tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79946083974001497522024-03-19T04:12:20.361-07:00Progression ObsessionKeeping track of my progress while recovering from a life threatening battle with anorexia and addiction.Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.comBlogger348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-7005480279515883862023-05-30T03:13:00.000-07:002023-05-30T03:13:35.144-07:00Extreme Gentleness<p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p>My latest <em>Debunking Addiction</em> piece was published yesterday. I wrote about using extreme gentleness to move through this change. </p><p>You can read it here: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/5/embracing-change-in-sobriety-with-extreme-gentleness" target="_blank">Embracing Change in Sobriety with Extreme Gentleness</a></p><p>Or read it below.</p><p>Happy Summer, friends. :)</p><hr /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Embracing Change in Sobriety with Extreme Gentleness</span></h3><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><h2>What if This Could be Gentle? </h2><p>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. </p><p>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? </p><h2>How to Practice Extreme Gentleness</h2><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEify7LYGPKsYbCKxkkClw6oeddnE76Mk3rN7e38BvRUsc6-8AXq0mmpTRarWf8FvjOvRVrpIe_kExrQOfqUZxjIGKZp5aUeuYa_K-mP_a9R2CNSOBI4C5dvS6eN8loBtcexGDTTH5cz0SI6HeHRJLK1Yc4BmFPMpRxye5JmUfsrxeaK-D-Gp03AH428vw/s952/gentle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="735" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEify7LYGPKsYbCKxkkClw6oeddnE76Mk3rN7e38BvRUsc6-8AXq0mmpTRarWf8FvjOvRVrpIe_kExrQOfqUZxjIGKZp5aUeuYa_K-mP_a9R2CNSOBI4C5dvS6eN8loBtcexGDTTH5cz0SI6HeHRJLK1Yc4BmFPMpRxye5JmUfsrxeaK-D-Gp03AH428vw/w309-h400/gentle.jpg" width="309" /></a></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-25033730433455412432023-05-04T03:51:00.000-07:002023-05-04T03:51:37.421-07:00Redefining and Rediscovering Fun in Sobriety<p><br /></p><p>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.</p><p>You can read it here: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/5/redefining-and-rediscovering-fun-in-sobriety" target="_blank">Rediscovering and Redefining Fun in Sobriety</a></p><p>Or read it below.</p><hr /><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><h2>Finding Fun in the Ordinary</h2><p>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.<sup>1 </sup>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="356" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QZEUugG7HpM" width="489" youtube-src-id="QZEUugG7HpM"></iframe></div><h2 style="text-align: left;">Alcohol-Free Fun Has Been Found</h2><p data-pm-slice="1 3 []">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. </p><p><strong>Sources</strong></p><ol><li><p>Kelly, A. (2023, March 20). <em>Alcohol and Dopamine</em>. Drug Rehab. https://www.drugrehab.com/addiction/alcohol/alcoholism/alcohol-and-dopamine/</p></li></ol>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-68011512759398370972023-04-18T03:54:00.000-07:002023-04-18T03:54:03.423-07:00The Media's Harmful and Inaccurate Portrayal of Alcohol Addiction<p>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. </p><p>Read it here: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/4/the-medias-harmful-and-inaccurate-portrayal-of-alcohol-addiction" target="_blank">The Media's Harmful and Inaccurate Portrayal of Alcohol Addiction</a></p><p>Or read it below. </p><p>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. </p><hr /><p>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. </p><h2>How the Media Affected My Recovery Process</h2><p>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.</p><p>It's difficult for me to wrap my brain around society's belief in criminalization for getting addicted to a<em> legal</em>, 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? </p><p>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.<sup>1</sup> The media follows the lead of Big Alcohol by suggesting there is something wrong with the individual rather than the substance.<sup>2</sup></p><p>The media dehumanizes folks like me who get in trouble with the law for becoming addicted to this <em>legal</em>, 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. </p><h2>Addiction is Not Front-Page News</h2><p>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 <em>legal</em>, addictive substance, imagine that person is family. Imagine rehumanizing them and extending a compassionate hand rather than engaging in public and communal exile. </p><p><strong>Sources</strong></p><ol><li><p>Rabin, R. C. (2023, April 4). Moderate Drinking Has No Health Benefits, Analysis of Decades of Research Finds. <em>The New York Times</em>. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/04/health/alcohol-health-effects.html</p></li><li><p>Sperkova, K. (2020, April 1). <em>“Big Alcohol” Exposed: How the Alcohol Industry Infiltrates Our Lives | The Temper</em>. The Temper. https://www.thetemper.com/big-alcohol-is-powerful-pervasive-and-dangerous-and-infiltrates-our-lives/</p></li></ol><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyO63NbY3EHwA_qaRUUoNSD7HGEJmdpsClC8KrO5CM-NVAN8yIotrqHk6gYynpytBazJme5PskioT-QC7rkSeG4KvJgmh_FYUtpRAuR06t2LrVSqihX0peiZbLcJSOgDsOs_zebh3BZjiu0onRy7vzysF6IDaxV_w5xz2zQXALU88xMuaGruISTpX01w/s1080/123345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyO63NbY3EHwA_qaRUUoNSD7HGEJmdpsClC8KrO5CM-NVAN8yIotrqHk6gYynpytBazJme5PskioT-QC7rkSeG4KvJgmh_FYUtpRAuR06t2LrVSqihX0peiZbLcJSOgDsOs_zebh3BZjiu0onRy7vzysF6IDaxV_w5xz2zQXALU88xMuaGruISTpX01w/w400-h400/123345.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://ko-fi.com/kelsicronkright" target="_blank">Buy Me A Coffee ;)</a><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-61626412670689154982023-04-04T09:07:00.006-07:002023-04-04T09:09:25.674-07:00Can I Use Cannabis and Still Call Myself Sober?<p data-pm-slice="1 1 []" style="text-align: center;">My most recent Debunking Addiction piece was published yesterday. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Here is a link: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/4/can-i-use-cannabis-and-still-call-myself-sober" target="_blank">Can I Use Cannabis and Still Call Myself Sober?</a></p><p style="text-align: center;">Or, to make things easier on my end, you can just read the whole thing below. Enjoy. :)</p><div style="text-align: center;">________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>My Cannabis Story</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Does Cannabis Help Me Build a Life Worth Living?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sources</div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: center;">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</li></ol><div style="text-align: center;">__________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXpO6UfhJzpVuD6qac0p6mci3m0bdjh8mXFktHHK0khkW1r5oqoJP2KidFlVYeNVrx6m0tPLjf-1qGMd0lafGadxGenycbBtEfReHFp8j4bduJMdH3MSD1zpQvgzSN2mxOdye2NRfdBpkbh5ETszUNohC9oZoAdbVU4Vs26oLroxHNQ9hQ9TXNy250A/s2413/1234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2413" data-original-width="1242" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXpO6UfhJzpVuD6qac0p6mci3m0bdjh8mXFktHHK0khkW1r5oqoJP2KidFlVYeNVrx6m0tPLjf-1qGMd0lafGadxGenycbBtEfReHFp8j4bduJMdH3MSD1zpQvgzSN2mxOdye2NRfdBpkbh5ETszUNohC9oZoAdbVU4Vs26oLroxHNQ9hQ9TXNy250A/w330-h640/1234.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://ko-fi.com/kelsicronkright" target="_blank">Buy Me A Coffee ;)</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-724402670968747452023-03-22T03:46:00.000-07:002023-03-22T03:46:18.276-07:00Are All Women Addicted to Disordered Eating? <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“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.”</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-Christy Harrison</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My most recent Debunking Addiction piece has been published.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here’s a link: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/3/are-women-addicted-to-disordered-eating">Are Women Addicted to Disordered Eating?</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwyXoDi5vO6O76fxKsDFR4xE5FZ5gvHuU0wEgQxYQnxtUcbVEegBiYQw9vaMXYPVdTkXTrDYwWu9iUPoRd9Svid5BrsuNkh3ydAUp6UsX0yh9dtQBpcNOK3DXNtPJ6qQS55QqhHD-IuX0KRY10J3IKY-SpeuglTV49skHSJqsHQaypWlD70FwcG2Wvw/s900/8418362016455b92a1579084b7c9a4c7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwyXoDi5vO6O76fxKsDFR4xE5FZ5gvHuU0wEgQxYQnxtUcbVEegBiYQw9vaMXYPVdTkXTrDYwWu9iUPoRd9Svid5BrsuNkh3ydAUp6UsX0yh9dtQBpcNOK3DXNtPJ6qQS55QqhHD-IuX0KRY10J3IKY-SpeuglTV49skHSJqsHQaypWlD70FwcG2Wvw/w266-h400/8418362016455b92a1579084b7c9a4c7.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-7502310913803722792023-03-09T09:19:00.002-08:002023-03-09T09:25:51.599-08:00Childless Thirty-Five-Year-Old Woman<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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 <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Gbg6Z70J7E" target="_blank">You’re on Your Own, Kid</a> by Taylor Swift).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Being a proud childless thirty-five-year-old woman and breaking free from my conservative upbringing might seem controversial, but if <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTyJ77Y7XB0" target="_blank">Chelsea Handler</a> 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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4g6Uxf3lbik6J9HGINrMLw-dEIwd7PdRxzTI5XRbEt1eqtCwNlGxgG7lGk2L9u145g71_gh9JYveDEAlMpIiLQGUYyR9lPvAd6seryzJMc27dIQrgI2-DbACxSGERu2ytDseU5EZ9fxht8jGo5hvguGx5d-qpGlKDqrqVKtAAw8PHrOCmkp1dSmJBQ/s4032/35.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4g6Uxf3lbik6J9HGINrMLw-dEIwd7PdRxzTI5XRbEt1eqtCwNlGxgG7lGk2L9u145g71_gh9JYveDEAlMpIiLQGUYyR9lPvAd6seryzJMc27dIQrgI2-DbACxSGERu2ytDseU5EZ9fxht8jGo5hvguGx5d-qpGlKDqrqVKtAAw8PHrOCmkp1dSmJBQ/w300-h400/35.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-77612679056116384272023-03-08T05:42:00.000-08:002023-03-08T05:42:13.946-08:00The Criminalization of Addiction<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My next piece of writing for the Debunking Addiction blog has been published. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here’s a link: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/3/debunking-the-criminalization-of-addiction" target="_blank">Debunking the Criminalization of Addiction</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p data-pm-slice="1 1 []">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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>If we want folks to heal from addiction, the criminalization of addiction must end. </p><p>Handcuffs are not the answer. </p><p>Progress. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigb-c9_GGfs7iENeA6juL50UDawbt4b8SLCmJWIWgjy0GkXWitvhcerBAKBVbBddX6c3pJOVBjN2NWcVkVxqKZ4R3_T_p5F-OQ7KrUW1lYC-wVRJ6ovrDMxQq78RLr8xxz6hIUUe09kc3ztuD3o7vhMsG4E3iW_h_1K-Q18a0YC6n6LNzeMZ53277HjA/s1941/hopess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1941" data-original-width="1500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigb-c9_GGfs7iENeA6juL50UDawbt4b8SLCmJWIWgjy0GkXWitvhcerBAKBVbBddX6c3pJOVBjN2NWcVkVxqKZ4R3_T_p5F-OQ7KrUW1lYC-wVRJ6ovrDMxQq78RLr8xxz6hIUUe09kc3ztuD3o7vhMsG4E3iW_h_1K-Q18a0YC6n6LNzeMZ53277HjA/w309-h400/hopess.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><p><a href="https://ko-fi.com/kelsicronkright" target="_blank">Ko-Fi Account</a></p></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-89646447076902547022023-02-25T05:52:00.002-08:002023-02-25T06:05:42.653-08:00Seeing Triggers as a Gift<br /><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A few days later, I came across a<a href="https://insighttimer.com/sahdsimone/guided-meditations/seeing-triggers-as-a-gift-19-minute-daily-insight" target="_blank"> Sah D'Simone meditation</a> 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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today marks 99 consecutive days of meditation.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUdHHbOOk1GyAEsNL4CtKkbtT4ChRV0ub80T27pua_dbLq9vnelylQeV0MXxaMliqhNANnQZUqm5XH_Q8nYuzqlAgdUAWNIaTjjedU78wMc9CV91srCENdeGIflX5ijsTORYEQ4C-X6sJ4yChqu3PMmn2IVJPrrL7iqmw0YE9PAF7ETOK9rHSz6lWCQ/s1116/99days.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1116" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUdHHbOOk1GyAEsNL4CtKkbtT4ChRV0ub80T27pua_dbLq9vnelylQeV0MXxaMliqhNANnQZUqm5XH_Q8nYuzqlAgdUAWNIaTjjedU78wMc9CV91srCENdeGIflX5ijsTORYEQ4C-X6sJ4yChqu3PMmn2IVJPrrL7iqmw0YE9PAF7ETOK9rHSz6lWCQ/s320/99days.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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 <b>all motor vehicles</b> need to have breathalyzers. It is unfair to punish, humiliate, and criminalize a select few while others continue to joke about breaking the law.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">By tending to my triggers with compassion, I release the anger that dims my light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">By watering seeds of kindness, I create space to shine bright.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkl0GpPNpwfBHsUOtHgGcXsUF1aMvw6bbiLFt0pK7liSv-UJ9-cYaM-9aE0dpIjTm99ZqlmCRXfpuZVRJv5vNVQyXt1tnCmKUyNmBKGQ0DC3M1wkNQtYeK92p2xAwYDb-6HG1VO1v9Z05FwKZ-idHlohQhJ1DRcOP5j7zqKOr0x7geYRWo7l8qilvEg/s300/seeds.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkl0GpPNpwfBHsUOtHgGcXsUF1aMvw6bbiLFt0pK7liSv-UJ9-cYaM-9aE0dpIjTm99ZqlmCRXfpuZVRJv5vNVQyXt1tnCmKUyNmBKGQ0DC3M1wkNQtYeK92p2xAwYDb-6HG1VO1v9Z05FwKZ-idHlohQhJ1DRcOP5j7zqKOr0x7geYRWo7l8qilvEg/w400-h400/seeds.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://ko-fi.com/kelsicronkright" target="_blank">Tipping options available: Kelsi's Ko-Fi account</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Follow my <a href="https://kelsi.substack.com/" target="_blank">Substack newsletter here</a></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-32990658443740238772023-02-21T04:49:00.000-08:002023-02-21T04:49:24.965-08:00No Such Thing as an Alcoholic <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Recently, a few brilliant women have changed the conversation. This piece explains why I do not identify as an alcoholic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Read it here: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/2/debunking-the-words-alcoholic-and-alcoholism" target="_blank">Debunking the Words ‘Alcoholic’ and ‘Alcoholism’</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"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</span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here are some of my favorite resources further explaining this topic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://thisnakedmind.com/podcasts/" target="_blank">This Naked Mind Podcast</a> - Annie Grace<br /><a href="https://time.com/5743993/stopped-calling-myself-alcoholic/" target="_blank">Why I Stopped Calling Myself an Alcoholic</a> - Holly Whitaker<br /><a href="https://medium.com/@hipsobriety/9-reasons-theres-no-such-thing-as-alcoholism-9be3ccd4490d" target="_blank">Nine Reasons There is no Such Thing as Alcoholism</a> - Holly Whitaker</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p data-pm-slice="1 1 []">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: <a href="https://ko-fi.com/kelsicronkright" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" target="_blank">Kelsi's Ko-fi Account</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8WJu1be2duYI5FHiTrFsyJsLdY06H1e-TXSm6f811zmRCNIxVE9x4O_NuYjNzD1-W-W69CVA92ZkaFmcubI6rIwq0_tC7pw3kmislBq6XAi-Qt-ixHWmoLOyY3U3k2EkVqrj1L_BR-csLdAyR5W90oOBrZShEkhOBpbXmzSXin_gGzLQPMAKZEUhuA/s640/expectations.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8WJu1be2duYI5FHiTrFsyJsLdY06H1e-TXSm6f811zmRCNIxVE9x4O_NuYjNzD1-W-W69CVA92ZkaFmcubI6rIwq0_tC7pw3kmislBq6XAi-Qt-ixHWmoLOyY3U3k2EkVqrj1L_BR-csLdAyR5W90oOBrZShEkhOBpbXmzSXin_gGzLQPMAKZEUhuA/w400-h400/expectations.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-50592903622378089542023-02-12T05:44:00.001-08:002023-02-12T05:44:56.698-08:00Ugh, the Super Bowl<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ugh, the Super Bowl.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="313" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/R4JBQ3_7i3Y" width="377" youtube-src-id="R4JBQ3_7i3Y"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As you might have guessed, I will not be watching the Super Bowl tonight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><p data-pm-slice="1 1 []">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. </p><p>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.</p></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuKTK1fwUmscuwbLj3JBEQ1fTK0y5AQPyVaCwmHVIlECM0YOaQnKLDFlNUmDBbPWilizHwIkIRZNppwRwnoOCbJ4U7uPFzYFh71ytz6W6Ck_91Bd1lzFGMGtnBj2oQ4Llal1fhzL1XloKqS5hECnKz8h90X2BYNzAaYmA-9vk6Sq_6Ljig_AFXNlT9Q/s1080/gentleness%20and%20care.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuKTK1fwUmscuwbLj3JBEQ1fTK0y5AQPyVaCwmHVIlECM0YOaQnKLDFlNUmDBbPWilizHwIkIRZNppwRwnoOCbJ4U7uPFzYFh71ytz6W6Ck_91Bd1lzFGMGtnBj2oQ4Llal1fhzL1XloKqS5hECnKz8h90X2BYNzAaYmA-9vk6Sq_6Ljig_AFXNlT9Q/w400-h400/gentleness%20and%20care.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-50519051151004233222023-02-08T04:10:00.000-08:002023-02-08T04:10:09.754-08:00The Normalization of Alcohol<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="pullquote" data-pm-slice="2 2 []"><p></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">“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. </p><p style="text-align: center;">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.”</p></blockquote><blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">-Holly Whitaker</p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> 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.</p><p style="text-align: center;">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.</p><p data-pm-slice="1 1 []" style="text-align: center;">Here’s a link: <a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/2/debunking-the-normalization-of-alcohol" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" target="_blank">Debunking the Normalization of Alcohol</a></p><p style="text-align: center;">Constantly feeling triggered does not make me broken.</p><p data-pm-slice="1 1 []" style="text-align: center;">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.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Progress.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxWV3Z3_KwmnDGkTBANfdOUTJ31vzT3gkRK0zgU79PeehmEK3fG2xDXlPOktizKbwGLtqOlmDAfi6R7oRfRANoNSKiLTj-Uv_QFNdFLXhe5u1DGGfro11j-ZQD5wp1v6YhGwesbQdbM-fv2vplQQmWTWO7WminKDpG_mghJenjTREouwYn37_geuaRQ/s1287/f363c64d0586f1a2d73a9d107d1de40f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1287" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxWV3Z3_KwmnDGkTBANfdOUTJ31vzT3gkRK0zgU79PeehmEK3fG2xDXlPOktizKbwGLtqOlmDAfi6R7oRfRANoNSKiLTj-Uv_QFNdFLXhe5u1DGGfro11j-ZQD5wp1v6YhGwesbQdbM-fv2vplQQmWTWO7WminKDpG_mghJenjTREouwYn37_geuaRQ/w230-h400/f363c64d0586f1a2d73a9d107d1de40f.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><p></p></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-81795972320575087632023-02-04T03:58:00.000-08:002023-02-04T03:58:51.371-08:00Developing Self-Trust<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Meditation and quiet time in nature also helped me connect with my innermost knowing. A few nights ago, after doing <a href="https://insighttimer.com/sahdsimone/guided-meditations/from-grief-to-acceptance-a-healing-practice" target="_blank">this meditation</a>, 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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“This life is mine alone. So I have stopped asking people for directions to places they’ve never been.” </div><div style="text-align: center;">-Glennon Doyle</div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8ZSfVOsAxdVUs77vBLY2REe3AxNdObkxE6v-voerWDmSupj4pP-zNrb7uwbh5hC6O28s5wdW4PxE4_xugiaJ02_shCesaNYjSpte0HF0cVTxJXaU5j567MD7HGX7RfEUGvjPWdSPHiMgU5WDQ0lld5_Tjq4bs5ZWpLU6lmeIK0Kk0u6ed6ldKut9ew/s1132/IMG_2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="834" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8ZSfVOsAxdVUs77vBLY2REe3AxNdObkxE6v-voerWDmSupj4pP-zNrb7uwbh5hC6O28s5wdW4PxE4_xugiaJ02_shCesaNYjSpte0HF0cVTxJXaU5j567MD7HGX7RfEUGvjPWdSPHiMgU5WDQ0lld5_Tjq4bs5ZWpLU6lmeIK0Kk0u6ed6ldKut9ew/w295-h400/IMG_2017.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-58956171515073701252023-01-24T04:27:00.000-08:002023-01-24T04:27:49.201-08:00Addiction is Not a Choice<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“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 </span><span style="font-size: medium;">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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My first Dubunking Addiction Myths post was published yesterday. I wrote it after one of my coworkers said she believes addiction is a choice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ten years ago, one of my cousins recommended I read the book <a href="https://drgabormate.com/book/in-the-realm-of-hungry-ghosts/" target="_blank">In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts </a>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 <a href="https://linktr.ee/gabormateappearances" target="_blank">listen to a few of his podcast interviews.</a> He has been a pioneer in the addiction field for decades.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here is a link to my article:<a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/1/debunking-the-myth-of-choice-in-addiction" target="_blank"> Debunking the Myth of Choice in Addiction</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqJYWVEMO_Mw7YjtNXJFlliuhk_kJxoOBnmOxUPQCiUD6OUrUx0o9WjoxYP9Bqz3vy1_36zdrwuGwceD4OVtGJq0Ev_d-kMUh_uJ7ghvCMnD11hBUrsEjO2mJ7jqaYb3oM3FQX7CDFh4sClRfAcmgnMVogh77fvFsdUIK29yBKNjyXfsvti0OSawYVw/s295/choosing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="236" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqJYWVEMO_Mw7YjtNXJFlliuhk_kJxoOBnmOxUPQCiUD6OUrUx0o9WjoxYP9Bqz3vy1_36zdrwuGwceD4OVtGJq0Ev_d-kMUh_uJ7ghvCMnD11hBUrsEjO2mJ7jqaYb3oM3FQX7CDFh4sClRfAcmgnMVogh77fvFsdUIK29yBKNjyXfsvti0OSawYVw/w320-h400/choosing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-39620156035706330652023-01-21T11:00:00.000-08:002023-01-21T11:00:04.415-08:00Sixty-Four Days of Meditation<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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 <a href="https://www.emdria.org/about-emdr-therapy/" target="_blank">EMDR</a> for the first time is too much. While these are all positive steps forward, it has felt like a sprint.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTS1scOsVRQlXc-3xpfB_O87FEkDnp9g_sZ1UsYjepLihC0Z3l80s6KYk0zQJX5hWp2bHFSWv1YLFoHMEZJNtUb2jcG6isQcawg6GRkx9jH3aQ4_BBreykYVa5cQob3fQRsDfhYxR4vPYGYp9oojX3U-XBXkWrhxnM_9sRwRE1WuH_X05o5s3Qm5WJzA/s1116/64%20days.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1116" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTS1scOsVRQlXc-3xpfB_O87FEkDnp9g_sZ1UsYjepLihC0Z3l80s6KYk0zQJX5hWp2bHFSWv1YLFoHMEZJNtUb2jcG6isQcawg6GRkx9jH3aQ4_BBreykYVa5cQob3fQRsDfhYxR4vPYGYp9oojX3U-XBXkWrhxnM_9sRwRE1WuH_X05o5s3Qm5WJzA/w261-h233/64%20days.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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 <i>Debunking Addiction Myths </i><a href="https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/debunkingaddiction/2023/1/introduction-to-kelsi-cronkright-author-of-debunking-addiction" target="_blank">introduction post </a>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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZd_HVGKR5aRH4QUNTW2AawmSgfhOaBc054UeLyeAtyR7ec-zhYZLRo7LpSFR0vGTRAaxKVoQSwzTNkfsZ-rqjqy6200FBcuEzCD4pfeH-X8s1OnUuiguFYsfeN9wV9C7q4nJVJv18oXsnHAhOTcPwRvJwtGcw0MfRakM7sjVbbyQtYcWXIIXwwlihug/s736/rest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="736" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZd_HVGKR5aRH4QUNTW2AawmSgfhOaBc054UeLyeAtyR7ec-zhYZLRo7LpSFR0vGTRAaxKVoQSwzTNkfsZ-rqjqy6200FBcuEzCD4pfeH-X8s1OnUuiguFYsfeN9wV9C7q4nJVJv18oXsnHAhOTcPwRvJwtGcw0MfRakM7sjVbbyQtYcWXIIXwwlihug/w400-h396/rest.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-13945816344867583932023-01-08T04:59:00.002-08:002023-01-08T05:00:09.110-08:00I Forgive Myself for Landing Here<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I forgive myself for landing here.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The only problem with all of that controlling and contorting was that it required me to abandon myself completely. Last week on the <a href="http://wecandohardthingspodcast.com/" target="_blank">We Can Do Hard Things</a> 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."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thanks to my reflections during the full moon, I can forgive myself for landing here.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXD_KibTdWNr-1kACo1d2j0dNWP5f1YlnvKbCO2eWbN74Hu3TDybmNLFBIQIKboZqkmyfR7IM1JIoOWj5NlaDlf4duBkXMeUnTzsNJsHmWQaHdi1Jud9M6pL-P2IsJD2j9I-R-XG3JO4y4jvoBG_wy6LhGus26vFJ5HqcaOluz9HTHxEdElMmSwONZWQ/s736/mooon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXD_KibTdWNr-1kACo1d2j0dNWP5f1YlnvKbCO2eWbN74Hu3TDybmNLFBIQIKboZqkmyfR7IM1JIoOWj5NlaDlf4duBkXMeUnTzsNJsHmWQaHdi1Jud9M6pL-P2IsJD2j9I-R-XG3JO4y4jvoBG_wy6LhGus26vFJ5HqcaOluz9HTHxEdElMmSwONZWQ/w400-h400/mooon.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-90781500768354295412023-01-04T09:21:00.000-08:002023-01-04T09:21:27.233-08:00Celebrating the Ordinary<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Luckily, the Universe gave me two not-so-coincidental things to chuckle about on New Year’s Day that helped lift my spirit.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdc3orCyGhttXIc9eK13bYA9-6_Yngh7IVcAaG09mXglqm3uj1Qk7gHhUrCbesBcXhiv0pOz1DbxkkoCfULr-srICcmO8yuPHFLHtysio0c3wvtpqy3ltotA6FQua_e476K0QrJ4aUe_ar-VypLl8qNugyUgmwne4OOQHTSAKF5eBLZTmS9y7qqGMxA/s3823/highpriestess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3823" data-original-width="2269" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdc3orCyGhttXIc9eK13bYA9-6_Yngh7IVcAaG09mXglqm3uj1Qk7gHhUrCbesBcXhiv0pOz1DbxkkoCfULr-srICcmO8yuPHFLHtysio0c3wvtpqy3ltotA6FQua_e476K0QrJ4aUe_ar-VypLl8qNugyUgmwne4OOQHTSAKF5eBLZTmS9y7qqGMxA/w238-h400/highpriestess.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-84870601179890929622022-12-21T06:19:00.000-08:002022-12-21T06:19:58.327-08:00A Toast to the Winter Solstice<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today is the Winter Solstice. The solstice brings the fewest hours of daylight and the longest, darkest night of the year. Winter has officially begun. For many of us, the extra darkness and barren cold create a season of poor mental health. But what if we could use this time to improve well-being instead? What if we could harness the darkness and reignite our inner light?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The word solstice combines the Latin words sol or “sun” and sistere or “to stand still,” making “sun stands still” the literal definition of this day. It is almost as if the Sun is taking a break. The Sun understands that we all need a season of rest and reflection. The Winter Solstice represents a much-needed pause. This day creates space for my favorite things: cozy candlelit cocooning and contemplation.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today I also celebrate thirty-three consecutive days of practicing meditation using an app called InsightTimer. For years I have heard people speak about the benefits of mediation, but I have never managed to get into a consistent rhythm - until now. I wish I could say some major transformation has occured after 33 days, but that has not been the case. Not yet, anyway. People say it takes roughly 60-90 days before the magic begins.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpv70AFMGrTlFKAwkuCVJoHUrDsv-Gm3JUJWVyGHXz-cguoxuNunmoJeNgft39A2L_nSYs4vWsivBNmQGLWUjhhg3DXSC0bXm2Q-OH8Lw7nVNvB_LViWB6jsPmKEmGJ81LO91YrNe026tFJ5cWpSEtq4WofR25463yS9jm4d_yMbPB6kkdyJmbK2vgQ/s1231/33days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpv70AFMGrTlFKAwkuCVJoHUrDsv-Gm3JUJWVyGHXz-cguoxuNunmoJeNgft39A2L_nSYs4vWsivBNmQGLWUjhhg3DXSC0bXm2Q-OH8Lw7nVNvB_LViWB6jsPmKEmGJ81LO91YrNe026tFJ5cWpSEtq4WofR25463yS9jm4d_yMbPB6kkdyJmbK2vgQ/s320/33days.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">What I have noticed, though, is a tiny shift in the regulation of my overworked nervous system. Breathing deeply, even if only for ten minutes a day, really does help with my anxiety and constant anticipatory dread. Sinking below the surface creates space to reconnect with my true self. The goal of meditation is not to have zero thoughts. The goal is to quietly listen to the parts of myself that I have been programmed to bury and ignore for decades. Using meditation as a tool to slow down feels like a rebellious and revolutionary act while living in a society that values constant productivity and distraction.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As the New Year approaches, I refuse to make resolutions to better myself. What I am willing to do, however, is set up a daily meditation practice intended to help rediscover myself. Ideally, I will report back here with a monthly meditation update. Thirty-three consecutive days is a big deal. I want to keep the ball rolling.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As a toast to the Winter Solstice, I will spend the day in cozy matching Christmas PJs with my dog, Teddy. I will light all of the candles, draw a hot bath, bundle up for a brisk walk, savor a simmering pot of soup, brew endless cups of tea, take a nap, and of course, meditate. I will follow the Sun's lead and take a gentle break to reignite my inner light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxFgmdirGkyskm6JQcKF5p5Xbtt7p53I1ts0672Pe81kwwkBixNaRd5urNFa2GaH9gM0UZZicaotJph-g-bLK5vjwxE31fmDExFJvUEeInaIQHzAw8jNugts3ymPx73tZEmIdJ34c1_pzqim-epU2FCyQL922wrSOSc-tMB0GlcB_n8oTXRLCymK6dg/s4032/IMG_4416%5B1310%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxFgmdirGkyskm6JQcKF5p5Xbtt7p53I1ts0672Pe81kwwkBixNaRd5urNFa2GaH9gM0UZZicaotJph-g-bLK5vjwxE31fmDExFJvUEeInaIQHzAw8jNugts3ymPx73tZEmIdJ34c1_pzqim-epU2FCyQL922wrSOSc-tMB0GlcB_n8oTXRLCymK6dg/w300-h400/IMG_4416%5B1310%5D.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-15594320740348588382022-12-17T06:24:00.002-08:002022-12-17T06:25:44.125-08:00A Love Letter to Baristas<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If you read my last post, you know that I helped open a franchise-owned chain coffee shop this past week. Luckily, prior barista experience helped quell my nerves. I thought I knew what to expect because I also helped open a smaller, locally owned coffee shop in 2016. However, I quickly learned how much busier and more chaotic these larger chain coffee shops are. It was madness.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In my opinion, baristaing is one of the most intense entry-level jobs in existence. We rise from our warm, cozy beds around 4am and arrive to work by 5am. Once the coffee shop opens, it is a literal sprint until the end of the shift. There is no time to breathe or to regulate the nervous system. There is only time for efficiency and vibrancy. Yesterday at 6:15am we had a line of ten customers inside and eight cars outside waiting in the drive thru. Working folks are desperate for their daily hit of caffeine. Before I had time to sip my own cup of joe, there was a stack of fifteen drink orders.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Imagine having to make this lineup of drink tickets as quickly possible hours before the sun comes up:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Iced matcha latte with oat milk</div><div style="text-align: center;">Quad shot Americano with room for cream and three splendas</div><div style="text-align: center;">Decaf sugar free vanilla latte with almond milk and no whipped cream</div><div style="text-align: center;">Banana berry smoothie with half the flavoring, extra strawberries, and soy milk</div><div style="text-align: center;">Half caff caramel hazelnut latte extra hot</div><div style="text-align: center;">London Fog with an extra tea bag, three pumps of vanilla, and skim milk</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cafe au lait extra hot with 2% milk, one pump white chocolate, and three sugars in the raw</div><div style="text-align: center;">Triple shot frozen sugar free peppermint stick mocha no whip</div><div style="text-align: center;">Extra dry coconut milk cappuccino at 145 degrees</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cold brew with light ice, cinnamon syrup, and two inches of sweet foam</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hot chocolate at 120 degrees, extra whipped cream, and sprinkles</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ready? Go!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In addition to memorizing hundreds of drink recipe combinations, baristas are also expected to effortlessly strike up conversations with cranky uncaffeinated customers over top of blaring music and noisy coffee bean grinders. We think three steps ahead at all times while acting chipper and bubbly. I get a headache just thinking about it. For extroverts, this might come naturally and even be enjoyable. But for highly sensitive, neurodivergent introverts like me, this job is draining AF.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Because writing is how I process my emotions and recenter, I decided to write a love letter to all of my fellow baristas:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Dear Barista,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I see you. I love you.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I understand the mental and emotional gymnastics that come with this job.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know how easy it is to get frustrated and overwhelmed.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know how hard it is to have multiple people talking at you while you're trying to focus.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know you are forced to mask the shit going on in your personal life.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know you always have a headache.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know you’re grossly underpaid.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know you’re sleep deprived and surviving on caffeine.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know customers are grumpy and impatient even though you’re trying your best.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know it feels impossible to get out of your cozy bed in the dead of winter at 4am.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know that you are too exhausted and too overstimulated to function after each shift.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I also know that you are doing it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You are showing up and doing your best.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You are juggling a thousand things at once and still smiling.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This is a job for special humans.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And you just happen to be one of those special humans.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You have superpowers.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am so proud of you for showing up.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I see you. I love you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am learning that, for me, the only way to make this job sustainable is to really take care of myself in my free time. If I was still drinking, this type of work would be impossible. Although it's tough to get out of bed at 4am, I am incredibly grateful that I am not waking up hungover. Sobriety gives me space to be gentle and kind with myself, which is exactly what I need to counterbalance the chaos of being a barista.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9zmG6BBkti9kT_o_77SJZTcBUn2qNU5Apr8_WtnMTDBl_kso5ADwobw9HOlUHD5388Z6ryqAO2xmQf59u7dFdxszmuAFUkPI5l9mXUh_WoxpH-kfcnLWSj8xoHxoPYTwGwUp2mVTDexOB_4IORSdDN4WKOOVH5U_kB-E0eLlOIEEY521op-hkR5-wg/s1080/breathe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9zmG6BBkti9kT_o_77SJZTcBUn2qNU5Apr8_WtnMTDBl_kso5ADwobw9HOlUHD5388Z6ryqAO2xmQf59u7dFdxszmuAFUkPI5l9mXUh_WoxpH-kfcnLWSj8xoHxoPYTwGwUp2mVTDexOB_4IORSdDN4WKOOVH5U_kB-E0eLlOIEEY521op-hkR5-wg/w400-h400/breathe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-69773290960123392312022-12-11T09:53:00.000-08:002022-12-11T09:53:38.177-08:00Leaps of Faith<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Phew. How are we approaching mid-December already? Usually, December is a time for reflection and setting intentions for the New Year, but this year I have barely had any time to catch my breath. Last week I started not one but two new jobs. I knew last month when I left my old shitty kitchen job that I was taking a leap of faith. I knew stepping into a new job role would be draining. I knew having my daily routines thrown out of whack would be destabilizing. I also knew that the Universe would catch me if I remained alcohol-free.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">However, I did not know the Universe would grant me two job opportunities at the same time. It has been a tough week, but I am finally starting to come out on the other side. I am finally rediscovering my center while living in the messy middle.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The first job, I am a little embarrassed to say, is as a barista at a popular chain coffeehouse where I am incredibly overqualified. On the first day of training, I was so nervous and rattled with thoughts of being a “loser'' that I got dizzy and fainted (lol). After more than a decade of fine dining and coffee industry experience, it feels excruciating to show up as an entry-level employee. I am struck by grief and shame each time I see past schoolmates and past coworkers post on social media about opening restaurants, founding thriving kombucha companies, and creating lattes named after Taylor Swift songs (who wouldn't want a Lavender Haze or a Snow on the Beach latte?!). Social media can feel like a big, fat reminder that I messed up my life.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The second job, however, is an actual paid writing job (eeeeeekk!!!) for a mental health website called HealthyPlace. My job will be to write essays debunking addiction myths. Because this job pays, I believe this officially makes me a professional writer, which has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t pay nearly enough to cover my bills, but that’s okay because the Universe also gave me a part-time barista job to get me by financially. A girl has to start her writing career somewhere, after all. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I took a leap of faith and the Universe caught me, just as I knew it would. Every time thoughts of being a “loser” creep into my mind, I can combat them with “professional writer” thoughts. My life might not look like everyone else’s life. I might not have a “real job” or a perfect criminal background, but I am chasing my dreams. And anyone who follows their dreams cannot possibly be a “loser.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqN9VBKCeadtsXOQt6p-Q3xn8x4KwnNgv0t7uzBF_2D-sM0LK1N9SlRub9yX_XFWID1fi0L-kAS-ULyE2h017kVOQA9IY5swsmqhPduoDogt4bLvOX1SsYdIggtuh0hnQ-WOTahFzOIK_7RK-7JbabUnZhNDA-O3wu70xQv1YNk2BR4Rd3z87qvs6GA/s1000/f8b3482bb7bad0263981ba1561ce701c.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqN9VBKCeadtsXOQt6p-Q3xn8x4KwnNgv0t7uzBF_2D-sM0LK1N9SlRub9yX_XFWID1fi0L-kAS-ULyE2h017kVOQA9IY5swsmqhPduoDogt4bLvOX1SsYdIggtuh0hnQ-WOTahFzOIK_7RK-7JbabUnZhNDA-O3wu70xQv1YNk2BR4Rd3z87qvs6GA/w400-h400/f8b3482bb7bad0263981ba1561ce701c.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-44958523764322288422022-11-26T08:55:00.000-08:002022-11-26T08:55:02.531-08:00Redefining Success <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My driver’s license was suspended in 2015 after my second DUI and I haven’t been able to get it back since. Not being able to drive limits the jobs I am able to take. If the job is not within walking distance it is out of the question. Having a criminal record also hinders the hiring process. Next week I am interviewing for a job that I am two degrees and ten years of experience overqualified for, which has sent me into a raging shame spiral.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Society, white patriarchal norms, and late stage capitalism have painted a narrow view in my mind of what it means to be successful: a husband, a six figure job with health insurance, kids, a mortgage, a pool, a mini van, fancy vacations, botox, etc. In a few short months I will be 35 years old. Interviewing for an entry level job feels like the opposite of success. It feels like I am way behind in life, like I am a fuck up, like there must be something wrong with me. It feels unfair that my trauma and mental health problems were criminalized, and therefore, “success” became unreachable.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yesterday while walking my dog at our favorite park, I had an epiphany. What if I can create my own definition of success? What if attempting to fit into this sick society is at the root of my addictions? What if, after all I have been through, simply showing up for my life is success?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And then, this morning my daily Mantra Project email from Holly Whitaker said: “Zen priest Norman Fischer says that the point of our lives is nothing more than to develop compassion, connection, love, and friendliness. That’s IT. Those are the big things we’re here to do! To love more, to love one another, to be friendly to ourselves and each other, to lead with our hearts.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This (not the pythagorean theorem or the periodic table) is what we should teach kids in grade school. This is how success should be measured. Success has nothing to do with my SAT score, what college I get into, the amount of wealth I accumulate, my job title, or the square footage of my home. Success has everything to do with the amount of love I have in my heart. It has everything to do with how I treat myself and others.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At this point on my journey, success looks like loving myself enough to remain teetotal while living in a society that is obsessed with alcohol. It looks like eating enough calories, getting enough rest, showing up for therapy and Tempest calls, taking good care of my precious pup, being outside in nature, regularly engaging in my creative practice, meditating, and stepping into a new job role with self-compassion. Success is not measured by my “criminal” background or by money. It is measured by how well I tend to my roots and to my soul.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As my entry-level job interview approaches and my negative self-talk rises, I will remind myself that I am already successful. I will quiet the shame spiral with self-love. The Universe has not dealt me the most ideal hand of cards, but it has given me the Queen of Hearts. It has given me the gift of love, which is all I need to be truly successful.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“We are more likely to think the point is to be miserable and survive</div><div style="text-align: center;">than we think the point is to love and thrive.”</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Holly Whitaker</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhokmn4TfYO1q8tqa1iMIMqAQhNLRR9A-S_FOb3Ky0fJ6d_xbGUVyujB09o6GT1jicjDG4Q1RdZAZhgnUvCP_2Wv_uhXJstvRtHQ3qaegoK0osVpjJIHxiX0bYXltEEXbyTAD9OGQ0NR7ZypnVZcwW07xaeg17N2tDQXjauiz5s8ze3UT3gf_7spiPx1w/s1080/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhokmn4TfYO1q8tqa1iMIMqAQhNLRR9A-S_FOb3Ky0fJ6d_xbGUVyujB09o6GT1jicjDG4Q1RdZAZhgnUvCP_2Wv_uhXJstvRtHQ3qaegoK0osVpjJIHxiX0bYXltEEXbyTAD9OGQ0NR7ZypnVZcwW07xaeg17N2tDQXjauiz5s8ze3UT3gf_7spiPx1w/w400-h400/love.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-66588413312054961812022-11-23T03:59:00.000-08:002022-11-23T03:59:18.234-08:00Leaning Into Uncertainty<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Universe has been throwing me some serious curveballs lately. Last week my partner and I were supposed to move to a new town. I put in two weeks notice at my job. I started packing. I was excited for a new chapter. And then, just two days before our move in date, we viewed the place for the first time. The carpets had not been cleaned, the ceiling was covered in cobwebs, and there was a frisbee-sized grease stain on the stove. We decided it was too dirty and too overpriced. The move didn’t happen.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So here I am: unemployed during the holidays and forced to lean into uncertainty. Bah humbug.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sure, I could go back to my old job. But while driving thru Taco Bell last week, I noticed a sign that said they are hiring and paying entry level workers $4 more per hour than my previous shitty kitchen job was paying me. And I have a culinary arts degree, for goodness sakes. Don’t get me wrong, my old job did teach me some important lessons and got me back on my feet in early sobriety. However, Taco Bell helped me decide that I am done being overworked and exploited with my level of experience.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It has been one week since my last day of work. For seven days I have been complaining about feeling cooped up and bored. And yet, all of this downtime has made me realize that I have been running myself ragged for an entire year as a way to avoid pain and difficult emotions. I have been overexercising and ignoring my body’s hunger cues. My shoulders and neck are constantly sore from all of the tension. I am malnourished and desperate for a change, which is exactly what the Universe has given me. It might not be the change I was expecting, but it’s still a change nonetheless.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The good news is, I am sober. And miraculously, this curveball has not made me crave alcohol. I can trust that the Universe will catch me because, for the first time in my life, I trust myself enough to not drink. Thankfully, I have enough money in my savings account to survive on for an entire year. Even better, there is a new coffee shop opening just two blocks from me in January. I will be okay.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Quotes always seem to appear in my life when I need them most. This one is no exception: “Her nervous system had been through so much. She decided to spend the rest of her life calming the inflammation. Thoughts, feelings, memories, behavior, relations. She soothed it all with deep, loving breaths and gentle practices. The softer she became with herself, the softer she became with the world, which became softer with her. She birthed a new generational cycle: Peace.” </div><div style="text-align: center;">-Jaiya John</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe this is my chance to step into a softer way of life. Maybe I don’t need to push myself to the point of breaking anymore. Like the quote says, my nervous system has been through more than enough. All I need to do is focus on renourishing, resting, and breathing until another work opportunity falls into place.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All I need to do is be gentle with my body.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All I need to do is cultivate a little more peace.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All I need to do is slow down, lean into uncertainty, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and trust that the Universe has given me exactly what I need.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0EDyvooan_B-RcyeZt8EMxARQY2nSo3IvcmLnJkKqH1VmyZwSNR-46iq_vB_N7_AZPjisW8biZJzdFV_FHX7nplTHLU6Iyt6R0x3glR_-aQBW2wh7BdDVKEGLac8FPeFkBhwSkGbsD28gKsMhOsY42UPKCtKpz7__kfzSXhJzOakt3T5lj6RTroP7w/s750/451665164f590b01d156916802385e39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0EDyvooan_B-RcyeZt8EMxARQY2nSo3IvcmLnJkKqH1VmyZwSNR-46iq_vB_N7_AZPjisW8biZJzdFV_FHX7nplTHLU6Iyt6R0x3glR_-aQBW2wh7BdDVKEGLac8FPeFkBhwSkGbsD28gKsMhOsY42UPKCtKpz7__kfzSXhJzOakt3T5lj6RTroP7w/w400-h400/451665164f590b01d156916802385e39.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-642113569846347612022-11-18T04:12:00.002-08:002022-11-18T04:20:11.507-08:00You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The holidays are here. There are only 37 more sleeps until Christmas morning. For most of my life this time of year has come with a mixed bag of heavy emotions. My overly sensitive heart throbs like an exposed nerve during the holidays. Grief, pain, loneliness, and even addiction seem to intensify amongst the hustle and bustle and excessive spending. Ever since experiencing the holidays in rehab in 2015, I seem to be acutely aware of the fact that some people don’t receive any gifts or have anyone to celebrate with.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sometimes I wonder if it’s even possible to show up for holiday parties centered around my two drugs of choice (food and alcohol) and pretend like I’m fine with all of this bubbling beneath the surface. Sometimes I think the decorations, the lights, the carols, and the gifts are all superfluous. Sometimes I feel like the Grinch.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This morning while doing a little work in Glennon’s Doyle’s Get Untamed journal I came across a concept she calls Easy Buttons and Reset Buttons. Glennon writes, “Easy buttons are the things that appear in front of us that we want to reach for because they temporarily take us out of our feelings, pain, and stress. They do not work in the long run, because what they actually do is help us abandon ourselves. You know you’ve hit an easy button when, afterward, you feel more lost in the woods than you did before you hit it.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Reaching for a temporary dopamine hit during the holidays feels natural. We all do it. This is not something that is unique to sobriety. Shaming myself for occasionally using an Easy Button won’t make the season any brighter. Luckily, Glennon says Reset Buttons are the tools I can use to recenter myself. They are things that make staying with myself a little more possible.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Glennon suggests making a list of Easy Buttons and Reset Buttons. My list of Easy Buttons includes: weed, alcohol, food restriction, oversleeping, overspending, overexercising, excessive caffeine, mindlessly scrolling social media, losing myself in political rage, procrastination, and isolation.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Conversely, my list of Reset Buttons includes: quiet time, writing, reading, hydrating, having a snack or a meal, hot tea or cocoa, deep breathing exercises, Grey’s Anatomy, podcasts, coloring books, meditation, crying, Taylor Swift, candles, cozy blankets, limiting social media and news, taking a short walk outside, bubble baths, and cuddling with my dog.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Numbing out with Easy Buttons ultimately leaves me feeling like garbage. Reset buttons might not completely eliminate difficult emotions, but at least they won’t leave me feeling even worse in the long run. Reset buttons should feel cathartic and reinvigorating.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">One of the most well-known lines from The Grinch is: “The Grinch hated Christmas - the whole Christmas season. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. But the most likely reason of all, is that his heart was two sizes too small.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I can definitely relate to feeling grumpy, unpleasant, and antisocial during the holidays. But, unlike The Grinch, I think it’s because my heart is actually two (or three or four) sizes too big. As a highly sensitive human, I am overwhelmed by all of the pain and all of the joy. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’m not a mean one (🎵Mr. Grinch🎵). </div><div style="text-align: center;">I’m just a super soft one, (🎵Miss Grinch🎵) </div><div style="text-align: center;">who happens to gravitate toward Easy Buttons during the holidays.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thankfully, this year I have a list of Reset Buttons to help fill the season with a little more comfort and joy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“Maybe Christmas (he thought)</div><div style="text-align: center;">doesn’t come from a store.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe Christmas</div><div style="text-align: center;">perhaps means a little bit more.”</div><div style="text-align: center;">-The Grinch</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_z6XsOqEFJBdMHHmp8b6FHNigmcJQgjNpEBPBlpRPY6MjOYI7-qA5hCoBAY5IGZJhBXeRhVPPqr7EJw1l4DXLvdTbalR8YdkIb6a32c_eidPCw-eMripsH2wfVe6LNWrT0kB6yHuKrRy6zDuGgF05T7nopukT0whOzAUEaBl2BIm0UpRabqy5_rqDbQ/s4032/IMG_2708.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_z6XsOqEFJBdMHHmp8b6FHNigmcJQgjNpEBPBlpRPY6MjOYI7-qA5hCoBAY5IGZJhBXeRhVPPqr7EJw1l4DXLvdTbalR8YdkIb6a32c_eidPCw-eMripsH2wfVe6LNWrT0kB6yHuKrRy6zDuGgF05T7nopukT0whOzAUEaBl2BIm0UpRabqy5_rqDbQ/w300-h400/IMG_2708.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-14690585096553530382022-11-15T05:35:00.000-08:002022-11-15T05:35:13.507-08:00Welcoming Winter<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This morning my 5:30am walk with Ted was greeted by the first snowfall of the season. Last week Ted and I took our final bike ride of the year. The 10 day forecast does not have a single day over 40 degrees. The onset of Daylight Savings Time has me ready for bed by 6pm. After an abnormally warm fall, winter has finally arrived.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If you’re anything like me, this is by far the most challenging time of year for my mental health. Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is a real thing. My melancholy peaks in the darkness. For most of my adult life, drinking and eating disordered behaviors have been used to numb out these seasonal feelings of sadness. Earlier sunsets gave me an excuse to uncork a bottle of wine earlier in the day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In order to bring a little extra light to this dark time of year, I started re-reading a book called <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wintering-Power-Retreat-Difficult-Times-ebook/dp/B085N3MXHZ" target="_blank">Wintering</a> written by Katherine May. May writes, “Plants and animals don’t fight winter: they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I like the idea of welcoming this season instead of fighting it. Creating new routines helps me adapt. I have prepared by stocking my pantry with cocoa, herbal tea, and soup fixings. Instead of daily bike rides, I get to slow down, cocoon, and hibernate. Stringing twinkle lights all over the house brings a soft glow that saves me from total darkness.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This book talks about the importance of winter and the importance of our cyclical nature. Winter is an opportunity to gaze inward. It’s a time to cozy up with our emotions and deepest desires. It’s a season to indulge in extra rest and extra care. Sure, feeling blue will happen, but that doesn’t mean I need to run from it. Just because I feel sad doesn’t mean I am a sad story.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Choosing sobriety creates space to move through this difficult season with extreme gentleness. Winter offers us liminal space to inhabit. There’s no need to refuse it. There’s no need to pour liquid poison down my throat in order to survive. In my experience, drinking only made my sadness and darkness worse. It only made it harder to see the light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again,” says May. This time of year is a reminder that nothing in life is permanent. Change is the only constant. Moving through this season in softness and grace is the only way forward. Eventually spring will arrive and the work of blooming will begin. But for now, I will welcome my doom and gloom with cozy candlelight and excessive self-comfort.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Two of my other favorite books to read during winter are:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bittersweet-Sorrow-Longing-Make-Whole/dp/0451499786/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2ROGEITXC39LT&keywords=bittersweet+susan+cain&qid=1668517640&sprefix=bittersw%2Caps%2C343&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Bittersweet </a>by Susan Cain</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Rest-Resistance-Reclaiming-Divine-Right/dp/0316365211/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1AZ9NIMR5EJ4W&keywords=rest+is+resistance+tricia+hersey&qid=1668517688&sprefix=rest+is+%2Caps%2C111&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Rest is Resistance </a>by Tricia Hersey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYl4aAeR4OcimraMyXRn2wvedNlZJp49XeCGeQe4I-ELUCsA2Uhcr9LQiUQ2z0CEA1nx4hfICr0C34pCVkcZaYak6MfPHdmIvwQSxm1h862-UeHQ-U_KEVRPEtIwbKcQzzUkJ7Vpvr2r2LG5jPhRWJMPNWgcgNg6qFykDPRyvfDxCnd5AthrofHz5mHg/s1334/ef41246369e880e586b02930ad25ecc0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYl4aAeR4OcimraMyXRn2wvedNlZJp49XeCGeQe4I-ELUCsA2Uhcr9LQiUQ2z0CEA1nx4hfICr0C34pCVkcZaYak6MfPHdmIvwQSxm1h862-UeHQ-U_KEVRPEtIwbKcQzzUkJ7Vpvr2r2LG5jPhRWJMPNWgcgNg6qFykDPRyvfDxCnd5AthrofHz5mHg/w360-h640/ef41246369e880e586b02930ad25ecc0.png" width="360" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-7711113966932091952022-11-10T05:13:00.000-08:002022-11-10T05:13:29.218-08:00Attitude of Gratitude <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A couple of weeks ago I wrote about being angry. Anger has been a major theme in my life and in my writing for most of 2022. If I am being totally honest, I think I have used anger as a source of fuel in order to survive this difficult time. Yes, anger is a natural part of any healing process. But what happens when it grows? When it goes unchecked?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day after I wrote the <a href="https://kelsisprogressionobsession.blogspot.com/2022/10/its-okay-to-be-angry.html" target="_blank">It’s Okay to Be Angry</a> post, I got sick. This makes me wonder if chugging continuous acid anger eventually causes the body to break down. It would make a lot of sense if that was true. Anger dysregulates my nervous system. It makes my shoulders and my jaw feel tense and sore. It makes it difficult for me to listen, to take in my surroundings, to properly nourish my body. Anger can create a life of tunnel vision; all I see is negativity.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">About three weeks ago I signed up for Holly Whitaker’s 40 day Mantra Project. This consists of a daily email with a small written blurb, a few quotes, and a daily mantra. The day after I wrote the angry post and the day I got sick, the mantra I Have an Attitude of Gratitude serendipitously appeared in my inbox.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Holly writes: “My gratitude practice goes like this: Every time a thought creeps in to tell me about what I don't have or haven’t done, it is “simply” (and by simply I mean with a lot of work) replaced by gratitude for what I have.” According to Holly, the anecdote to anger is gratitude. I can sit here and make myself sick with anger over the things I don’t have OR I can choose to be grateful for the things I do have.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today I am grateful that I woke up without a hangover</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for Tempest</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for my dog</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful that I am no longer in legal trouble</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for all I have learned on this 10 year recovery journey</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful to have a roof over my head and the ability to pay my bills</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for my huge heart</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful that I have held down a job for the past 14 months</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful to be alive</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for all that my body does each day</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for writing</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am grateful for so many things</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When I take the time to reflect on all of the things I am grateful for, my anger is reduced. I am able to exhale a sigh of relief. My body relaxes. Gratitude is like a chill pill for my dysregulated nervous system. Sure, anger might still travel with me, but gratitude helps keep anger from fueling my bus. Anger takes a back seat when gratitude is driving.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I still believe that it is okay to be angry. All emotions are welcome. However, I no longer believe it is okay to shield myself with anger. It won’t protect me. If left unchecked, it will eventually make me physically ill.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today I will mend my heart and my body with an attitude of gratitude.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvT2yWYBdXTK2ss5kRPHjh1Zom0xQGGiPE5KpksZyO1HJo-cNYDqLh_itSvtqizlBoOYfc9TQLA_54it7pKCD9FKsvW53oQ-yDDnTpO2OuT-pf1QcBwTXbDqEgN9rJdGiHQ_B07Y2jixwhOIE-3tqtHteZ1FOTozZqQN-ibI2AZPjtPMRtFMAfc8IuQ/s4032/IMG_4319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvT2yWYBdXTK2ss5kRPHjh1Zom0xQGGiPE5KpksZyO1HJo-cNYDqLh_itSvtqizlBoOYfc9TQLA_54it7pKCD9FKsvW53oQ-yDDnTpO2OuT-pf1QcBwTXbDqEgN9rJdGiHQ_B07Y2jixwhOIE-3tqtHteZ1FOTozZqQN-ibI2AZPjtPMRtFMAfc8IuQ/w300-h400/IMG_4319.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7994608397400149752.post-78681873785279046402022-11-08T05:26:00.000-08:002022-11-08T05:26:15.357-08:00I wrap myself in a blanket of love<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Most nights while curled up in my bed attempting to drift off into a sweet slumber, my mind begins to race. The stillness and the quiet allow unwanted memories to surface making it difficult to fall asleep. Last night, for example, I began ruminating about the shameful things I did while drunk, about the people I hurt, about the many bridges I have burned. Thinking about the years of self-neglect makes me feel a bit nauseous.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite tricks for dealing with these traumatizing flashbacks is to close my eyes and imagine my past self wrapped in a blanket of love. The blanket that I imagine is purple and fuzzy and all encompassing. It helps me swap out shame for compassion. The blanket surrounds my past hurting self with grace. It whispers sweet nothings of forgiveness and kindness. It reminds me that the things I did while drunk do not make me a bad person, they simply make me a human who attempted to self-soothe in a messy world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Wrapping myself in an imaginary blanket of love creates space for healing. It helps me tread lightly into those memories instead of continuing to forcefully numb them out. My past and present selves do not deserve further neglect. I deserve to be loved and cared for. Wrapping those tender memories in a blanket of love is an act of self-care.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">With the colder, darker months upon us, it can be easy for me to get lost in a sea of doom and gloom. My unwanted memories live in the dark. But this year, with a little imagination, I can greet the darkness of my past with the softest, fuzziest purple blanket of light and love. I can cozy up to those memories instead of allowing them to interfere with my precious hibernation.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I wrap myself in a blanket of love.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXZBivyABJosBO2hS-7FXQlaVtDgUXmBp4YEdDc3CflnXDPMIBr70dcQgckERGKEMisu6FpaDeDEEzMV2vp1xHG2ScpBL0fOGqa8hwzG4lNpASbQVSA_JklLCyemH9bWKbaWtyFhu7NT3PCHE6vMK8SFu5N6cQorpW2CzGN-PYhdI-Fw4cHQwZvHZmg/s828/6f586446f38f0e183846bd985a175f7b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="828" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXZBivyABJosBO2hS-7FXQlaVtDgUXmBp4YEdDc3CflnXDPMIBr70dcQgckERGKEMisu6FpaDeDEEzMV2vp1xHG2ScpBL0fOGqa8hwzG4lNpASbQVSA_JklLCyemH9bWKbaWtyFhu7NT3PCHE6vMK8SFu5N6cQorpW2CzGN-PYhdI-Fw4cHQwZvHZmg/w400-h395/6f586446f38f0e183846bd985a175f7b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Progression Obsessionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07731921488035095856noreply@blogger.com0