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.

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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