am struggling to develop an affirmation that feels genuine. Luckily, a recent Tempest lesson with Brandon introduced the idea of “if-firmatiations.”

What if I show up sober?

What if I embrace change?

What if I meet some incredible people?

What if they like me?

What if I thrive?

By focusing on exciting What If’s, rather than my past “failures,” I create space to imagine a new future and release some of that fear. My past with work and alcohol is messy and triggering. That’s okay. What if I show up sober today?

I welcome the What If’s.

I am proud of myself

These past few weeks, for me, have been filled with recovery milestones that deserve a celebration. Yet, while writing in my journal this morning, I noticed some discomfort when I tried to scribble these five words, “I am proud of myself.” Why do I feel like such a phony when I attempt to express pride?

According to Mariam Webster, pride (noun) is a feeling that you respect yourself and deserve to be respected by other people. And, to be proud (verb), is having or displaying excessive self-esteem.

I’m not sure about any of you, but as someone who has struggled with severe anorexia and alcohol addiction, displaying excessive self-respect (pride) is not something I am familiar with. Most of my life has been focused on fixing what is “wrong with me;” not loving what is “right with me.” It makes sense that I struggle to genuinely write the affirmation, “I am proud of myself.”

It seems like our society has a complex relationship with the words proud and pride. These words hold heavy, sometimes contradictory weight. While it’s okay, even necessary, for men to show pride, girls are considered unlikeable if they boast about their achievements. Even worse, according to AA, pride is a character defect that must be removed immediately.

I like Mariam’s definition of pride because it involves self-respect. While I was drinking, there was zero self-respect (pride) in my life. Sobriety, for me, is not possible without at least a little self-respect (pride).

My therapist suggested I start a pride practice. 

She suggested I start small, but practice often. 

For example:

Remember to eat breakfast? Off to a good start. Proud.

Survived the work day while on my period? Super proud.

In bed before 9pm? I am proud of myself.

I could argue, as a human in recovery, I need self-respect (pride) more than anything. In order to remain sober, I need to put that bullshit rhetoric about pride (self-respect) being a character defect in the garbage. It doesn’t belong here.

My favorite definition of the word pride is simple:

“The love of one’s own essence.” -St. Augustine

I am proud of myself.