I Forgive Myself for Landing Here

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

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

I forgive myself for landing here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Progress.

Celebrating the Ordinary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Progress.

A Toast to the Winter Solstice

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Progress.

A Love Letter to Baristas

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.

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.

Imagine having to make this lineup of drink tickets as quickly possible hours before the sun comes up:

Iced matcha latte with oat milk

Quad shot Americano with room for cream and three splendas

Decaf sugar free vanilla latte with almond milk and no whipped cream

Banana berry smoothie with half the flavoring, extra strawberries, and soy milk

Half caff caramel hazelnut latte extra hot

London Fog with an extra tea bag, three pumps of vanilla, and skim milk

Cafe au lait extra hot with 2% milk, one pump white chocolate, and three sugars in the raw

Triple shot frozen sugar free peppermint stick mocha no whip

Extra dry coconut milk cappuccino at 145 degrees

Cold brew with light ice, cinnamon syrup, and two inches of sweet foam

Hot chocolate at 120 degrees, extra whipped cream, and sprinkles

Ready? Go!

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.

Because writing is how I process my emotions and recenter, I decided to write a love letter to all of my fellow baristas:

Dear Barista,

I see you. I love you.

I understand the mental and emotional gymnastics that come with this job.

I know how easy it is to get frustrated and overwhelmed.

I know how hard it is to have multiple people talking at you while you're trying to focus.

I know you are forced to mask the shit going on in your personal life.

I know you always have a headache.

I know you’re grossly underpaid.

I know you’re sleep deprived and surviving on caffeine.

I know customers are grumpy and impatient even though you’re trying your best.

I know it feels impossible to get out of your cozy bed in the dead of winter at 4am.

I know that you are too exhausted and too overstimulated to function after each shift.

I also know that you are doing it.

You are showing up and doing your best.

You are juggling a thousand things at once and still smiling.

This is a job for special humans.

And you just happen to be one of those special humans.

You have superpowers.

I am so proud of you for showing up.

I see you. I love you.

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.

Progress.

Leaps of Faith

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.”

Progress.

Redefining Success

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.

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.

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?

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.”

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.

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.

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.

Progress.

“We are more likely to think the point is to be miserable and survive

than we think the point is to love and thrive.”

-Holly Whitaker

Leaning Into Uncertainty

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.

So here I am: unemployed during the holidays and forced to lean into uncertainty. Bah humbug.

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.

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.

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.

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.” 

-Jaiya John

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.

All I need to do is be gentle with my body.

All I need to do is cultivate a little more peace.

All I need to do is slow down, lean into uncertainty, 

and trust that the Universe has given me exactly what I need.

Progress.

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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. 

I’m not a mean one (🎵Mr. Grinch🎵). 

I’m just a super soft one, (🎵Miss Grinch🎵) 

who happens to gravitate toward Easy Buttons during the holidays.

Thankfully, this year I have a list of Reset Buttons to help fill the season with a little more comfort and joy.

Progress.

“Maybe Christmas (he thought)

doesn’t come from a store.

Maybe Christmas

perhaps means a little bit more.”

-The Grinch

Welcoming Winter

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.

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.

In order to bring a little extra light to this dark time of year, I started re-reading a book called Wintering 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.”

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.

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.

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.

“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.

Progress.

Two of my other favorite books to read during winter are:

Bittersweet by Susan Cain

Rest is Resistance by Tricia Hersey

Attitude of Gratitude

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?

The day after I wrote the It’s Okay to Be Angry 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.

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.

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.

Today I am grateful that I woke up without a hangover

I am grateful for Tempest

I am grateful for my dog

I am grateful that I am no longer in legal trouble

I am grateful for all I have learned on this 10 year recovery journey

I am grateful to have a roof over my head and the ability to pay my bills

I am grateful for my huge heart

I am grateful that I have held down a job for the past 14 months

I am grateful to be alive

I am grateful for all that my body does each day

I am grateful for writing

I am grateful for so many things

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.

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.

Today I will mend my heart and my body with an attitude of gratitude.

Progress.

I wrap myself in a blanket of love

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.

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.

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.

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.

I wrap myself in a blanket of love.

Progress.