Today is the first day of fall. The autumn equinox brings shorter days, sweater weather, and cozy candlelit evenings. There is something magical about peak color season and crunchy leaves beneath my feet. I just cleaned out my vegetable garden to make room for pumpkins and mums. Spooky season is here.
Even though it is my favorite time of year, I’ve noticed an undertone of sadness lingering in my bones. Ghosts from my past are everywhere. The cooler weather subconsciously reminds me of my first attempt at rehab 7 years ago between September 10 and October 1. During the first week of September 2015, I moved back onto campus for my senior year in a bachelor’s level social work program. I had my field work placement all lined up and was ready to complete my degree.
Except, my drinking had escalated to the point of night sweats and physical withdrawal. After showing up to my first day of classes drunk, I decided to drop out and go to rehab. My education would have to wait until I was sober.
On the morning of September 10, 2015, my mom dropped me off at a 21 day, 12 step based drug and alcohol rehab program located in my hometown. The thing I remember most about that first day was feeling angry, like I didn’t belong. I was the only one there who had admitted myself voluntarily, who wasn’t in legal trouble (yet), who didn’t smoke cigarettes, who hadn’t lost all their teeth. It felt way easier to begrudgingly make comparisons than it did to accept my reality. Instead of fully participating, I used my anger to dissociate and clung to the belief that I wasn’t “that bad.”
And then, just 5 days after completing that rehab stay, on October 5, I was arrested for my second DUI. Now, I was suddenly a criminal who “deserved” even harsher punishments. I was impossibly angry at myself for ending up in legal trouble just like my rehab roommates.
Ever since that first day of rehab, I have felt a sense of being trapped. Trapped under a heavy, inescapable blanket of anger. According to Brene Brown, “When we are in pain and fear, anger and hate are our go-to emotions.” Beneath the anger, I really felt: ashamed, afraid, resentful, self-hatred, grief.
As much as I adore fall, I am still haunted by the ghosts of my past. Memories from seven years ago make this season extra spooky. But, when I think deeply about what’s beneath my anger, I feel a tenderness toward my younger self. She was only trying to protect me. She was doing the best she could. If I have learned anything, it is that anger will not protect me. It will only keep me trapped.
As the leaves continue to fall, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I allow the ghosts of my past to be a reminder of progress, rather than a reminder of past mistakes. I can allow memories from seven years ago to surface, notice how I gravitate toward anger, stop myself, and remember I just celebrated 19 months of practicing sobriety. This year, I will release my anger and greet those tough underlying emotions with a cozy mug of hot cider, cinnamon sugar donuts, fuzzy slippers, and endless self-compassion. Happy Fall Ya'll.
I greet ghosts from my past with compassion.
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