There is nothing wrong with me

The first time I heard the word “Normie” was in 2015 during my stay at a 90-day women’s rehab facility in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Roughly ten of us patients were crammed into an oversized van, named the Druggie Buggie by staff, and were headed toward an AA meeting. One of the girls, Nicole, longingly gazed out the window at a young couple holding hands outside of a bar and said, “Fucking Normies.”

Instantly, my mind began to race, my stomach churned, my clothes soaked in sweat, and the walls closed in around me. Unable to breathe, panic set in. My drinking led to a world of multiple DUIs, 24/7 lockdown rehab facilities, and road trips on the Druggie Buggie. There must be something wrong with me. I must be the polar opposite of a Normie; I must be batshit crazy.

After leaving rehab and reentering the real world, I noticed this Normie mentality everywhere. My family continued to drink daily. Pop culture promotes, even celebrates substance use. People bring coolers of booze to their kid’s t-ball games, and then drive home. Everyday occurrences like going to the grocery store resemble walking into a drug dealer's house. There are rows and rows of my drug of choice available round the clock; all I need is 10$ to black out. 

How is any of this normal? 

What is wrong with me?

Back in 2015, I didn’t have the words to explain why the word Normie triggered a low-grade panic attack. But now, I can see there is nothing normal whatsoever about society’s relationship with alcohol. The list of abnormal things our society does with (this drug called) alcohol could fill book after book after book.

My favorite tool to combat society’s backwards, “Normie,” relationship with alcohol is a simple loving kindness meditation. With eyes closed and hands over my heart, at each inhalation I can repeat phrases I’d want a struggling friend to hear:

May you know there is nothing wrong with you.

May you know there has never been anything wrong with you.

May you be gentle, kind, and patient toward yourself.

May you know freedom from alcohol.

May you feel seen, heard, and loved (fur baby affection absolutely counts).

May you become your own BFF as you create a beautiful new normal.

There is nothing wrong with me.

I am gently guided by wonder

One of my biggest struggles in sobriety is the idea that I need to find my purpose and have some impressively grand plan for my future. I spent most of high school attempting invisibility; not actually thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Getting into college wasn’t easy and I struggled to pick a major. How was my brace-faced, painfully sheltered, 18-year-old self supposed to choose a single career path for the next 40+ years of my life?

A couple of weeks into my first semester of college, while feeling overwhelmed by the crowds and paralyzed by my own lack of purpose, I stopped going to class altogether. Unsurprisingly, I failed out after the third semester. I couldn’t see a future for myself. Bulimia and an older boyfriend who introduced me to alcohol quickly trumped showing up for the shit show, college dropout life I had created for myself.

During the next decade of my life, I was arrested 5 times and admitted to rehab 6 times, which continued to distract me from finding this thing people call “purpose.” After being degraded and dehumanized by the criminal justice system, I struggle to feel worthy of looking within and trusting myself to make decisions about my future.

Unfortunately, I don’t think my story is unique. I think many of us, after years or decades of addiction, struggle to find purpose. The world labeled me an alcoholic loser. How do I put that bullshit label aside and learn to compassionately look within for answers? How *the fuck* do I get from: Day One, 32 years old, no job, no job references, no driver’s license, no therapist, still no clue what the hell I want to be when I grow up - to peace, lasting sobriety, and a sense of purpose?

I would be a wealthy woman if I knew the answer. But I do know something magical happens when I am guided by a gentle sense of wonder, rather than pressuring myself to know. Brene Brown says wonder is what fuels our passion for exploration and learning, for curiosity and adventure.

Hmm, I wonder if sobriety will create space for the treasure hunt of self-exploration I buried while attempting to be an invisible high schooler who couldn’t find her damn purpose.

Hmm, I wonder if there is no such thing as an alcoholic loser who can’t be trusted with herself.

Hmm, I wonder if I don’t need to have it all figured out today.

Hmm, I wonder if allowing myself to be gently guided by things that fuel my passion for exploration and learning, for curiosity and adventure, is good enough for now.

I am gently guided by wonder.

I collect moments of peace

A few years ago, I bought an off-white porcelain travel mug with the word HAPPY written on the side. During the colder months, this mug is never out of arm’s reach. I refill it hourly with coffee, tea, or cocoa, cups of comfort. But recently, I have noticed the word written on the mug rarely matches my mood.

I carry around a mug that promotes happiness, like it’s the only acceptable emotion, all day long. And honestly, this nonstop reminder to be happy has filled me with more rage than smiles.

When I was kid, and well into my adult life, I thought happiness was the ultimate #lifegoal. I thought adhering to social norms would make me happy. I thought a college degree, a husband, babies, vacations, botox, diets, and a two-story, 4-bedroom home with a pool was the only path to happiness because, unfortunately, that’s what my adolescent brain was exposed to.

Now, as I continue down the path of sobriety, I am learning to collect moments of peace, rather than striving for whatever happiness is. Peaceful moments happen when I slow down, notice how I am actually feeling, and mindfully re-enter my body after a long day of pretending to be “happy.” Peace, to me, is like an inner sense of calm. No matter what I am feeling, peaceful moments help bring me and my big, scary emotions back toward middle ground.

I have turned peaceful, quiet moments into daily rituals. Lighting a candle, cuddling with my dog, long walks at the nature trail up the street, preparing a comforting meal, watering my plants, hot baths, frequent trips to the library, deep breathing practices, fresh air on my lunch break, journaling, and wearing fuzzy socks are all things I can do to help collect a little peace.

 

In her latest book Atlas of the Heart, Dr. Brene Brown describes 87 different emotions humans experience. *Eighty-seven.* If this is true, why am I so hung up on happiness?

Maybe it’s normal to feel 87 different emotions in a single day. Maybe, as Brene suggests, the North Star to healing isn’t happiness. Maybe the bright light guiding us home lives in naming, feeling, and learning from all of our paradoxically messy emotions - while refilling our cups with moments of peace along the way.

Let me know if anyone finds a travel mug that says:

I collect moments of peace.

I get cozy & hibernate

One of the hardest parts of recovery, for me, is learning to regulate my emotions. I have always been an extremely sensitive and emotional human. It often feels like I live in a constant state of emotional overwhelm.

When I was in middle school, binging and purging became my go-to emotional regulator. I felt forced to restrict my emotions and food in the daylight; while animalistically binging on junk food and purging to release the day’s emotions at dusk. After I finished, while sprawled out on the bathroom floor, my brain and body were exhausted to the point of blissful numbness. Years before I ever touched alcohol, this was my daily emotional regulating system.

Luckily, sobriety provides space to explore new ways to regulate my emotions. After much trial and error, I have created a new ritual: I get cozy and hibernate.

This process begins as soon as I get home from a long day at work. I slip into my favorite oversized fleece onesie PJs and fuzzy slippers. I play soothing music, boil water for tea, wash my face, and light all of the candles. I gather a giant pile of pillows and wrap up like a burrito with my dog, Teddy, in a soft blanket cocoon. I fill up my introverted cup with some cozy quiet time.

Next, while in my safe, cozy space, I prioritize a cathartic release. The word catharsis literally means to purify or purge emotions - like pity and fear - through art or any extreme change in emotion that results in renewal or restoration. My cathartic releases of choice are endless Taylor Swift and Grey’s Anatomy marathons. But, if sappy isn’t your style, comedy, cute dog videos, and upbeat dance-in-your-underwear-jams will also do the trick. Maybe a cathartic release is what my middle school self actually needed.

Once I have cozily released some of my daily emotions, I like to hibernate. When I feel extra emotional, it usually means I need extra rest. My hibernation space is free from all distractions. I don’t have to worry about my to-do list or check my Instagram. All I have to do is drift off into a sweet, lavender scented slumber. Sometimes I hibernate for 8 hours, sometimes 12, sometimes more. I have learned that by resting, I am eventually able to rise without harming myself.

I have struggled most of my life, long before ever touching alcohol, with emotional regulation. And it turns out, emotional regulation is an integral part of sobriety. What would happen if I tried to regulate my emotions with rest and self-compassion rather than numbness?

The only way through is cozy.

I am powerFUL, not powerLESS

Yesterday I was listening to Ashley C. Ford as a guest speaker on Glennon Doyle’s We Can Do Hard Things podcast. Hearing Ashley was like the motivational speech I didn’t know I needed. She might not have been talking about sobriety, but she kept using Tempest-worthy affirmations like, “I won’t give up on me,” “I’ve kept me alive this whole time,” “I can trust me to take care of me,” and “I’ve got me.”

The best thing Ashely said was, “When I let people see me, I am powerful.”

To me, this means, when I show up without any masks and allow people to see the real me, I am my most powerful self. This message from Ashley feels empowering; like it gives me a superwoman cape.

Ashley’s statement about power also reminds me of Step One from the Big Book, which says, “We admitted we are powerless over alcohol.” Step One always makes me scratch my head in confusion. If I quit drinking and let the world see me, does that mean Twelve Steppers believe I will have less or no power? Do they really believe disempowerment is the first step toward sobriety?!

This quote from Ashely seems profound because she is saying my real, sober self is powerFUL, not powerLESS. I struggled to get sober for 15+ years because of fear; fear of what would happen when I let people see the real me. Making the choice to reevaluate my relationship with alcohol and practice sobriety does not make me less powerful. Rather, it fills me with power.

Sobriety, for me, requires vulnerability and letting people see the real me. Let’s ditch this old idea that showing up as sober and real requires powerlessness, shall we? Today I will remember, “When I let people see me, I am powerful.”

I am safe in the nothing space

Yesterday, while waiting for my teapot to whistle, I caught myself thinking, “I need to sweep the floor and clean the stove. I need to do some laundry and schedule my first dentist appointment in ten years. I need to take my dog out for a walk before dark and get him groomed next Tuesday. I need to vacuum the carpet and clear off the coffee table, and then I can relax.”

Making tea is my favorite simple daily pleasure. It’s like a hug in a mug. But what happens when this time for myself gets bombarded with thoughts of a never-ending to-do list? Do I ever stop thinking about my to-do list? Is it possible for me to relax without cleaning up first? Do I even feel safe in the nothing space?

I think I developed this need for hyper-productivity as a way to both prove my worthiness and avoid my awkwardness - which creates a false sense of control. I am much more comfortable working than I am making small talk, so I never stop moving. I think twenty steps ahead and work efficiently. I will work harder than everyone in the building, even at the cost of my mental, physical, and emotional health. No one can talk shit about a hard worker.

But, when I live in this constant state of doing, I completely lose myself. I never allow for relaxation or fun or growth. I find it challenging to slow down because that means there is space for vulnerability.

So, how do I begin slowing down and create space for nothing? What if I prioritize, maybe even schedule in my color-coded planner, time for rest and creativity and extreme introvertness? What if, in moments where I catch myself obsessing, I take a deep breath instead? What if the path to healing lives in the nothing space?

What if the next time I find myself heading down the to-do list spiral of doom, I switch up the dialogue? What if I told myself, “I see what you are trying to do here, Kelsi. I know this pattern well. I give you permission to temporarily put the to-do list down. It is safe. I am safe. I know it’s challenging, but there is beauty to be found in stillness.”

I am safe in the nothing space.

I ditch the diet

It’s that time of year again. We are entering the season of “New Year, New Me” diets. It’s time to offset the extra holiday pounds with calorie restriction. It’s time to get an overpriced gym membership and pick my fad diet of choice. Call me a Scrooge; I loathe this time of year.

When I was a preteen, the South Beach Diet hardcover book sat on my parent’s coffee table like the Bible. My mom read it with a highlighter and tried all of the recipes. Now, at 33 years old, I can see it has been 20 years since I rang in the New Year without a diet. Somewhere along the way, I began associating weight loss with self-compassion. Diet culture tells us the formula to looking and feeling better is food restriction.

But what if this idea of bettering myself with a diet, is actually a form of self-punishment? What if this process of constantly striving for thinness is actually killing me?

Biologically speaking, the natural way mammals respond to a period of starvation - or a diet - is to compensate with a binge. It’s literally hardwired in our brains and bodies to follow a diet with overeating. So, every time I ring in the New Year with a new diet, I am setting myself up for this cycle of failure. Diets are not designed to work. They are designed to keep me coming back and stuck in never ending self-hatred. (Kinda sounds like drugs.)

What if, this year, I made the resolution to practice asking my body what it needs and wants, rather than constantly rejecting its hunger cues? What if I vowed to properly fuel my body with three meals per day, plus snacks in between? What would happen if I stopped counting macronutrients and just ate whatever the hell I am craving?

I imagine giving up dieting will be challenging at first because it’s one of my oldest security blankets. I will miss the (false) sense of control my eating disorder has provided for 20 years. But, if I alter my intention to self-compassion, rather than self-punishment, diets no longer belong in my life.

Whether it’s the South Beach, Paleo, Keto, low-carb, low-fat, or low-calorie, being on a diet will not change my relationship with myself or the world around me. Self-compassion, self-trust, intuitive eating, and stretchy pants are much more practical and attainable “New Year, New Me” goals.

I ditch the diet. 

I take a self-compassion break

 Recently, upon arriving at work, the first thing my coworker said to me was, “OMG. I got so drunk last night. I think I am still drunk right now. Hahahaha.” My eyes got wide as I stared at her with an angry and judgmental gaze. Unable to respond, I walked away and cried alone in a nearby janitor’s closet.

I spent the rest of the day fuming and beating myself up for “overreacting.” Sometimes I get so furious my drug of choice is casually flaunted and joked about at work. Sometimes it feels like there are triggers around every corner.

A few days later, while venting to my therapist, I was introduced to what is called a self-compassion break founded by Dr. Kristen Neff. This is a quick mindfulness practice that can be used during moments of stress and emotional discomfort.

A self-compassion break involves the following steps:

1. Notice this is a moment of suffering

While crying alone in the closet, I could’ve taken a deep breath and reminded myself that this is hard. It is incredibly difficult to live in a world where alcohol use is everywhere. I can acknowledge my triggered state, which leaves me feeling hurt and stressed.

2. Remember: Suffering is part of life/the process

Next, as I continue to breathe deeply, I remind myself that it is normal to feel this way. Triggers and difficult times are a part of getting sober. I am not alone or crazy. I have all of you to share this recovery experience with.

3. Be kind to myself

Finally, I can combat this emotional discomfort with self-compassion. With my hands on my heart, I can take more deep breaths and shower myself with words of kindness. What would I say to a dear friend in this situation? What do I need in order to best support and protect myself? Furthermore, I can whip out my toolkit and self-soothe with essential oils, a cozy cup of tea, and dark chocolate.

Unfortunately, it is impossible to live in this world without encountering alcohol triggers. However, on the bright side, I can always take a self-compassion break—even in a janitor’s closet—when I start feeling shaky.

I take a self-compassion break.

P.S. Here is a short guided self-compassion break with Dr. Kristen Neff. Enjoy! https://youtu.be/uSNH5yvxylg

I practice comfort and joy

Yesterday while walking my dog, Teddy, I found myself crying as the first few snowflakes of the season landed on my cheeks. My garden has shriveled up and the sunset now arrives at 5pm. The frigid November air is always a reminder that the holidays are just around the corner. And let me tell you, nothing stirs up unwanted emotions within me quite like the holidays.

In 2015 I spent the holidays - Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and my 28th birthday - in (court mandated) rehab. My drinking and bulimia had reached a point where I was deemed too out of control to be trusted with myself. It felt like I had officially become too crazy to be home celebrating with my family.

When I try to reflect back on that time, everything is blurry. I had completely disassociated from my surroundings and entered survival mode. I could not crawl out from underneath my own pile of shame, while being completely cut off from the outside world, and hanging in church basements with strangers during the holidays. The allotted one hour supervised Christmas visit with my parents felt like torture, not therapy. It was like I had become something “other.” Something different. Something unworthy of holiday comfort and joy.

Ever since then, year after year, I start feeling triggered as the seasons change and the holidays approach. Like many of you, the relationship I have with my family is complex. Everyone still imbibes; holiday drinking begins at (or before) noon. So, even though I am no longer in rehab for the holidays, I still feel like I don’t belong.

This year, I am dedicating the season to my own comfort and joy practices. If going home for the holidays feels too overwhelming, I do not have to go. Sobriety gives me the space to both, sort through past holiday trauma, and discover my own comfort and joy practices. I can meet the hard parts of sobriety, like loneliness and grief, with new traditions.

For example: I can decorate a gingerbread house, bake cookies, go sledding, ice skating, or snowshoeing, simmer alcohol-free mulled cider on the stove all day, string twinkle lights from my houseplants, DIY popcorn tree garland, blast my favorite Christmas album, buy peppermint mocha coffee creamer, light evergreen scented candles, hang a stocking for Teddy, stay connected with my Tempest family, and cozy up with cathartic classics like Home Alone, The Holiday, and The Polar Express.

My past with alcohol, the holidays, and my family is messy - and that’s okay. This year, as Ted and I bundle up for brisk morning walks, I will inhale comfort and joy, and exhale past holiday trauma.

I practice comfort and joy.

I welcome the What If's

One of my biggest fears is re-entering the working world sober. I just got a call for my first interview since beginning my sobriety journey; and instantly, my brain began scheming ways to get my hands on some booze ASAP.

Working and alcohol became enmeshed ten years ago when I graduated from culinary school and began working at a winery in Northern Michigan. My internship took me to Aspen, Colorado and The Food and Wine Classic. Everyone thought I was living the dream, but in reality, I was learning to pair champagne with breakfast.

During those years, I quickly learned how much (fake) prestige and power and connectedness the wine world holds. I thought becoming a sommelier was THE dream occupation. I started a wine journal and recorded the (fake) smooth, oaky tasting notes in a ten dollar bottle of Cabernet.

My family was so proud of me. As daily drinkers themselves, they were eager to visit and bring home a discounted case of wine. My cousin even honeymooned at my work and raved about the experience for years.

Now, when I look back at that time, all I see is pain. Photos circa 2011 reveal an emaciated, drunken Kelsi desperately searching for acceptance. It’s not surprising that my first (super drunk) DUI happened on my way home from work at the winery.

Job interviews transport me back to that girl who believed alcohol provided a sense of belonging. While sitting in this intense fear, I am struggling to develop an affirmation that feels genuine. Luckily, a recent Tempest lesson with Brandon introduced the idea of “if-firmatiations.”

What if I show up sober?

What if I embrace change?

What if I meet some incredible people?

What if they like me?

What if I thrive?

By focusing on exciting What If’s, rather than my past “failures,” I create space to imagine a new future and release some of that fear. My past with work and alcohol is messy and triggering. That’s okay. What if I show up sober today?

I welcome the What If’s.

I am proud of myself

These past few weeks, for me, have been filled with recovery milestones that deserve a celebration. Yet, while writing in my journal this morning, I noticed some discomfort when I tried to scribble these five words, “I am proud of myself.” Why do I feel like such a phony when I attempt to express pride?

According to Mariam Webster, pride (noun) is a feeling that you respect yourself and deserve to be respected by other people. And, to be proud (verb), is having or displaying excessive self-esteem.

I’m not sure about any of you, but as someone who has struggled with severe anorexia and alcohol addiction, displaying excessive self-respect (pride) is not something I am familiar with. Most of my life has been focused on fixing what is “wrong with me;” not loving what is “right with me.” It makes sense that I struggle to genuinely write the affirmation, “I am proud of myself.”

It seems like our society has a complex relationship with the words proud and pride. These words hold heavy, sometimes contradictory weight. While it’s okay, even necessary, for men to show pride, girls are considered unlikeable if they boast about their achievements. Even worse, according to AA, pride is a character defect that must be removed immediately.

I like Mariam’s definition of pride because it involves self-respect. While I was drinking, there was zero self-respect (pride) in my life. Sobriety, for me, is not possible without at least a little self-respect (pride).

My therapist suggested I start a pride practice. 

She suggested I start small, but practice often. 

For example:

Remember to eat breakfast? Off to a good start. Proud.

Survived the work day while on my period? Super proud.

In bed before 9pm? I am proud of myself.

I could argue, as a human in recovery, I need self-respect (pride) more than anything. In order to remain sober, I need to put that bullshit rhetoric about pride (self-respect) being a character defect in the garbage. It doesn’t belong here.

My favorite definition of the word pride is simple:

“The love of one’s own essence.” -St. Augustine

I am proud of myself.