In my journal yesterday, I wrote in all caps, “FEAR.” Next to it, I scribbled “is living one day at a time.” This morning I listened to a guided mediation by Our Echo Yoga. She ended reminding me, “I am not my fear.” But something inside is causing me anxiety. Some part of me is frightened. It’s clear there is some work around fear I have not yet resolved, so today, we are going to dig a deeper and hopefully figure out where this is coming from. Maybe when we’re done, together we’ll even feel a little safer.
Rationally I have nothing to be afraid of. My needs are met, and I know that I am loved. I have a rewarding job, my bills are paid, and my body is healthy. My kids are happy, unconditionally loved, and I feel secure in the important relationships in my life. Relapse is nowhere in sight.
“FEAR is living one day at a time.”
I think of the note I scribbled in my journal and feel I should explain to those of you who have not listened to my talk with Pawley and Michele on Recoverycast last month. Recoverycast is a place for open, honest conversations around addiction, a place to explore alternative paths to recovery, and I was honored to be a guest a month or so ago. My tweet responding to the question “what is the worst advice you’ve received in recovery?” got Pawley’s attention. I responded, “one day at a time.”
That motto, often abbreviated ODAAT, caused me much anxiety in early recovery, enough that eventually I left the 12-step program I was working. “What’s wrong with living one day at a time?” you might ask. “Isn’t it healthy to give up control?” And my answer is yes. It is healthy to recognize that the idea of control is an illusion in our lives. But we can connect with something greater than ourselves without living in constant fear of relapse. We can fill the once clogged spiritual hole substances with meditation, prayer, or even just silence I believe only after we begin to think clearly.
What bothered me the most about ODAAT was the powerlessness. The uncertainty that washed over me every time I thought about relapse or the life I worked so hard to be free from. I needed a path to recovery that took control from my addictive voice and returned the power back to me before I could even consider giving it over to something spiritual in nature.
This revelation changed my life.
I found Rational Recovery and learned about Addictive Voice Recognition Technique (AVRT). I started meditating and practicing yoga daily – read about How yoga helped me recover. (sobbrave.com). I feel more confident. My body is healthier than since I was 16! I am making progress professionally, helping people set and reach educational and personal goals. I work with some of the strongest women I know. I’ve saved enough money to take my kids on vacation next month and my relationships are flourishing. Some days I struggle with meaning, but I now realize it’s the journey that matters. Through that realization, I work to make every day meaningful.
So why the fear? What am I afraid of? It is not the take-my-breath-away fear or a fear that causes panic most days. Rather it is a dull hum under the surface, that I hear only when I slow down. The word that comes to mind is purpose, though I feel like I have an understanding of what my life is for. This blog, advocating for those suffering in addiction, living as a testament to what we are capable of and how to heal; writing my story as a creative expression of the woman I am – this is my purpose.
But in this is where I feel the fear.
I wonder “what if I’m not doing enough?” Could I devote more of me to things I say I want to create? Am I not yet living authentically as me? And under that, the sneaking fear of “what if I’m not good enough?” More than the thought, “what if they don’t like me?” I worry, “what if no one cares?”
I don’t want someone to tell me that everything is going to be fine. I’m not looking for a plan of action or even a response to these questions. I’m not even trying to fix anything. In all honesty, I’ve put in the work, I know what I need to do:
Just keep going.
I realize the good intentions of those who want to fix us. I know that’s often the instinct, to help a friend by pulling them out of “the stuck.” Providing advice and optimism, we feel like the only way to help someone who’s down is to lift them up. But that isn’t what I need right now. I need to ground myself, literally lay on the floor and let the creative responses to my natural questions wash over me. If you fix my problems for me, I might miss my own answer.
My fear is found in questioning my authenticity and purpose. If I don’t go inwards and discover myself under this light, the result could be more of what I think you want me to be. Sometimes we just need someone to hear us, to really see us while we sit with fear. Right now, I just need someone to sit with me in the mud.
