“They don’t have to understand,” she told me. I had expressed my concern about disappointing my people, about being in and out of the AA rooms, about backsliding and bringing my sorry ass back. I hate the crestfallen looks on their faces. I wanted to know how to explain the struggle to those who haven’t experienced it. “It’s about your sobriety. It’s not about anyone else. You don’t need to talk to them about it. Tell them to ask you in 6 months, in a year.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. In fact, it never occurred to me that I didn’t have to answer people’s questions. That I didn’t have to answer to anyone else about my journey. That my perceived failures are my own. That it really isn’t anyone’s business.
For me, this is a hard one. I don’t share everything, but I do make most of my life an open book for the world to see. It’s important to me, not to be some sort of example, but to just exist. So that whoever else is going through some shit can know that they’re not alone.
But I can choose what I wish to share in my daily life, too, with the people I see every day. That doesn’t mean being dishonest. But it does mean that just because I choose to share some, doesn’t mean I have to share all. That I don’t have to broadcast my every move, every setback, every success, with everyone.
The fact is that people who aren’t addicts don’t understand. But that’s okay. Does this mean I’ll stop explaining it? Probably not. But it does mean that I don’t have to be so disappointed when I don’t get through to them. It means that I don’t have to take their cross looks to heart. It means I can tell myself that they don’t get it, and I will be right, and I can go to a meeting and talk to people who actually do.
I love all my people. I love that they follow up with me, and want to ask me questions, and want to know what’s going on with me. They want to know how I’m doing, that I’m okay. They want to tell me they’re proud, or concerned, or whatever they are. And they can say all those things. But I won’t be taking it so personally anymore. I won’t let the fear of breaking their hearts drag me further down.
I can beat myself up better than anyone else, anyways.
So by all means, ask me the things. Be flabbergasted or put out or disappointed or proud or whatever you want to be. Let me know you support me, or tell me you just can’t deal with this right now. I have an alcoholic parent, so trust me, I understand if that’s the case.
But I’m going to do me, whatever that means to you. And it’s not that I intend to do this alone. It’s just that my sobriety depends on me, and so that’s whose opinion matters the most.
And to anyone who is reading this who struggles with their addiction- you are always going to be wrestling with this. Just because you said you wouldn’t do the thing, whatever it is, and then did it anyways doesn’t mean you’re a failure, or a bad person, or a liar, or anything else. I can go out and get drunk tonight if I want to. But I decided, just for today, that I’m not going to drink. Maybe I will tomorrow. But not today. And I’ll wake up tomorrow and say the same thing. And time will pass.
Is never the goal? Of course it is. I would like to never wake up again with a hangover, trying to remember where I left my car and checking my wallet to make sure my cards are still there. I’m okay with never experiencing that feeling again, the blind panic that comes with ‘what the hell did I do last night.’
But slipping is okay. You’re going up against Hercules, a huge desire of a thing you shouldn’t do that just makes it more tempting. All you can do is the next right thing. All you can do is hit a meeting, or call someone, or get a shower, or smoke a cigarette. And wallow, but only for a minute. Forgive yourself. Because beating yourself up for your bad behavior isn’t changing anything. Make an effort to move on. Seek help, and be honest with the people who know your pain. Do it as many times as it takes.
I believe in you.
That’s my girl!!!
“Put one foot in front of the other and do the next right thing”