There is nothing wrong with me

The first time I heard the word “Normie” was in 2015 during my stay at a 90-day women’s rehab facility in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Roughly ten of us patients were crammed into an oversized van, named the Druggie Buggie by staff, and were headed toward an AA meeting. One of the girls, Nicole, longingly gazed out the window at a young couple holding hands outside of a bar and said, “Fucking Normies.”

Instantly, my mind began to race, my stomach churned, my clothes soaked in sweat, and the walls closed in around me. Unable to breathe, panic set in. My drinking led to a world of multiple DUIs, 24/7 lockdown rehab facilities, and road trips on the Druggie Buggie. There must be something wrong with me. I must be the polar opposite of a Normie; I must be batshit crazy.

After leaving rehab and reentering the real world, I noticed this Normie mentality everywhere. My family continued to drink daily. Pop culture promotes, even celebrates substance use. People bring coolers of booze to their kid’s t-ball games, and then drive home. Everyday occurrences like going to the grocery store resemble walking into a drug dealer's house. There are rows and rows of my drug of choice available round the clock; all I need is 10$ to black out. 

How is any of this normal? 

What is wrong with me?

Back in 2015, I didn’t have the words to explain why the word Normie triggered a low-grade panic attack. But now, I can see there is nothing normal whatsoever about society’s relationship with alcohol. The list of abnormal things our society does with (this drug called) alcohol could fill book after book after book.

My favorite tool to combat society’s backwards, “Normie,” relationship with alcohol is a simple loving kindness meditation. With eyes closed and hands over my heart, at each inhalation I can repeat phrases I’d want a struggling friend to hear:

May you know there is nothing wrong with you.

May you know there has never been anything wrong with you.

May you be gentle, kind, and patient toward yourself.

May you know freedom from alcohol.

May you feel seen, heard, and loved (fur baby affection absolutely counts).

May you become your own BFF as you create a beautiful new normal.

There is nothing wrong with me.

I am gently guided by wonder

One of my biggest struggles in sobriety is the idea that I need to find my purpose and have some impressively grand plan for my future. I spent most of high school attempting invisibility; not actually thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Getting into college wasn’t easy and I struggled to pick a major. How was my brace-faced, painfully sheltered, 18-year-old self supposed to choose a single career path for the next 40+ years of my life?

A couple of weeks into my first semester of college, while feeling overwhelmed by the crowds and paralyzed by my own lack of purpose, I stopped going to class altogether. Unsurprisingly, I failed out after the third semester. I couldn’t see a future for myself. Bulimia and an older boyfriend who introduced me to alcohol quickly trumped showing up for the shit show, college dropout life I had created for myself.

During the next decade of my life, I was arrested 5 times and admitted to rehab 6 times, which continued to distract me from finding this thing people call “purpose.” After being degraded and dehumanized by the criminal justice system, I struggle to feel worthy of looking within and trusting myself to make decisions about my future.

Unfortunately, I don’t think my story is unique. I think many of us, after years or decades of addiction, struggle to find purpose. The world labeled me an alcoholic loser. How do I put that bullshit label aside and learn to compassionately look within for answers? How *the fuck* do I get from: Day One, 32 years old, no job, no job references, no driver’s license, no therapist, still no clue what the hell I want to be when I grow up - to peace, lasting sobriety, and a sense of purpose?

I would be a wealthy woman if I knew the answer. But I do know something magical happens when I am guided by a gentle sense of wonder, rather than pressuring myself to know. Brene Brown says wonder is what fuels our passion for exploration and learning, for curiosity and adventure.

Hmm, I wonder if sobriety will create space for the treasure hunt of self-exploration I buried while attempting to be an invisible high schooler who couldn’t find her damn purpose.

Hmm, I wonder if there is no such thing as an alcoholic loser who can’t be trusted with herself.

Hmm, I wonder if I don’t need to have it all figured out today.

Hmm, I wonder if allowing myself to be gently guided by things that fuel my passion for exploration and learning, for curiosity and adventure, is good enough for now.

I am gently guided by wonder.

I collect moments of peace

A few years ago, I bought an off-white porcelain travel mug with the word HAPPY written on the side. During the colder months, this mug is never out of arm’s reach. I refill it hourly with coffee, tea, or cocoa, cups of comfort. But recently, I have noticed the word written on the mug rarely matches my mood.

I carry around a mug that promotes happiness, like it’s the only acceptable emotion, all day long. And honestly, this nonstop reminder to be happy has filled me with more rage than smiles.

When I was kid, and well into my adult life, I thought happiness was the ultimate #lifegoal. I thought adhering to social norms would make me happy. I thought a college degree, a husband, babies, vacations, botox, diets, and a two-story, 4-bedroom home with a pool was the only path to happiness because, unfortunately, that’s what my adolescent brain was exposed to.

Now, as I continue down the path of sobriety, I am learning to collect moments of peace, rather than striving for whatever happiness is. Peaceful moments happen when I slow down, notice how I am actually feeling, and mindfully re-enter my body after a long day of pretending to be “happy.” Peace, to me, is like an inner sense of calm. No matter what I am feeling, peaceful moments help bring me and my big, scary emotions back toward middle ground.

I have turned peaceful, quiet moments into daily rituals. Lighting a candle, cuddling with my dog, long walks at the nature trail up the street, preparing a comforting meal, watering my plants, hot baths, frequent trips to the library, deep breathing practices, fresh air on my lunch break, journaling, and wearing fuzzy socks are all things I can do to help collect a little peace.

 

In her latest book Atlas of the Heart, Dr. Brene Brown describes 87 different emotions humans experience. *Eighty-seven.* If this is true, why am I so hung up on happiness?

Maybe it’s normal to feel 87 different emotions in a single day. Maybe, as Brene suggests, the North Star to healing isn’t happiness. Maybe the bright light guiding us home lives in naming, feeling, and learning from all of our paradoxically messy emotions - while refilling our cups with moments of peace along the way.

Let me know if anyone finds a travel mug that says:

I collect moments of peace.