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.