MyNextMove

Are you a sober snob? If you’ve never happened upon such a character, these are the folks that believe there is but one way- the way they choose- to get and stay sober. In all honesty, I’ve stumbled upon many of these folks along my path. Most (I would say all, but don’t want to be ALL or nothing 🙂) of which are 100% pro a certain 12 step program, or 100% anti the same program.

My recovery story started in a rehab. There, I was first exposed to the 12-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous. I dove in. I believed what I was being spoon fed by the counselors, therapists, and fellow recovering folks. I clung to the program like a drowning woman clutches on to a life preserver, as they say. I willingly and desperately handed over the shovel that I had been using to dig my own grave. Please…..take it.

I wish I could say I’ve been sober ever since. That is simply not my story. My story is that I got out of rehab and realized I was different. I didn’t need anyone else. I could rise above this on my own will power. I returned to what I knew best, alcohol, two months out. The first two times I picked up a drink, I was able to drink one and be done. By night 3, I was back. The disease of alcoholism is progressive and fatal. Regardless whether I stand, drink in hand, my disease continues to wreak havoc. Left untreated, it grows and festers within me. There are no walls, fences, or barricades for which my disease falters. It will, with unyielding veracity, advance to places unknown, until death us do part.

For reasons beyond my own thinking, in 2004 I was blessed with chance #565,000-ish. I trudged my butt into an AA meeting. Working a program with a sponsor was exactly what I needed. I needed a mother bird to bring me food, remind me to open my mouth, and regurgitate wisdom into my presence. If she had told me that the color green was in fact orange, that I had been lied to since age two, I would have gone and tried to relearn all the colors. I was desperate to find a way to live. My infantile gestures permitted movement and growth at a sloth pace. Unbeknownst to me, exactly what I needed. Baby steps.

As I’ve continued to plod along on my journey of recovery, I’ve found that there is no one perfect trajectory to happy, joyous, and free living. Not everyone has a path like or similar to mine. Nor does everyone require it. I believe it took what it took for me to get here and to wherever it is I’m going. That said, I’ve met recovering friends that have never traveled through the rooms of AA, and they stay their course and remain sober.

We are all different with divergent mind sets, distinctive opinions, and diverse ideas. Again, I don’t see or believe in a one-way suits all path to recovery and sobriety. I do believe that we can’t do it alone. There are millions of recovering, sober celebrants around the globe. Why would I barricade myself from them? No matter where you came from, how you do it, or where you are going, I can learn from you. So I welcome you, your ideas, experience, strength, and hope. ThankYou for being you!

This is day 20,261 of my life. That’s a lot of days.

I recently broke my left 5th metatarsal while running on a treadmill. That’s the left mid-foot on the side of the weeweewee little piggy bone for non-medical folks. I felt it pop. I know exactly when it happened, and despite that, I denied needing help. I happen to be the proud owner of an orthotic boot, as this particular foot has been bothering me for…….. wait for it…….. 6 years. I bought the boot six years before when my left foot no longer fit in a regular shoe due to the swelling. Fast forward a couple of weeks, the pain had, and swelling subsided. I could exercise. I was ‘healed’. This exact scenario ebbed and flowed periodically over the following six years. Each time, my brain would mumble quietly, “Really should get someone to look at that.”

The day of the actual break was December 27, 2021. Limping and right-footed hopping, I slowly made the trek to the closet that housed the boot. In all honesty, I figured that it was only an incident that I could pussyfoot (I had to) through. But with time, I found it wasn’t progressing in the typical fashion. I had to face reality, something was different. Mind you; I was still exercising ritualistically. This is to explain that I was cycling 20+ miles a day. Besides, I stand on my feet at work 8+ hours a day.

I took that agonizing bounce of asking for help. Reluctantly, I talked to a professional with the appropriate knowledge and resources to help me get back to running and cycling. When I saw the X-ray, I was honestly shocked to see the apparent displacement of the bone. How can I get out of this horrible situation the quickest? Flash to my default setting, “Escape, Escape!”

“Who wants to admit complete defeat?” This is a quote from The Twelve and Twelve. A recovery book about the 12 steps and 12 traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous. I love this quote. It slaps me right in the face. I mean, does anyone ever yearn to concede? Admittedly, I love to quit, but that’s another blog. However, as far as my physicality goes, I am relentless. Amplifying the experience with a high pain tolerance creates quite the paradox. It allows me to endure yet facilitates my denial. Seeing the break, I waved the white flag, surrendered my control, and did what I was told to do. In truth, I’m slow to affirm. I had surgery three weeks and three days after the fracture occurred.

Life is just chock full of absurdity. I can spew forth with 100% conclusiveness that rest builds strength (paradox #2). Yet, I can also concede with 100% assurance that I have not ever, to my recollection, followed that logic. At the time of my second surgery (same fracture- long story), I had consistently closed my move ring on my Apple Watch for 413 days (remember, physicality- relentless). Sidebar, I did moderate, said movement during the post-op period.

A physician once told me, “even olympic athletes take a rest day.” I needed to be informed, yet I didn’t adopt the wisdom. That was 16ish years ago. STOP.

Now, I’m not pursuing an olympic medal. I’m not training for any athletic event. I don’t even have a goal! There is no endgame here. I’m punishing myself, my body unremittingly. Why? Because I don’t like my shadow. I don’t care for my reflection. Something has to go.

I have been on this carousal (also the carousel) for 20261 days. In all sincerity, I don’t know what I will look like when I’m not on it. I don’t know who I am, who I’ll be, or who/what I’ll become if I walk away from it. A change becomes necessary when the pain of continuing the behavior evolves into a state of personal fracture. The mere imagery of s-t-a-y-i-n-g is far more agonizing than the fear of taking a side step onto a path without a past. My next move is listening. Listening to my body instead of the obsessive rituals that shackle me. Listening to the professionals that offer me the tools and wisdom to heal. Listening to the people who speak from their hearts. Listen, absorb, and practice. This is the absolute perfect place to start. Exactly where I am.

xo,

S

Welcome to WordPress! This is your first post. Edit or delete it to take the first step in your blogging journey.

I’m starting this blog journey on the eve of my half-birthday in my 55th year. Not literally. It’s actually about 10 days away. Close enough. I write in my head, unendingly. I can’t stop. That said, nothing is written down. Topics, upon stories, upon experiences, upon opinions are forever gone. Honestly, I think the little niggle in the middle of my brain that tells me, “for fuck sake go write it down,” just got a little more niggle-y this time. So here we are.

I’m a recovering person. Addiction. It’s easier to tell you what I’m NOT addicted to than what I am. I’m like a recycle bin. Something, thrown in my direction is folly for obsession. That is how addiction manifests in me. First, it’s a trial, then it becomes a ritual, and next (and quickly) an obsession aka addiction. Whatever I dip my toe into, has the potential to become an addiction for me. My brain does not embrace, assimilate, or even comprehend the concept of moderation. So that’s a little bit about me.

I’m just hoping there are readers out there that can relate to my thinking. I can’t possibly be the only one, right? I jest, I know my tribe. We are everywhere. “Yale to jail” our disease does not discriminate. However, I don’t want to focus my new blog journey on the business of disease, but rather the delight of living. I spent far too many years dwelling in the rut I called a life. I’m channeling all the energy that I spent looking for my next drink, next escape, into forward momentum. That’s not to say I’m cured or healed. I’m in a perpetual state of healing in so many colors, depths, and illuminations.

So thank you for reading this short introduction into my next move. The move into putting all down. And so, it is written.

xo,

S