“Truth is truth. How you deal with it is up to you.” – Camina Drummer, The Expanse, S4E02: Jetsam
The Truth about alcohol abuse:
People don’t talk much about alcohol abuse. At least most people I know. Like them, and before I quit, I too did not understand what it really meant. Being an “alcoholic” or not being able to “manage your drinking” was long (and for some, still is) thought to be a moral failing — a character flaw or lack of willpower. But it hardly ever is.
People don’t become dependent on alcohol (or anything addictive) because of a lack of discipline, they become dependent because they’re running from psychological discomfort or pain. Using potentially habit-forming behaviour to get relief from any type of pain, is always risky…for anyone.
Most people who drink the way alcohol abusers do, have issues with self-confidence, self-care, self-love and self-respect, and tend to bury or deny painful, difficult or traumatic memories. Instead of looking for healthy avenues to heal (which, quite frankly, are not always available), the “socially acceptable” consumption of alcohol becomes the go-to coping mechanism for the relief, euphoria or numbness it offers.
The Truth about my drinking:
I faced significant, life-altering challenges in my late teens and twenties which manifested as behavioural issues and various maladaptive coping mechanisms, including drinking. By the time I quit ten years ago, I was drinking as infrequently as once per month and as frequently as several days per week, usually at after-work limes at our favourite watering holes, at clubs, parties, barbecues, art exhibitions.
I’d have one or two drinks or several. Sometimes I’d have only wine, or I would consume different types of alcohol if I felt like it. Usually, I’d go home tipsy, or a little more than tipsy. Once a month I’d drive home intoxicated enough to not remember driving home. Every few months I’d binge drink and not remember hours of the night before. Every year or so I’d have a major episode where I would lash out at friends, crying, embarrassing loved ones, and making a nuisance of myself. It is a wonder that so many people loved me through all of that. But, as cliche as it sounds, I needed to learn to love myself.
The Truth of who I am:
When I quit drinking, I never imagined that this journey would give me so much more than a sober head: an opportunity to heal, a stronger sense of self, a direct line to reserves of strength I never knew I had, resilience, courage, confidence and belief in myself. Learning to understand and appreciate my authentic self is an ongoing process, even a decade later, but I am proud of how far I’ve come. Owning my story, my journey, and the truth of all that I am is one of the goals I wanted to achieve by Year 10. So, here I am:
I am Neala Luna. My story continues.
Love and light to you, Neala.
~*~
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“You need to stop focusing on the darkness behind you. The past is the past. Nothing can change what we’ve done.” – Walter White, Breaking Bad, S05E09: Blood Money.
Regret is a universal human emotion that has both positive and negative effects. Knowing when and how to move past and learn from them is key to our overall well-being. Excessive regret however, accompanied by self-criticism and self-judgement, can do us tremendous harm.
Learning to forgive, love and be gentle with ourselves is the hardest thing we will have to learn, and that’s understandable. Because it means reversing years and years of habitually telling ourselves we’re not worth it. We are. And we can change the way we have become accustomed to perceiving and talking about what we have done or experienced in the past. It’s not easy and I often find myself actively replacing negative core beliefs with more positive beliefs. Changing the narrative and the way I speak to myself, especially when it comes to behaviour or choices I regret, is an ongoing practice of awareness, acknowledgment and adjustment.
Kendra Cherry writes, “Regret can be an incredibly painful emotion. While rooted in feelings of contrition, disappointment, guilt, or remorse for things that have happened in the past, such feelings can have a powerful influence over your life in the here and now. Regret is defined as an aversive emotion focused on the belief that some event from the past could have been changed in order to produce a more desirable outcome.”
Excessive regret keeps us fixated on the past and often involves self-blame and guilt. This is painful because, by its nature, it implies that there is something we could have done, a choice we could have made, or an action we might have taken that would have avoided something terrible or made something good happen.
But we have to accept that it’s the choice we made at that time, with the information, personal history, wounds, conditioning, relationships, and everything else we possessed and were at the time. While it may seem like we could have chosen something other than what we chose, this is a false belief that only creates suffering. The only choice we could have made was the one we made, precisely because it’s the one we did make. Had we been able to make a different choice, we would have made it.
I try to understand (without criticism) the motivations behind my past choices. I look for the human who made those choices, accept that I am imperfect just like everyone else, and endeavour to forgive myself for the choices I made. I embrace today’s good intentions instead of berating myself for choices that turned out to be mistakes. I remind myself that those mistakes belong in the past and it’s what I do now that defines me.
“We can’t concern ourselves with what was. We must act on what is.” Monk Gyatso, ATLA
Putting an effort into healing helps us to move on and get ready for our next adventures. It’s part of being human to make more mistakes and to have rough days. But we’re also going to grow. We’re also going to change and transform into a stronger version of ourselves over time.
Allowing ourselves to grow has a lot to do with learning how to be accountable for our actions, accepting ourselves as we are and believing that we are worth investing in. While I’ve come to terms with a lot of my mistakes and I’ve learned how to own them, self-forgiveness is something that I still find challenging from time to time. It is one thing to know that I deserve to forgive myself and it is another thing to actually do it.
I have come a long way since Feb 2014, and even though I get frustrated with myself sometimes for not “growing fast enough”, I also know that life’s lessons take their time and are given to us when it is time for us to learn them. I remind myself often, to be gentle with my thoughts and self-judgments, to treat myself with care, and that I do deserve to be happy.
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~*~
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
Dede: You know, it’s weird, but from the moment you answered, I started to feel better. Neil: Come on. Don’t… Dede: I’m completely serious. I swear, it’s true. Neil: You know, when you called, I was this close to losing my day count. Dede: Really? Wow. Sounds like we both had a God shot. Neil: Yeah, you know, the whole higher power thing kind of trips me up a little bit. I mean, I don’t know if I believe it. You know, my sponsor tells me that it’s just gotta be about something bigger than me, but I don’t know what that means. Dede: Well, don’t overthink it. It could be anything. It’s, like, service. Like coming here right now, helping me. That’s higher power. That was so solid of you to come all this way for me. Thank you.
Surrendering to God (as we know God to be) is discussed often when we are talking about addiction, quitting and abstinence. Surrendering to a higher or greater power is mentioned in seven of the twelve steps and is deemed essential to building and sustaining a life without alcohol.
How many of us actually allow ourselves to meet God? I’ve never really been one for organised religion. I mean, my mom is a Muslim, my dad is a Hindu. I attended a Catholic primary school and a Presbyterian high school. I’ve been to Sunday school, Mactab classes, Hindu prayers, and even a ‘small’ church where everyone clapped and hugged all the time. Thirty years ago in university, there was a two-month period when I researched all the faiths, especially the Eastern religions, trying to see if any resonated with me in a particular way.
I was at this bar one Saturday night, talking to a girl I’d just met, and she was saying that she didn’t want to stay much longer as she had to go to church the next morning. We started talking about God and religion and I asked her about her faith and whether she believed in her religion. She said she never questioned it. She asked me what religion I belonged to. I answered her in pretty much the same way as I’ve stated above.
She looked at me for a moment and said I was lucky, and that because I had the opportunity to see what fit me from all the religions, what I eventually believed in would be true to me and not to someone else’s doctrine. Until that day, I’d never thought of my experiences that way. I told her thank you, and I meant it.
I can honestly say that I’ve felt God. Or at least, I’ve felt the presence of something greater than myself, something timeless and perfect and comforting. The first time, I was 19 or 20 and still attending university. Late one night, a group of us went to Maracas Beach. That is a beautiful beach to be on at any time of the day and at night I love it. I love any beach at night actually. I wandered away from the noise and playfulness of the group and sat down on a piece of driftwood just looking out at the water. I just sat there, feeling the cool sand under my feet and the salty wind against my face. I looked up at the millions of stars that are always easy to see at that beach. I looked for the unicorns in the waves as I always do. I listened to the music of the waves as they crashed and tumbled and raced up and down the beach. I sat there for half an hour. I was happy and at peace for the first time in a really long time.
And then I just knew. I knew with absolute certainty that I was not alone. I knew with absolute certainty that I was a part of something greater than I could imagine. Something infinite.
Then the wave song sounded louder, the wind felt stronger, the stars were brighter, and I was growing smaller and smaller…less important I guess, or more correctly, less self-important.
It was an incredible feeling; unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I felt connected. I felt comforted. I felt vast and preciously small at the same time. I felt eternal and transient. Universal and earth-bound. Above it all, I felt loved, and for that I am immensely grateful.
After that night, every now and then I’ve had glimpses of what I felt that night, especially when surrounded by nature, like at the beach or in Tucker Valley with bamboo all around, or in the garden where I used to do Tai Chi, or when I used to attend yoga classes and we worked on the heart chakra.
It’s been some time now, and my commitment to activities that allow for these experiences has not been as steadfast as I would like. Sometimes I wonder if the intensity of going alcohol-free smothers the surrender I need – a control vs surrender state of mind. Feels like a paradox at times.
I suspect that I haven’t been able to feel the surrender I felt that night on the beach because I haven’t let go the way I let go back then. I was 20 and angry as hell at the world and didn’t even know it. Full of self-doubt and questions about life, purpose, love, parents, destiny, everything! I was fed up and tired and ‘soul weary’. I think I walked away from the group because I wanted to turn it all off: the noise, the questions, the ‘answers’, the guessing, all of it. I just walked away and stopped thinking about everyone and everything. The thing is, I did not make a conscious effort to stop. I just did. I just released everything. It was a beautiful moment that has forever been imprinted upon me.
I know I want to feel what I felt on that beach. I know I want to let go and surrender to the divinity I feel in my heart and that I know is there. I want to trust that I will be okay. But some days are so hard and I feel alone and afraid and I worry that all that I have learned will be too much and too big.
I have learned though, over these last nine years, peacefully and gratefully, that love is my higher power. Love in all its infinitely immeasurable ways. I believe in a Love that allows me to believe in myself and my ability to make choices that I feel are beneficial for myself and the living beings and things within my immediate environment and, therefore, rippling beyond. I believe in us, humanity, on a collective scale, and our capacity for love that allows us to care about, take care of and be kind to each other. That humanity, that love connects us all.
On a non-human scale, I believe that Love as an energy that exists which supports and transforms life in ways that are conducive to flourishing—like the elements that cause a flower to bloom as opposed to causing it to wither. Not that withering is not Love, since everything must die and be transformed, and Love plays a part in that as well. And even more than that.
With Love as my higher power, I feel good, positive, protected, guided, inspired, strong, and in that state, I am able to share love.
And, having said all of that, I’m well aware too, that everything I just said is all just WORDS. Humans love to philosophise, and I am fond of doing that here, but what do we really know? I think everything that exists is way beyond our words and intellectual comprehension. Words can try to explain what things are, but at the same time, words can limit what we are. For now, I’ll take the comfort they offer and hold Love in my heart.
As always, Love and Light to you, Phoenix.
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~*~
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say.
“When the present moment is intolerable, we contort ourselves into pretzels to get away from it. But the question I’d encourage you to ask is not, ‘Why did I use?’ We all know why we use. Pain relief. Instead, ask yourself, ‘Why the pain?'” – David, Feel Good, S01E06
I once read that pain has an evolutionary purpose. It provides information from the environment that a particular behaviour isn’t good for us. I try to pay attention to situations and stimuli that make me uncomfortable or cause me emotional, physical or spiritual pain.
Anyone who drinks the way alcohol abusers do, has issues with self-confidence, self-care, self-love and self-respect, and we tend to bury or deny painful, difficult or traumatic memories. Instead we turn to alcohol for the numbness, the stress relief or the euphoria it offers.
I understand and accept that I will probably never drink again. But I am well aware that a committing to an alcohol-free life means that I’ve had to (and will continue to) come to terms with those painful, difficult memories and their leftover emotional triggers in my life. The memories which make me feel insecure, unloved, taken advantage of, unworthy, broken, hurt, ashamed, unseen, unheard and unsure are the ones I am learning how to deal with.
If you’d like to receive new posts via email, sign up for a free subscription by entering your email address in the box above. Thank you for reading and sharing your experiences.
~*~
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
“Walking away is the only choice anyone ever has.” – Naomi Nagata, The Expanse, S5E07: Oyedeng*
Daniell Koepke, writer and advocate for mental health and invisible disability, says, “Not all toxic people are cruel and uncaring. Some of them love us dearly. Many of them have good intentions. Most are toxic to our being simply because their needs and way of existing in the world force us to compromise ourselves and our happiness. They aren’t inherently bad people, but they aren’t the right people for us. And as hard as it is, we have to let them go. Life is hard enough without being around people who bring you down, and as much as you care, you can’t destroy yourself for the sake of someone else. You have to make your wellbeing a priority. Whether that means breaking up with someone you care about, loving a family member from a distance, letting go of a friend, or removing yourself from a situation that feels painful — you have every right to leave and create a safer space for yourself.”
This works both ways. It IS all right for those you have hurt to let YOU go as well. Those of us in recovery are well aware of the drama, confusion and pain we have dished out to our friends and loved ones. It IS ok for them to step back or write us off if they need to. Being in recovery and finally getting our acts together does not entitle us to automatic support and understanding from anyone. And that’s okay. It is OUR journey after all.
Even though we may have good intentions we have to understand that each person should make their own wellbeing a priority and if doing that means they have to let you go, so be it. Support and encouragement can be found among others who are going through what you are. It is the best place to look. And don’t worry, life is an ever-evolving journey and connections will be made, broken and renewed, time and time again.
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
It’s an ongoing battle not to blame ourselves for where we are at, isn’t it? We’re unhappy and frustrated with crappy and unfulfilling jobs because we chose to stay. We think we don’t have career options because we chose to procrastinate on revamping our resumes and sending them out. We’re left holding the short end of a broken relationship because we chose not to see the warning signs. We’re unhappy with our health because we chose to skip the fruits and veggies we love and indulged in everything that’s unhealthy. We’re disappointed and fed up with ourselves because we were afraid to accept the fact that we have a problem with alcohol. So there it is: we only have ourselves to blame.
But then we realise ‘blame’ is too harsh a word. Yes, we are responsible for the choices we make, but owning up to those choices and then choosing how we react to the emotions and feelings they bring is also up to us. We can choose what we do next. We can choose to judge ourselves harshly and walk about cursing the day, scaring the hell out of small children and motorists. We can choose to wallow in self-pity and cry “It’s not fair!” into our pillows at night. We can choose to shut down or to rage against the day. We can choose to be victims or warriors and fight for the person we know we can become.
We can choose to understand that our feelings of dissatisfaction, frustration and disappointment are all indicators that we are not where we are meant to be. We can choose to man-up (or woman-up) and own and understand our feelings, not bury them or let them overwhelm us, but instead allow them to push us to make the necessary changes. We can choose to recognize that awareness is only half the battle, WILL is what will get us where we need to go. We can choose to accept responsibility for ourselves and get help. We can choose to stay the course and not give in. We are the only ones who can motivate ourselves to change our situations, whatever they may be. It’s up to us what we do next.
Love and light, Phoenix.
~*~
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
If you’d like to receive new posts via email, sign up for a free subscription by entering your email address in the box above. Thank you for reading and sharing your experiences.
“Our memories can be very unreliable. We like to think of them as indelible records of our past, but every time we pull out a scene, we fiddle with it a little bit before we put it back in. We’re constantly altering our memories so the past won’t conflict with the present.” – In Treatment, S02E15 – Gina
I once read that the stories we tell ourselves about our lives may be more important than the actual events of our lives. They can actually shape our happiness more than our lives themselves. Alex Meads writes, “If you still feel anguish from a particularly rough breakup, change the story you tell yourself about it. Rather than being the sad person who was cheated on and will never heal, make yourself the person who got out of a terrible situation before making a lifelong commitment and a big mistake. If you were a child of divorced parents and worry that you’re doomed to repeat the same pattern, turn yourself into the outlier of your family who will cultivate a lasting relationship.”
Seems simple enough. Of course, I know that the author doesn’t mean for us to bury feelings or ignore boundaries. He was talking about changing our perspective on a past experience. Since I am changing the way I look at myself (as a victim, survivor or thriver; ashamed of or inspired by my past; afraid of failure or of regret), I am also changing the way I tell my stories. I won’t focus on or be defined by painful and disappointing experiences. After all, it’s not what happened to me that can continue to hurt me, but the way I frame what happened. It’s the stories I tell myself and the interpretations and meanings I choose to give to those experiences that can hurt or help me.
When we draw upon our memories to relate the story of a past experience, what we say (to ourselves or to others) provides insight into our subconscious minds: our fears, desires and ambitions. What we choose to say reveals more about ourselves – what our values are and what we view as meaningful and important.
Think about it this way: we are the ones in control of our own stories (past, present and future). Take the time to figure out the effect your past has on your present. Is that memory or story useful or helpful? Are you fixed in the same patterns of behaviour and thought because of the stories you keep repeating to yourself? Is that in line with how far you’ve come, who you are now, and where you want to be? Isn’t it time to rewrite your narrative around that past experience? There is power in owning our stories and allowing them to help us accept, heal and grow.
So I’ve made a decision: To choose a new story for my old stories. Instead of seeing them as examples of lack, I choose to acknowledge and accept that while they will forever be a part of my past, it is my strength, resilience, determination, and self-love that define me, have made me who I am today, and will help me be who I want to be in the future.
“Oh darling, it’s okay that you faltered…that you engaged in a destructive behaviour that was not in keeping with your true values. You did it to dull the pain, to diminish the anger. But you realised that it still lay there… pressed further down. Let it come up a thousand times, again and again. Let it rise…and drift away.” ~ Patrice Charles
Love and Light to you, Phoenix.
If you’d like to receive new posts via email, sign up for a free subscription by entering your email address in the box above. Thank you for reading and sharing your experiences.
~*~
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
“Usually, when a man is about to lose everything, he realises what mattered to him most. He sees it clearly for the first time…Maybe you haven’t lost everything yet, huh? When you do, you will know your way home. And it will welcome you.” – Anderson Dawes, The Expanse, S01:E07: Windmills
I quit drinking when I realised I was about to lose what really mattered to me. I was a binge drinker. Which means that I didn’t drink every day, or end up drunk every time I drank, but I had problems with limits when I drank. Most importantly, I used alcohol as a means of escape instead of dealing with life. Long story short, all binge drinkers can and will become alcoholics at some point. Drinking can quickly become a maladaptive coping mechanism for dealing with pain or stress. By the time I quit, I was drinking at least three times a week and getting drunk about four times a month. Once or twice a year I’d get drunk enough to have to rely on loved ones to drive me home. The last night of drinking was one of those nights. I’m not ready to talk about the details but I will say that my sister was there that night.
The next day, when I called her to find out what had happened the night before, she was calm, collected, and did not mince words. She is a highly practical and straightforward person and there was no emotion expressed as she narrated the events of the night before. Her tone of voice was one of resignation and acceptance. She said that she was not angry with me, but had decided that she would be better off if she removed herself from my life. THAT hit me very hard.
I know I did not quit drinking for my sister but her actions that day forced me to look at the kind of person I was. I was about to lose the person I knew myself to be deep down inside to the person who was on the outside. The Me on the outside was drowning in alcohol-related side effects, and becoming someone who had no understanding of herself, and honestly, did not like herself very much. I was running from my issues, numbing them with alcohol, squashing any chance of healing or growing, and lashing out at loved ones, especially those closest to me. Like my sister. The fact that I could hurt (or frighten) her so much that she would consider removing herself from my life, shook me to my core. It was my worst day.
And, in the end, it was also my best day. It was the day I started on the path that would lead me home.
For anyone with a problem with alcohol it comes down to recognising that we owe it to ourselves, and to the love gifted to us by the people in our lives, to figure out why alcohol is a problem for us. Gabor Mate encourages us to ask, “Why the pain?” instead of “Why the need to drink?”
Finding our way home is about coming to terms with the pain that we are trying to numb. It’s about seeking a loving and adaptive way of coping with the pain. It’s about recognizing that we should have our own highest good at heart. Why shouldn’t we be better, kinder, more loving, nurturing, compassionate and understanding towards ourselves?
Long lasting changes are only possible when the driving force is rooted in self-kindness, self-compassion and self-love, as opposed to self-criticism, self-denigration and self-loathing. The first set of characteristics are rooted in love and the second set are rooted in fear – fear of not being good enough, fear of not being loved, fear of failure. Yes, we know these fears intimately, don’t we?
Most people think that being able to give up drinking is dependent on willpower, but it’s not about willpower. It’s about having a solid foundation rooted within the positive intentions of self-love, of goodwill towards oneself. Willpower is rooted in struggling, which can tend to be fear based. The foundation of change has to come from a place of self-love, of trusting that we deserve to be healthy and happy. When we grow to understand this, and really see it clearly, we will find our way home.
Love and light, Phoenix.
~*~
Prompted by this year’s AtoZ Challenge theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
Most people, especially those of us who tend to escape or self-soothe with drinking or other maladaptive coping habits, still struggle with childhood experiences that harmed us, even if we’re unable to recognize them.
We are easily triggered when faced with challenges, people or situations that remind us of that the way we felt back then. Sometimes, the reminder is subtle, and our spidey-senses tingle, putting us on alert and hyper-reactive to what’s going on around us. Other times, we default to anger when we feel hurt or scared because we can’t handle these emotions and then lash out and become antagonistic, or withdraw and shut down.
Our extreme reactions are rooted in that fear we experienced in the past; fear that we are unloved, unworthy, unsafe or abandoned.
Recognizing that it is our inner-child that actually feels these wounds is an ongoing process, but it is possible to temper, and even stop, those heightened reactions. Learning to observe, acknowledge and understand what feeds our reactions gives us an opportunity to grow, and helps us to change our behaviour.
I’ve been working on that a lot lately, showing up for Little Me. When I have snap reactions to other people or situations, most of the time they are connected to something I didn’t receive as a child. So I take a moment, figure out if I am feeling unheard, unappreciated, or afraid. I acknowledge the unmet need, and tell myself: You are safe, you are loved, and you can work this out. It’s okay to find another way to communicate, and it’s okay to leave it for now. Sometimes, the other person is also reacting to their own unmet childhood needs.
We have the power to truly transform things, and we can choose each day, to heal and do better.
There is also something else that has been working for me. We often underestimate the power of play, but I’ve found it to be so helpful. Especially when I feel myself retreating into a little cocoon.
Here are some ways I engage with or provide opportunities for Little Phoenix to thrive: *Paint or sketch, without intention or monetary goal in mind. *Watch movies or tv shows that I know make feel happy (strangely enough, they all tend to be fantasy, magical realism or Pixar movies.) I’m happy to share my movie or music playlist. Comment below if you would like me to. *Listen to music or songs from my Sunshine playlist. *Go outside and spend time amongst the trees and flowers, watching the sky, and birds and butterflies going about their day. The idea is to activate your sense of wonder and awe at all the life around you. *If all else fails, I find a baby photo of myself. I smile at Little Phoenix and tell her that the world is just as big and beautiful as she thought it would be, and even if life gets rough sometimes (as it will) she will be okay. I tell her that I can remember her voice and that she wanted to tell stories. I tell her that yes, she did grow up to be brave, strong and amazing, and the stories are making their way into the world.
Never give up on Little You. Show up because you deserve it.
You yourself, as much as anyone in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection. – Buddha
Share with me; how do you show up for Little You?
Love and light, Phoenix
Additional resources I’ve found helpful:
Articles (Can be a bit overwhelming to read all at once, but they’re detailed and worth it):
25 Signs You Have a Wounded Inner Child (and How to Heal)
Video Links (I play these while doing chores or driving):
Short Videos:
What Is The Inner Child?
Inner Child Communication
Inner Child Healing
Longer Videos:
3 Steps To Understanding Your Childhood Triggers
3 Reasons Why You Have No Childhood Memories
Healing Toolkit: Overcoming Childhood Trauma
~*~
Prompted by the AtoZ 2023 theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
“Never listen to what people say; just watch what they do.” – Chrisjen Avasarala, The Expanse, S2E01: Safe
This quote is hitting me hard these days and thinking about intentions and actions. About six months ago my living situation changed unexpectedly, and as far as I can tell, the change is for the long haul. It was my choice, made with the best of intentions. But it is challenging, and at night I lie awake feeling guilty for not having been my best self that day.
I’ve been happily and successfully living on my own for a few years, and I chose this new path because I was needed, and because I knew I could be of use. I told myself and others that I could do this. But while the shift to living with others has been a gift, it has also been triggering, to say the least. I’ve been setting boundaries, but we are in close quarters, and it is hard to find time alone to reset and recharge. As a result, I’m less patient than I would like to be, and my actions (while measured) don’t make me proud.
At times, I find myself irrationally reactive or bottled-up angry or in despair. When the moment has passed I think about it for hours or even days, feeling ashamed of myself, trying to work out what was so triggering, and making promises to myself to do better.
I am still working on forgiving myself and I try to understand my motivations (without criticism) and acknowledge my good intentions instead of berating myself for my mistakes. I’m working on being curious, instead of judgmental. Judging myself, or anyone else, always closes a door. I am working on being kinder and more compassionate with myself, in the hope that I will be more open, connected, and more available for myself and others.
“We can’t hate ourselves into a version of ourselves we can love.” ~ Lori Deschene
Take care, and be gentle with yourself too. Hugs, Phoenix
~*~
The annual AtoZ Challenge is happening this month; one post per day for each letter of the alphabet. I’m way behind but determined to complete 26 posts. Prompted by the 2023 theme ‘Resilience’, here’s nine years sober, and counting… with some things to say, inspired by quotes from brilliant television series that resonate with me.
Shadow. Ash. Spirit. Flame. 
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