Sobriety has given me a life I’d never dreamed of, but what about relationships in recovery? Though I am certainly not an expert on love, my experience may help. The first question I have learned to ask when testing the waters of the ever-shrinking dating pool is: what am I using to attract people? If I attract people through something I’m not, I will lose them through what I am. Until recently, I had only a flimsy grip on who I was, and I hated what I was holding onto. Is it much wonder why the relationships I’ve had weren’t fulfilling? Should I be shocked that if I couldn’t be alone and sober with myself, that no one else would choose to either?
Jay Shetty says if your relationship starts like an interview, it will end like a firing. That when we attract others by only showing how we’re qualified, we set ourselves up for failure when our real self peeks out through the cracks. By only showing others the best I have to offer, I mislead them into thinking I am the sum of my success. What about the messy part underneath? What about my struggles and regrets? My insecurities, trauma, and even failures? This isn’t to say I’m going to start showing up for first dates in sweatpants to gush about how much of a trainwreck I was in active addiction, but rather that I will show up in the world as my authentic self.
I refuse to hide my past because it has made me who I am today.
In 2018, one of the most important relationships of my life came crashing down around me. After an unsuccessful relationship with the father of my children, a man who never deserved the hurt I caused, I fell in love with a close friend from my past. What ignited with passion, was grinding to a painful stop. I’d lost myself in what we had, and fear prevented me from seeing how unhealthy this new relationship had become. I was entirely co-dependent on this woman and my addiction was out of control. We enabled each other, rationalizing each other’s use. When she first tried to get sober, I made it nearly impossible.
I was still in that painful place where I’d do anything to avoid looking in a metaphorical mirror. I justified my use with prescriptions and doctor’s orders. She left without much explanation for fear that I would choose addiction over our relationship. What’s worse is that she was probably right.
The emotional pain became physical, and I used more and more to cope. Soon pills weren’t enough. Drinking was a daily door I opened to escape and hide from the person I had become. Self-consciousness slipped into self-hatred before I could put words to feelings.
I became wholly unrecognizable.
I lost so much weight that I wore my 7-year-old daughter’s tee shirts and invested myself in people I clearly knew would hurt me. I refused to spend even an hour alone because I couldn’t stand the constant cycle of shame and self-doubt that played on repeat in my mind. Layering makeup on thick, I tried to hide the grey color of my skin and gave away my clothes with hopes of finding a friend. I let men take advantage of me, preferring sex with near strangers to nights alone. Mornings were full of regret washed down with more booze and soon I slept through them entirely. Life had no purpose.
Despite a graduate degree, I wouldn’t work. I couldn’t. I lived each day to escape myself and showed up to job interviews late, looking like I’d been awake for a week. Other addicted people were attracted to my inheritance. As I supplied their demand, I wondered why they used me for money. Eventually the money ran out, my “friends” disappeared, and I was left to sit in the shame of the shell I had become. Even then, when I literally had nothing to offer, I threw myself at the first person who showed interest in spending time with me. “My sobriety can wait,” I thought, laying on the floor of the spacious bathroom I was ready to be evicted from. “I can do it as long as I’m not alone.”
After about 6 months sober, I started to feel human.
I longed for connection, dreamt of sharing my recovery with someone who saw me. But I was nowhere close to relationship ready. At this point, the 12-step program was the only route to recovery I knew, so I stuffed my misgivings down deep and worked it without question. But I couldn’t help feeling out of place. Like everyone had some secret they called surrender but somehow it wouldn’t fit me. My sponsor showed me what worked for her, and I took notes, all the while scanning the rooms for potential partners.
A few more months passed, and I started teaching again. I was hired back to a nonprofit I resigned from 5 years prior; the new director told me that the honesty and insight I shared about my recovery impressed her. My confidence grew. I was contributing to the world, using the gifts I’d been given, and polishing the skills I’d forgotten I had. I started reading everything I could about recovery, not yet realizing how far I had to go before I could consider letting another person know me intimately.
I still didn’t trust myself.
My second year of sobriety was dramatically better than the first. Not because of the peace I’ve prioritized in my home, or the present awareness I’ve created through my daily meditation practice. Not even because of the people I’ve surrounded myself with. My life has changed because of me. It was almost as if a switch flipped on and my body heart, and soul aligned. I learned to trust my instincts. Instead of looking outward for approval, I learned to love myself.
Grounded in this sense of self, I took my first risk as a sober woman. I left the rooms intent on finding my own program of recovery. The moment I told my sponsor I was stepping out on my own, I felt invigorated and free. The wet blanket of this forever disease was pulled from my shoulders.
I was lighter.
When I found Rational Recovery, excitement flooded my body and the air smelled of possibility. I didn’t have to follow anyone else’s footsteps; my recovery could be everything I needed and nothing that I didn’t. As I trusted my body, my yoga practice grew to take the place of meetings in church basements. I found my higher power on my mat, and it was safe to let go of what was no longer serving me. The realization that I held the power to reclaim my life changed the way I saw the world. I changed the way I showed up in it.
Through this relatively abrupt transformation, I discovered who I am. A woman who values differences in others and is energized by optimism. A mother who loves her children unconditionally and honestly shares with them all the lessons learned. I am a teacher and a student, always learning and passing on the wisdom gained. Creativity and beauty captivate me more than competition and material success. Equality is essential, compassion is a must, and I strive to find gratitude in all that I do. I’ve adopted the saying, “the personal is political” and pride myself on second chances. Open-minded curiosity drives my day-to-day and I’m no longer afraid to ask for what I need. The key to living as authentically me was in trusting that I could provide the love I spent years searching for. Through trusting myself, I opened myself to the possibility of love.
I learned that of the relationships in recovery, the one I have with myself must come first.
I’ve intentionally lived alone for almost 3 years but yet, that desperate, lonely feeling has disappeared. I have myself to come home to and I know I’ll be greeted with tender understanding. Stepping into the world surer of myself – I am comfortable with my past, hopeful for my future, and grounded in the present. I attract others with similar quiet confidence. I’m ready to reveal myself to someone else, but the pressure to find “the one” is gone.
Excited to start dating, I am putting myself out there. I want to truly see another person, to meet them where they are, and show up confident in what I bring to the table. When newly sober friends ask me about dating in recovery, I tell them the truth. You have to truly know, respect, and love yourself before you can give yourself to anyone else. It may be filled with cliches, but they’ve earned the importance we place on them. Self-awareness is necessary to authenticity. Only showing the best parts of yourself or shelving those things that make you unique will eventually lead to resentment and an unfulfilled relationship. Take the space and time to get to know yourself before inviting someone else intimately into your life. You cannot force love and if it’s meant to be, it will. Here’s to loving ourselves first!