Extreme Gentleness

It’s been a while since I have written anything. The month of May has been a wild ride. I moved from the tiny rural Michigan town where I got sober to a Detroit suburb two weeks ago. Everything has changed.

Last night I was repotting a houseplant that had outgrown its old pot. As I lifted the plant from its old pot to a bigger one, some of its roots were torn and broken. I freaked out, worrying that I had damaged or killed the plant. But then I remembered that plants are resilient. Their roots will regrow even though their home has changed.

That houseplant is a perfect metaphor for this move. Yes, I was uprooted from my comfort zone, but that doesn’t mean I can’t grow new roots. Like my houseplant, this change, although scary at first, will ultimately give me more room to grow bigger and stronger. My beloved houseplant and I will adjust to our new homes with time, water, and sunshine.

My latest Debunking Addiction piece was published yesterday. I wrote about using extreme gentleness to move through this change.

You can read it here: Embracing Change in Sobriety with Extreme Gentleness

Or read it below.

Happy Summer, friends. :)

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Embracing Change in Sobriety with Extreme Gentleness

Two weeks ago, I embarked on a massive life change. Moving away from the town where I got sober to begin a new chapter flipped my world upside down. I had to face my fear of change and part ways with the people, places, and things that kept me grounded for three years. My comfort zone was demolished, forcing me to start afresh. 

For my entire adult life, I have left cities and jobs abruptly. Mental health breakdowns, burnout, DUIs, and emaciation all got in the way of adequately saying goodbye or giving a two-week notice. Instead of asking for help, I would let myself get so low that I had no choice but to run away and half-heartedly enter inpatient treatment. This cycle, as unhealthy as it was, allowed me to take the easy route and avoid the bittersweetness that comes with a farewell. 

What if This Could be Gentle? 

As the big moving day approached, I could feel myself drowning in mixed emotions. Packing all of my belongings into brown cardboard boxes triggered unwanted memories from the past, and the urge to numb myself surfaced. Somehow, I had to figure out how to simultaneously feel sadness, excitement, fear, grief, exhaustion, uncertainty, trepidation, joy, and anticipation without alcohol. For the first time in my life, I had to soberly release what used to be to give birth to something new. 

Luckily, one of the recent recurring topics of conversation in my recovery support group is the idea of extreme gentleness. While sitting in the paradox of life, instead of reaching for the bottle, I can ask myself these three questions: What if this could be gentle? What gentle practice will calm my emotions? How can I implement gentleness right now? 

How to Practice Extreme Gentleness

My instinct has always been to power through difficult times to avoid feeling. But practicing gentleness helped me slow down and softly move through this change. I prioritized hydration, nourishment, deep breathing, crying, dog cuddles, and using my voice in a safe community. I practiced pacing myself, resting, and resetting. I told myself it was natural to feel off-kilter and overwhelmed. Rather than repeating past patterns, running away, and letting the fear of change drive the UHaul, I allowed gentleness to take the wheel. 

Embracing change to improve my life is an integral part of sobriety. Focusing on gentleness created space to leave my old comfort zone behind without self-harming or self-sabotaging. Taylor Swift was right when she said, "Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts." But, thankfully, those tiny cuts can be soothed with self-compassion and grace. This experience taught me that change is a wild ride made possible with extreme gentleness by my side.

Redefining and Rediscovering Fun in Sobriety

Summer and warm weather are upon us. Everyone keeps asking me what fun things I have planned for the summer, which, surprisingly, makes me angry. My most recent Debunking Addiction piece was inspired by this idea of summer fun and how it looks different for a sober person who doesn’t drive or have any disposable income.

You can read it here: Rediscovering and Redefining Fun in Sobriety

Or read it below.

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Someone recently asked me what fun things I have planned for the summer. Surprisingly, that felt like a loaded, triggering question. As a sober person who doesn't have a driver's license or disposable income, I get jealous and resentful when people talk about their vacation plans. The fear of missing out (FOMO) surfaces, and I feel excluded from that version of fun. 

Worse yet, everything I was taught to love about summer — weddings, graduation, camping, boating, grilling, concerts, bonfires, beach days, 4th of July, baseball games — involves alcohol. Thanks to patio season, I can't even walk to work without seeing people outside local restaurants drinking. I avoided getting sober for a decade because I didn't want to miss out on the fun.

Finding Fun in the Ordinary

This year, I have decided to redefine and rediscover fun in sobriety. Sure, alcohol does spike dopamine levels for about 15 minutes, but the comedown and the hangover are torture.¹ Alcohol, for me, was a self-abandonment tool. It numbed me and my creativity. It kept me small and disconnected from my authentic self. I no longer believe pouring poison down my throat is fun. 

Last night, to spark some fun, I packed a picnic and took my dog for a bike ride to a nearby park. We sat by a river, fed the ducks, and absorbed Vitamin D-replenishing sunshine. I did some reading, meditating, and contemplating while sipping sparkling water. Sobriety has allowed me to cultivate fun during simple, quiet moments. It has given me the gift of being present in my life. 

As I enter my third summer in sobriety, fun is seeking extraordinary moments within the ordinary. After years of hungover mornings steeped in self-hatred, nothing is more fun than waking up well-rested and refreshed. Gardening, napping, walking, dancing, preparing flavorful meals, frequent trips to the library, bike rides with my dog, writing, hammocking, daily connection with a like-minded community, and being a consistent, reliable employee are all fun. Witnessing the change of seasons and the cycles of the moon is fun. Noticing when I have made progress and getting to know the parts of myself that I dulled with alcohol is fun. And allowing my introverted, introspective self space to breathe and daydream in this productivity-driven society feels like a rebellious act, making it my favorite flavor of fun.

Alcohol-Free Fun Has Been Found

Removing alcohol from my life allowed me to step off the hamster wheel of chasing someone else's narrow, alcohol-infused idea of summer fun. My new definition of fun is mentally, emotionally, and spiritually expansive. It allows me to slow down and come home to myself after years of self-abandonment. The next time someone asks me what fun things I am doing this summer, I will remember that lacking travel plans does not mean I am missing out. Alcohol-free fun has already been found. 

Sources

1. Kelly, A. (2023, March 20). Alcohol and Dopamine. Drug Rehab. https://www.drugrehab.com/addiction/alcohol/alcoholism/alcohol-and-dopamine/

The Media's Harmful and Inaccurate Portrayal of Alcohol Addiction

My latest Debunking Addiction post was published yesterday. This week’s piece was inspired by a front-page article in my local newspaper about a man who was publicly intoxicated. 

Read it here: The Media's Harmful and Inaccurate Portrayal of Alcohol Addiction

Or read it below. 

Writing has not been flowing naturally for the past several weeks. I’ve decided to slow down and only focus on the Debunking Addiction pieces for now. Pushing myself to write more doesn’t seem to work or make me feel good. Last year around this time, I went through a writing drought for a few months, so there must be something in the air. Either way, thanks for being here. 

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Last week there was an article on the front page of my local newspaper about a man who was publicly intoxicated. The paper printed his name, hometown, and mugshot for everyone to see. This story was the talk of the tiny, touristy town where I live. Everyone thought it was acceptable to mock this man who struggles with alcohol. After hearing one too many inappropriate jokes, I found myself in a triggered tailspin. 

How the Media Affected My Recovery Process

In 2015, my hometown paper also printed my name, date of arrest, and blood alcohol content (BAC) in the crime section after my second DUI. Seeing that man's mugshot on the front page triggered the public shaming and humiliation that lives in my bones. Instead of receiving compassion or trauma-informed, gender-affirming care following my arrest, the media ostracized me. I was physically dependent on alcohol and needed help, not public ridicule.

It's difficult for me to wrap my brain around society's belief in criminalization for getting addicted to a legal, addictive substance. Why do we think exploiting people's pain and trauma is front-page news? Why, in 2023, do we still believe that handcuffs and communal disgrace are the answer to addiction? Does the media truly believe that cruelty will lead to healing? 

The media feeds us a false binary. It spreads the idea that some people can drink and others cannot. The media tells us that "good" people drink wine with dinner, while "bad" people choose to get addicted. The truth is alcohol is poison. No amount is safe.¹ The media follows the lead of Big Alcohol by suggesting there is something wrong with the individual rather than the substance.²

The media dehumanizes folks like me who get in trouble with the law for becoming addicted to this legal, addictive substance. And culturally, we're programmed to believe that behavior is normal. Rather than seeing this common type of journalism as problematic, we go along with the status quo and use humor, stigma, and privilege to disassociate from the pain it causes. In my experience, the newspaper only increased shame and self-hatred, worsening my addiction. Having my name in the paper for hitting rock bottom created unnecessary trauma, wreaking havoc on my entire family. 

Addiction is Not Front-Page News

In 2023, with all of the technology and resources available, the media needs to do better. Addiction is not front-page news. The media's lazy portrayal of addiction is incredibly harmful and inaccurate. Next time you see someone's name in the paper for struggling with a legal, addictive substance, imagine that person is family. Imagine rehumanizing them and extending a compassionate hand rather than engaging in public and communal exile. 

Sources

1. Rabin, R. C. (2023, April 4). Moderate Drinking Has No Health Benefits, Analysis of Decades of Research Finds. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/04/health/alcohol-health-effects.html

2. Sperkova, K. (2020, April 1). “Big Alcohol” Exposed: How the Alcohol Industry Infiltrates Our Lives | The Temper. The Temper. https://www.thetemper.com/big-alcohol-is-powerful-pervasive-and-dangerous-and-infiltrates-our-lives/

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Can I Use Cannabis and Still Call Myself Sober?

My most recent Debunking Addiction piece was published yesterday.

Here is a link: Can I Use Cannabis and Still Call Myself Sober?

Or, to make things easier on my end, you can just read the whole thing below. Enjoy. :)

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A few weeks ago, I told my therapist that I would not have been able to get sober without using cannabis. She chuckled, gave me a funny look, and asked if I thought cannabis use equaled sobriety. Caught off guard, I couldn't help but wonder if she had a point. Were my years of sobriety erased? Did I need to go back to Day One? Can I use cannabis and still call myself sober?

My Cannabis Story

Marijuana was not a part of my story until my early 30s, just before it became legal in Michigan. During childhood, the government and the criminal justice system taught me that marijuana was something to be feared, a gateway drug. But now, I know that rhetoric came from a place of racism and stigma. Personal experience has proven that alcohol is, in fact, the most dangerous gateway drug.

When this stretch of my alcohol-free journey began in 2020, I didn't even try to stop using cannabis. One of my favorite recovery sayings is to "kill the shark closest to the boat" or eliminate the behavior causing the most harm. For me, that behavior was alcohol consumption. Cannabis didn't lead to blackouts, ruined relationships, pancreatitis, or three-day hangovers that left me bedridden and jobless. I could still go to therapy, pay my bills, and function in the real world while using cannabis during those early days of my alcohol-free journey. Marijuana was not the shark closest to my boat.

With time though, after about 18 months alcohol-free, my relationship with cannabis shifted. Last year on October 10th at 10:10 am (10101010 for my numerology pals), I had a tooth pulled and could not smoke for five days as a part of my follow-up care. Five days seemed impossible, but I did it, gained momentum, and ended up going two whole weeks cannabis-free. When I finally did smoke again, it was a terrible experience. Now, I don't enjoy cannabis because it leads me down a mental rabbit hole of rumination and catastrophizing. Simply put, cannabis served a purpose on my alcohol-free journey until it didn't.

Does Cannabis Help Me Build a Life Worth Living?

After contemplating my therapist's question for a few weeks, I've decided that the word sober doesn't quite fit my journey, and that's okay. In today's world, everyone uses different addictive behaviors (overspending, overworking, caffeine, nicotine, pornography, disordered eating, Netflix binges, doom scrolling, ext.) to take the edge off, making it nearly impossible to claim perfect sobriety. In my experience, harm reduction by killing the shark closest to the boat was life-saving.

Perhaps asking if I can use cannabis and still be sober is the wrong question. Instead, I can take a more nuanced, less judgmental approach by practicing compassionate curiosity. Gently asking myself if certain behaviors, like cannabis use, are helping me build a life worth living is the birthplace of healing.

Sources

1. Resing, C. (2023, February 27). Marijuana Legalization Is a Racial Justice Issue | ACLU. American Civil Liberties Union. https://www.aclu.org/news/criminal-law-reform/marijuana-legalization-racial-justice-issue

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Progress. 

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Are All Women Addicted to Disordered Eating?

“As feminist writer Naomi Wolf argues, the times in history when women have made the greatest political gains—getting the vote, gaining reproductive freedom, securing the right to work outside the home—have also been moments when standards for “ideal” beauty became significantly thinner and the pressure on women to adhere to those standards increased. Wolf explains that this serves both to distract women from their growing political power and to assuage the fears of people who don’t want the old patriarchal system to change—because if women are busy trying to shrink themselves, they won’t have the time or energy to shake things up. It’s hard to smash the patriarchy on an empty stomach, or with a head full of food and body concerns, and that’s exactly the point of diet culture.”

-Christy Harrison

My most recent Debunking Addiction piece has been published.

Here’s a link: Are Women Addicted to Disordered Eating?

This week I wrote about disordered eating as an addiction. This topic has been near and dear to my heart for over a decade. Ongoing diet talk among the women at my job inspired this piece. It seems like body hatred and calorie restriction are normal topics of conversation. In this piece, I attempt to uncover why we, as women, believe that disordered eating makes us “good,” while eating sugar and carbohydrates makes us “bad.” When did our bodies become an issue of morality?

If not for my past with an eating disorder, I would probably still engage in and subscribe to the lies of diet culture. I would still be addicted to disembodiment like the rest of society. My relationship with food might never be perfect, but at least I no longer believe that my worth as a woman is tied to the size of my body.

Progress.

Childless Thirty-Five-Year-Old Woman

Yesterday was my 35th birthday. Thirty-five feels icky, like a big fat reminder that my youth is gone. Every person who found out I was turning thirty-five responded by asking if I had kids. When I said no, they weren’t afraid to remind me that my biological clock is ticking. Childless thirty-five-year-old women seem to be an anomaly, especially among older white folks.

My childhood best friend recently gave birth to her fifth kid. Our post-high school paths could not have been more different. She did everything “right” according to societal norms. She found a guy who makes a lot of money, tied that shit down early, and now homeschools five little ones. I, on the other hand, did everything “wrong.” The only thing I’ve done five times since high school is get arrested.

The full moon in Pisces brought a heavy wave of grief. The older I get, the more aware I am of how unorthodox my life has been. My life experiences do not fit a traditional mold, requiring me to pave my own path without a blueprint from past generations (Alexa, play You’re on Your Own, Kid by Taylor Swift).

One thing I never thought I’d say is: I spent my 35th birthday alone and wouldn’t have had it any other way. I had the day off from work and stayed in my PJs. I took two naps, ate four pieces of cake, and took my dog for a 39-degree, vitamin D-replenishing bike ride. I attended three Tempest calls, pulled some tarot cards, meditated, and ordered take-out Thai food for dinner. I let myself cry and grieve and process.

That might not seem like a typical birthday celebration, but spending a day in solitude is the most soothing practice in my sobriety toolkit. To recharge, I need at least one day each week where I can just be without having to fake or change my emotions. Resting and metabolizing in silence is a luxury.

Being alone feels like a revolutionary act because I avoided it for almost thirty-three years. Pre-sobriety, I spent all my free time with bulimia and alcohol. To be alone and not self-harm is the ultimate celebration.

This morning I noticed that my grief has morphed into relief. Honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful to ring in my 35th year without kids. Maintaining my mental health, processing complex PTSD, navigating recovery in a diet and alcohol-obsessed culture, paying my bills in late-stage capitalism, staying out of jail, and keeping myself alive is hard work. I can’t imagine having the extra responsibility of kids. 

Being a proud childless thirty-five-year-old woman and breaking free from my conservative upbringing might seem controversial, but if Chelsea Handler can do it, so can I. My worth as a woman is not dependent upon reproduction. I am allowed to make my own decisions about my own body.

Trying to fit into the narrow, heteronormative, misogynistic box of womanhood almost killed me. Childless thirty-five-year-old women are not a sign of immorality. We are a sign of freedom. Just because my life doesn’t look a certain way doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.

Someday I will get my driver’s license back, buy an RV, travel with three dogs, and write a book. My biological clock might be ticking, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give birth to my dreams.

Progress.

The Criminalization of Addiction

My next piece of writing for the Debunking Addiction blog has been published. 

Here’s a link: Debunking the Criminalization of Addiction

This is a topic that boils my blood. Nothing is more inhumane than criminalizing folks for using drugs to cope with their trauma. Every time I got arrested for my addiction, my addiction got worse. My shame and trauma compounded, making me less likely to get better. Carrying around a criminal record is heavy. It hinders the hiring process, makes me ineligible for decent housing and insurance coverage, and creates a mountain of fees and debt. The criminal justice system is not interested in healing people. They’re interested in punishment and keeping people trapped. 

Without money and white privilege, the criminal justice system is inescapable. The war on drugs is nothing more than a monetization of people’s pain. Reaching out for help is terrifying because it results in heavy stigma and potential jail time. It’s no wonder overdoses have reached epidemic levels. 

We live in a world that believes people like me are unworthy of fundamental human rights. Worse yet, we live in a world that believes alcohol use is okay for some people while we criminalize others for the same behavior. It makes no sense.

If we want folks to heal from addiction, the criminalization of addiction must end. 

Handcuffs are not the answer.

Progress. 

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Seeing Triggers as a Gift

I experience triggering situations all of the time. Unfortunately, I imagine this is true for all people in recovery from substance use disorders. The reason most of us use drugs, alcohol, food, or any addictive behavior is to numb PTSD or other mental health symptoms. It’s not fun to constantly feel activated by my surroundings, but it’s a relentless part of sobriety.

Last week at work, there was a conversation about snowmobiling to bars and then driving home intoxicated like it was funny. As someone deemed a criminal for drinking and driving, I felt triggered by this conversation for days until I could unpack it with my therapist. Subconsciously that conversation brought me back to the handcuffs, the nights in jail, the inhumane strip searches, and the removal of my dignity. I felt intense, red-hot, boiling anger toward my coworkers for joking about using their privilege to avoid the law.

A few days later, I came across a Sah D'Simone meditation on InsightTimer that instructed me to see my triggers as a gift. What if I used triggering moments to direct me toward the work I need to do? What would happen if I tended to these triggers with compassion? What if I watered the seeds of self-love instead of resentment?

When I pause, look inside, and notice what is beneath my anger, I see my 23-year-old, hungover self curled up on a jail cell floor. I am shaking, sobbing, humiliated, petrified, cursing God, and alone. I see a girl who needs a hug and someone who understands, not gun-carrying men who speak to me like I’m scum.

While reflecting on that version of myself is painful, it is also the part of me that needs the most love. By reacting to triggers with anger, I unintentionally water the seeds of suffering. But when I uncover what is beneath my anger, I create space for healing. Choosing to see my triggers as a gift ignites curiosity and compassion. Wisdom lives underneath the trigger.

Today marks 99 consecutive days of meditation.

A few years ago, I couldn’t go 48 hours without drinking. Sticking with something for 99 days feels like a miracle. Meditation is something I look forward to now. It’s a time for me to connect with and recenter myself after people say triggering shit at work. It helps me slow down, which feels like a rebellious act in a society that values productivity.

Last night while meditating, I had a future vision of myself changing laws. If we are going to live in a culture where (this drug called) alcohol is legal and available 24/7, then all motor vehicles need to have breathalyzers. It is unfair to punish, humiliate, and criminalize a select few while others continue to joke about breaking the law.

Triggering conversations at work will continue to happen. But at least I can choose to see those triggers as a gift. I can use them to direct my path of inner work and healing.

By tending to my triggers with compassion, I release the anger that dims my light.

By watering seeds of kindness, I create space to shine bright.

Progress.

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No Such Thing as an Alcoholic

My most recent piece of writing is up on the Debunking Addiction blog. I wrote it last week while reflecting on the 11th anniversary of my first DUI. When I first tried to quit drinking 11 years ago, the only path to recovery was the Twelve Steps. My only option was to call myself an alcoholic and surrender to the “disease” of alcoholism.

Recently, a few brilliant women have changed the conversation. This piece explains why I do not identify as an alcoholic.

Read it here: Debunking the Words ‘Alcoholic’ and ‘Alcoholism’

"But the term alcoholic and the “disease” of alcoholism create fear—fear that you will always crave alcohol, forever have to use willpower to resist it, spend the rest of your life just trying not to drink. Because our idea of an alcoholic is someone who attends Alcoholics Anonymous for the rest of their life, assumes a lifetime label, and is stuck in perpetual craving— one drink away from being a drunk, one day at a time. Because our concept is that alcoholics are different, they’re outcasts and social pariahs and weak-willed and a whole host of other things no one wants to be. I can’t begin to tell you the number of times someone who struggles with alcohol has said to me, “I’m not one of them,” or “I’d rather keep drinking than suffer that fate.” A label with a heavy stigma does nothing but keep us in a fear state about our own drinking, preventing us from being able to observe our own drinking as it shows up in our lives." -Holly Whitaker

Here are some of my favorite resources further explaining this topic.

This Naked Mind Podcast - Annie Grace
Why I Stopped Calling Myself an Alcoholic - Holly Whitaker
Nine Reasons There is no Such Thing as Alcoholism - Holly Whitaker

Also, if you identify as an alcoholic and it works for you, then great! I’m not here to belittle anyone’s path. I’m just here to share the most recent studies and language updates. After a decade of searching, I finally found what works for me.

Progress.

One of my favorite readers suggested I set up a ko-fi page. This creates the option to tip me for my writing. Here’s a link: Kelsi's Ko-fi Account

Ugh, the Super Bowl

Ugh, the Super Bowl.

Every time someone mentions this massive cultural event, I get triggered. In October 2015, I got arrested for my second DUI. Four months later, this commercial aired during Super Bowl 2016.

Everyone I know watches the Super Bowl. One hundred million people tune in for this toxically masculine, racist event centered around alcohol, gambling, and bottled-up rage. And now, every single one of them is being fed the message that I am a short-sided, utterly useless, oxygen-wasting human form of pollution. As if being criminalized for my trauma wasn’t bad enough. Now everyone also thinks I am a Darwin-award-winning selfish coward.

I internalized pop culture’s view of people who drink and drive. It makes sense that I feel my jaw clench and shoulders tense when people mention the Super Bowl. The trauma of those words lives in my body.

Worse yet, this is a Budweiser commercial. Not only does Big Alcohol make serious cash during the Super Bowl, but they also use their power to spread a message that keeps people like me trapped in shame.

As you might have guessed, I will not be watching the Super Bowl tonight.

Instead, I will focus on celebrating two years of practicing sobriety with Tempest. My alcohol-free journey hasn’t been perfect, but I have had 99.4% alcohol-free days since the week of Valentine’s Day 2021. I have proven to myself that I am not, and never was, the lowlife person the Super Bowl told me I am.

If we want people to recover from Alcohol Use Disorder, the language must change. The picture mainstream media and Big Alcohol paint to describe folks like me is horrific, egregious, dehumanizing, and verbally abusive. It would not be acceptable to describe any other mental health disorder or deadly disease with such vulgarity during the most-watched TV timeslot. Why is alcohol addiction the exception?

Two years of sobriety have taught me that punishment, shame, humiliation, and criminalization don’t lead to healing. Pop culture does not define me. Besides, being a follower of toxic masculinity, racism, booze, gambling, and pent-up rage has never been my style.

Instead, I get to move forward with love and kindness. I will step into inevitable Super Bowl conversations with grace. All I have to do is celebrate my progress with a new houseplant and tend to my trauma with compassionate care.

Progress.

The Normalization of Alcohol

“We are supposed to consume alcohol and enjoy it, but we're not supposed to become alcoholics. Imagine if this were the same with cocaine. Imagine we grew up watching our parents snort lines at dinner, celebrations, sporting events, brunches, and funerals. We'd sometimes (or often) see our parents coked out of their minds the way we sometimes (or often) see them drunk. We'd witness them coming down after a cocaine binge the way we see them recovering from a hangover. Kiosks at Disneyland would see it so our parents could make it through a day of fun, our mom's book club would be one big blow-fest, and instead of "mommy juice" it would be called "mommy powder." There'd be coke-tasting parties in Napa and cocaine cellars in fancy people's homes, and everyone we know (including our pastors, nurses, teachers, coaches, bosses) would snort it. The message we'd pick up as kids could be Cocaine is great, and one day you'll get to try it, too! Just don't become addicted to it or take it too far. Try it; use it responsibly. Don't become a cocaine-oholic though.

But with alcohol, it’s different. We do have categories of “normal drinkers” and “alcoholic drinkers,” and often we don’t know which we are. We are given messages through advertising, movies, TV, our parents, our peers, and social media that alcohol is this magical, life-giving substance that will work wonders for us (if we’re normal, which we are assumed to be). We are supposed to be able to tolerate it, and when we can’t, when it doesn’t feel good or things start going to hell for us, it’s not the substance that’s the problem - it’s us. We are damaged, weak-willed, defective, and totally fucked.”

-Holly Whitaker

 My second piece of writing on the Debunking Addiction blog was published two days ago. I wrote it after I heard someone joke about four grown men getting black-out drunk at a one-year-old’s birthday party.

Being in recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) can be lonely and confusing while living in an alcohol-obsessed culture. I wrote this to remind myself of the truth.

Here’s a link: Debunking the Normalization of Alcohol

Constantly feeling triggered does not make me broken.

Constantly feeling triggered and still showing up in this world makes me a courageous human who is doing my best to survive in a society that normalizes and jokes about the drug that almost killed me.

Progress.

Developing Self-Trust

Indecisiveness is something I have struggled with my whole life. Growing up in a misogynistic, fatphobic culture meant that around age twelve, I learned the only way to be accepted was to ignore my body and emotions. To fit in, I had to disassociate from myself. Then, in my twenties, I was forced into an addiction recovery program rooted in powerlessness after being criminalized for my trauma. It’s no wonder self-trust doesn’t come naturally.

This past week life presented me with an enormous, life-changing decision. Feeling torn between two options leads me to a heightened emotional and overthinking state. Historically, instead of trusting myself, I have relied on the opinions of others to help me choose right from wrong. I used alcohol or bulimia or whatever numbing agent I could get my hands on to keep my intuition at bay. All that numbing led to a lifetime of people-pleasing, rash, and hungover decisions.

The only way to avoid numbing while making this decision was to indulge in all the soothing practices available in my sobriety toolkit. The only way to welcome this self-trust developing opportunity was with kindness.

The first thing I did was allow myself space and grace and to move at a snail’s pace. All I could do was focus on slowing down and making the next right choice. Rest, hydration, and nourishment became my main priorities.

Next, I forced myself to be vulnerable, which has never come easily to me. Tearfully weighing out the options with my therapist and closest friend helped release some weight. I don’t have to carry big decisions alone.

Meditation and quiet time in nature also helped me connect with my innermost knowing. A few nights ago, after doing this meditation, I sipped tea and cried for almost three hours. Instead of distracting or numbing myself, I sat on the couch with my weighted blanket, allowed each emotion to surface, and then went straight to bed. Taking time to process difficult emotions, I’m learning, is a crucial step in reestablishing self-trust.

Yesterday, after a week of contemplation, I finally made a balanced decision based on my goals for the future. Thinking for myself and releasing people-pleasing feels foreign and scary. But, in the past, disassociation and reliance on the opinions of others led to addiction. Embodiment is the path toward healing.

Even though the stress of this past week’s indecisiveness left me with a twitching left eye, I can still celebrate this opportunity to build self-trust. I can celebrate my vulnerability and my thoughtfulness. Whatever happens in the future will be okay because my relationship with numbing has changed. By releasing the idea of making the right or wrong choice, I create space to stand firmly on my own two feet, listen to my gut, and lean into self-trust.

Progress.

“This life is mine alone. So I have stopped asking people for directions to places they’ve never been.” 

-Glennon Doyle

Addiction is Not a Choice

“Addiction is not a choice that anybody makes; it’s not a moral failure; it’s not an ethical lapse; it’s not a weakness of character; it’s not a failure of will, which is how our society depicts addiction. Nor is it an inherited brain disease, which is how our medical tendency is to see it. What it actually is: it’s a response to human suffering, and all these people that I worked with had been serially traumatized as children. All the women had been sexually abused. All the men had been traumatized, some of them sexually, physically, emotionally neglected. And not only is that my perspective, it’s also what the scientific and research literature show. So addiction then, rather than being a disease as such or a human choice, it’s an attempt to escape suffering temporarily.” -Gabor Mate

My first Dubunking Addiction Myths post was published yesterday. I wrote it after one of my coworkers said she believes addiction is a choice.

Ten years ago, one of my cousins recommended I read the book In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts by Gabor Mate. That book changed my entire outlook on addiction. It made me feel seen in a society that believes addiction is some morally-inept choice. Everyone should read this book or listen to a few of his podcast interviews. He has been a pioneer in the addiction field for decades.

Here is a link to my article: Debunking the Myth of Choice in Addiction

I challenge all of you to speak up the next time you hear someone say addiction is a choice. People die addiction-related deaths every single day, and we, as a society, continue to turn a blind eye. Hopefully, this piece will spark a more compassionate conversation.

Progress.

Sixty-Four Days of Meditation

The past six weeks of my life have been a wild, overwhelming ride. Leaving my old job two months ago has opened up some unexpected and magical doors. But sometimes, I wonder if starting two new jobs and simultaneously trying EMDR for the first time is too much. While these are all positive steps forward, it has felt like a sprint.

Whenever I get home from work, I am so overstimulated that I need to go lay in a dark, quiet room to recalibrate my nervous system. All the socializing and forced friendliness leave me feeling fried, drained to the last drop. I’m starting to understand my fifteen-year gravitational pull toward using bulimia and alcohol after work. Both are incredibly efficient at numbing my overstimulated, dysregulated, and often triggered state.

One of the reasons I have been able to handle all of this change is my meditation practice. Today marks sixty-four days in a row of guided meditations on InightTimer.

I wouldn’t say I have reached the point of fully connecting with my subconscious or even being able to sit still while meditating, but I have started to rely on deep breathing as a way to return home to myself. Being out in the real world can be scary for a person in recovery. People constantly joke about and bond over body-hatred, weight loss, and drinking, forcing me to paint a fake smile over my raging insides to appear socially acceptable and likable. Without the meditative practice of recentering myself each day, I would not have survived these past six weeks.

One of my biggest worries is that my new writing job will consume my free time, and I won’t be able to write as much here. My Debunking Addiction Myths introduction post was published last week, and my first full post will be published this upcoming week. I’ll be sure to share that writing here as well.

During the weeks to come, my only goals outside of work are to rest, hydrate, eat enough calories, walk my dog, attend Tempest calls, meditate, and file my taxes. I can let go of feeling lazy because doing more might push me over the edge. For the time being, the more weighted blanket naps and meditation I can incorporate into my schedule, the better.

Progress.

I Forgive Myself for Landing Here

The first full moon of the year greeted us with its glorious presence this weekend. Friday evening at exactly 6:09 p.m. I welcomed the wolf moon with a pull from my tarot deck and a guided meditation. This full moon has been an emotional ride, illuminating a painful awareness of how behind in life I feel. With my 35th birthday approaching, I cannot help but compare my journey to others. Nothing about my life feels on track. Lacking a driver's license leaves me feeling angry and ashamed for landing here.

Yesterday morning I took my dog, Teddy, out for a moonlit walk at 5:00 a.m. I enjoy walking early in the morning because the world around me is quiet. It is just me, Ted, and my intuition in a meditative state without any distractions. Basking in the stillness of the full moon allowed me to hear my innermost voice comfort my heightened emotional state with this affirmation:

I forgive myself for landing here.

As a child, I learned that the only suitable life path was to go to college, find a husband, have a few babies, buy a house, and accumulate wealth. Anything else would not equip me for survival in this heteronormative white patriarchal capitalist society. So I did everything I could to control and contort myself to fit that narrow mold.

The only problem with all of that controlling and contorting was that it required me to abandon myself completely. Last week on the We Can Do Hard Things podcast, Glennon’s sister, Amanda, said: "By controlling ourselves, we cut off our natural intelligence at its root, and white supremacy grows in its place."

The need to control everything about myself - my appetite, my emotions, my sexuality, my appearance, my opinions - comes from a childhood steeped in white privilege and patriarchal norms. By doing everything I could to be perfect, I made myself so sick that it almost killed me. Addiction is where I went to numb myself from society's impossible standards. It was how I coped with the presumed detachment of my natural intelligence.

My history with addiction has taken my life down a different path than many of my peers. My life does not resemble that of a “successful” soon-to-be 35-year-old. But what if that is the best thing that has ever happened to me? Being different creates space to reconnect with my inner child. It allows me to rebuild a foundation that works for me. Addiction and sobriety have given me a rare opportunity to free myself from the chains of controlling and contorting. I get to chop that patriarchal brainwashing bullshit at its root and watch my natural intelligence grow in its place.

It makes sense that I fell into addiction while trying to survive in a society designed to disconnect me from myself. It is okay if my life looks different than I thought it would because I am breaking free from the cycle of generational oppression and trauma. 

Thanks to my reflections during the full moon, I can forgive myself for landing here.

Progress.

Celebrating the Ordinary

Yesterday at work, one of my fellow shift leads asked everyone how drunk they got on New Year’s Eve like it was normal and appropriate. As you can imagine, my whole body tensed as I tried to contain my rage. I never know how to react when I am out in the real world, and people talk about getting shit-faced like it’s no big deal. How is it possible that using this highly addictive drug and Group 1 carcinogen is considered a suitable way to celebrate the New Year?

While immersed in society’s excessive holiday emphasis on alcohol, I noticed a dip in my mood. For most of December, I was drowning in lethargy, resentment, and emotional mood swings. Sometimes I feel like an outcast. I feel like I did something wrong for not being able to “handle” booze like everyone else. My anger and shame for being criminalized were heavier than usual. It was easy to get stuck in a thought loop of hating everything and everyone, making hibernation sound like an enticing way to survive this season.

My New Year’s Eve festivities looked like any other midwinter night. I took my dog for a long walk downtown, lit some candles, ate some leftover lasagna, had a good cry, brewed a pot of tea, listened to a guided meditation, curled up in my bed with a book, and was sound asleep by 8 pm. There was no fancy party or sparkly dress. There was just me and my gloomy mood.

Luckily, the Universe gave me two not-so-coincidental things to chuckle about on New Year’s Day that helped lift my spirit.

First, before the sun rose, I got out my tarot cards and drew The High Priestess. The High Priestess is an invitation toward stillness and meditation. This card shows a woman sitting on her throne with her laptop and the moon at her feet. The High Priestess knows the path toward enlightenment lies within and is only accessible through a quiet routine, which is exactly how I rang in the New Year.

Second, I have a Word of the Day app on my phone, and ironically, my New Year’s Day word was iconoclastic, which means to go against generally accepted beliefs and traditions. Is there anything more iconoclastic than remaining teetotal on New Year’s Eve?

Now that the season has passed and my mood is restabilizing, I can see the New Year was an opportunity to reflect on all of the wonderfully soothing routines I added to my life in 2022. The development of my evening routine has been a lifesaver. It’s the thing that replaced dousing myself with ethanol after a long day. It has become my place of refuge, a spiritual practice, and the path home to myself.

If the New Year is a party, I celebrate the ordinary. My New Year was a continuation of self-nourishment instead of self-abandonment. There is something magical about returning home to myself night after night. Why would I want to ring in the New Year any other way?

The only intention I am setting for 2023 is to keep adding routines to my life that fill up my cup. All I want for 2023 is to be like the High Priestess and continue quietly down the path of self-discovery, even if that makes me an iconoclastic outcast amongst work pals.

Progress.