16 Years Sober

16 years sober – what’s changed?  Truth be told, everything, and nothing.  I still want people to love and adore me, but today I’m more interested in loving and adoring myself.  My behavior and intention have changed in receiving love and adoration, as has my definition of what love and adoration is.  I still want to be great, and many times the best, but today I really want to be my best.  I am far more invested in my actions and the outcome of those actions, than I am gutting and suffering myself to be better than the person next to me.  I derive far more comfort in being one of, than one up or ten down.  It’s being where I am.

I still beat myself up and shame myself for not doing things perfectly every time they present themselves.  I am still sensitive and take things personally.  I am still quick to react and quick to judge.  I am still impulsive, and I can still be defensive.  But today I move much more quickly into solution and self-forgiveness, kindness and intention.  Today I acknowledge how I feel and accept who I am.  I keep things to myself (when in judgement and scorn) and ask my own thoughts about their sincerity and truth and hurt far less people.  I do my best to be good to myself, although I still fall short sometimes.  It’s being human.

I am my own friend today.  I am the most resilient and reliable person I know, aside from my own mother and father.  I am comforted by my own presence and have developed a respect and fondness for myself than I dreamed possible.  I am open to doing things differently and to doing things better.  I am open to being more flexible and to trying another way.  I am open to taking a pause, like I have been forced to do lately, to just be.  I am willing to be patient and tolerant until another door presents itself.  I am willing to show up for myself today and stay present for as long as it takes.  All because I took some simple direction when I was 18, and never stopped taking them.

I still eat more than I need at social events when the food calls to me.  I still feel fat when I have no control over my circumstances.  I still want to be paid attention to and feel less than if somebody isn’t in the way that I want them to.  I still forget to communicate sometimes, but I remember much more quickly.  I still take myself far too seriously but realize in the admission of doing so that it lessens.  I still want to do big things with my life, but the direction and service behind the want is now much greater than I.  I think we’re all supposed to do big things, just not for our ego inflation.  It’s right sizing.

This is sobriety, at 16 years: sitting quietly after a bath and phone call with a long-time girlfriend of mine, writing about the novelty that is this life, resting my broken and booted ankle on the chair next to me.  Asking Mike to take my sneakers upstairs and hang a new shower curtain for me because I can’t right now.  Asking him to buy me flowers because although it seems extremely obvious and commonsense to me that I deserve such things in a time of vulnerability and need, apparently it is not.  Getting my home ready with snacks and drinks for friends to come partake in game night, bringing laughter and fellowship to me instead of expecting it to arrive by itself.  It’s participating.

This is sobriety, without drugs and alcohol, at 34 years old.  It’s having a day of absolutely nothing, because most of my time is enjoyed spent doing.  It’s sleeping in and watching TV (I know, gasp) and not getting up but once because right now getting up without one leg sucks.  It’s feeling sorry for myself for a little while, acknowledging that even the mundane is challenging and despite it only being one full week, I miss the ability to move dearly.  I miss the smell of the fall air.  I miss being cold at the beginning of a run and hot at the end.  I miss walking Bam and her fake peeing to get me to slow down.  I miss being able to just get up and get something without thinking about every move first.  It’s being honest.

It’s going to work every day from home, producing quality service and being responsible despite the inability to drive or walk or go to the office.  It’s paying attention when someone asks me for help and welcoming each phone call as it comes.  It’s asking newer reps what they need and giving it to them.  It’s being patient and not expecting people to help me and asking for what I need instead.  It’s setting boundaries around meetings that I can’t get to and being there remotely instead.  It’s logging into work before most people arrive, because I can.  It’s staying logged on and respecting that I am paid to perform, despite being at home and in pain.  It’s also logging off when it is time and staying logged off even when I have nothing else to do.  It’s having integrity.

This is sobriety, from hurting myself in ways I couldn’t imagine entertaining anymore.  It is crying in the middle of the night because getting myself out of bed with a broken ankle, unable to walk just 20 steps, is hard.  It is breaking down on a Friday night, sobbing by myself watching a movie with Bam, and being OK.  It is realizing that I do wear a superwoman cape in times of high stress and chaos, but that the cape can come off and I can also be exposed.  It is learning the balance of self-sufficiency and dependency in the moment, as each moment comes.  It is learning that it is OK to not know, until you know. It’s respecting the process.

This is sobriety, this is functioning on life’s terms, this is committing to a life of principles and spirituality, refusing to try and take the edge off when taking the edge off seems the only reasonable thing to do.  I used to think that sobriety was going to be boring, unfair, burdensome, grueling, and weak.  I used to think that sobriety was going to be isolating, judgmental, and poor.  I used to think that sobriety meant that I’d be surrounded by people I couldn’t relate to, didn’t want to spend time with, and people not doing anything with their lives.  It’s being willing.

If you know me, you know that I am no more sensitive than you are, when you allow yourself to be.  If you know me, you know that I am no more insane than you are, when I stay centered and honest.  If you know me, you know that I am no weirder than you are, and that it is our weirdness that makes us grow fonder of one another.  If you know me, you know that I am not strange, poorly socialized, or scared.  If you know me, you know that I work hard, I play hard, and I get shit done.  If you know me, you know that I am just like you, on our good and bad days.  You know that by and large, we are the same.

You know that I will show up for work.  You know that I will always do what I say I will do.  You know that if you call me in need, I will be there for you.  You know that if you don’t know what to do or what to say, you can ask me, and I will ask your permission to share my experience with you.  You know that I will do my best to make you feel less alone and afraid.  You know that I will honor my word, and yours.  You know that I respect my time, and yours.  You know that you can rely on me and my perspective, because I am open with you about it without assuming ours is the same.  You know that you can share anything with me, because I will not judge you.  You know that I will support you, if you are doing your best in doing right for yourself.  You know that I care, even if you don’t.  You know that I am real, even if you’re not.  You know that I’m passionate and determined, disciplined and organized; even if you’re not.

Sobriety probably doesn’t sound like you thought it would.  It probably doesn’t look like what you envisioned.  Sober has changed my life.  Sober has made me who I am.

I couldn’t have done this without the army of people surrounding me at all times.  I wouldn’t have wanted to do this without the army of people surrounding me at all times.  The faces of the army keep changing, but the army itself does not.  Thank you, everyone, for being my army.