I finally got back to church for the first time in a few months. There is something about the place I go -- when I go, it's something really thought provoking and relevant to where I am at in my life. This week, we listened about how the past can be a trap -- both the positive past and the negative past. If we get stuck there, we stop believing that anything can change and there might be a different path for us. I think in my own experience, I know this to be true; however, there is something about hearing it outside of my own head that was quite powerful.

I am a firm believer that the past is something that we cannot get rid of. The past helped to define and shape the people we are today. The past can certainly haunt us, trap us or motivate us. The past serves a purpose in our lives. The fine balance is not to let the past be our present or our future. In AA, we say "We will not regret the past, nor close the door on it." When I read this promise, I knew the promise of happiness could be within my reach if I could somehow tame the past and move forward.

When I started DBT, as well, we talk about about rebuilding our lives and moving on. I knew that I wanted to move on, I just didn't know how. I speak with many others that are trapped by their past and it starts to ruin the present and the future. The mindfulness activities that we did were to help pull us into the present and stay here. Enjoy this moment. No worrying about the future, no reliving the past. Be here, just sit in the moment. It was probably one of the most difficult things I learned to do. I think I miss that the most about my classes with that group. Constantly practicing bringing myself back to the present was probably one of the most relieving things I know how to do.

I started thinking about the process of grief. At the beginning of May was the 25th anniversary of my dad's death. While I was doing some research on grief for a client of mine, I thought about my own experiences with grief. I found this statement about grief to be so true: Read here

Grief is probably, at least in my opinion, one of the most difficult things to get through and leave in the past. It probably took about 10 years for the grief related to my dad's death not to take my breath away when I thought about it. As I achieved things in my life, I wanted him to be there - high school, college, nursing school, my wedding. I just shoved all that grief down and acted like I was stronger than I really was. As I started to get sober, I started to value the time that I had, the opportunities I had to care for him and feel very secure in the knowledge that we are still connected to this day. What I learned from him, I attempt to practice daily and have devoted myself to the same ideals he did.

The next period of grief I experienced was my divorce. My counselor at the time did help me to see that I was, in fact, experiencing grief. A loss of a dream and an ideal. I felt like I had failed on so many different levels and I had let so many people down. I was grieving the place that society holds married couples. I was crippled by this grief and loss for a long time. Like most people, I search to replace the loss with other relationships and other things, alcohol included, for me. The only way to get past the grief and loss for that time period was to drown myself and forget it. Sadly, that was about the time that alcohol stopped working for me. It was making this process a million times more miserable. 

The magic question for many people getting into recovery is "how do I get past this?" What is the magic word or action that a person can do to "move on"? If my life moves forward after the loss of someone or something, will that be disrespectful? I had a journey for myself and now, because of this loss or event, I will never be the same. Who am I now? I wasn't prepared to live this new life like this. I don't know how to move forward.

In the past 5 years, this recovery journey has been focused on how do I move forward now. There are times that I think about the past and wish I was able to change the course. I wished I had followed my instincts back in the day and not made certain choices. When I find myself going there, the first thing I need to do is STOP IT. I can literally drive myself crazy thinking about the what ifs. While it is a hard truth sometimes, there is not a damn thing I can do about it now. The value that the past holds for me now is to take the lessons I learned and decide what kind of future I wanted for my life. As the serenity prayer states: Accept the things I cannot change (the past) and courage to change the things I can (the future).

There is a delicate balance of not denying the past and moving on from the past. I still struggle to do it. In fact, it is one of my relapse trigger warnings for myself. When I start looking back and living in the past, it makes me thirsty. Earlier in my recovery, I found myself fixated on how exciting I thought my life was back then. It was not even a remotely accurate view on things; however, I wanted a reason to go back there because something currently was not working well. I also get fixated on the decisions I made that forever changed the course of my life and the minute I start wishing to make changes to them, I know that I am in some trouble. Fortunately, these days I appreciate my present and hold great excitement about the future. I set out on a mission in my second year of recovery. I want to be an advocate. I want to be a voice about addiction and recovery. Today, more than ever, I feel like I am participating in that dream. Dwelling on the past only distracts me from there here and now where I am actually doing something I find really meaningful.

How did I get past the past? I am not sure where the magic moment happened. I think once I started to value myself as a person, I could see a future. I had been so oriented in the past. When I did my 1st 4th step (a fearless and searching moral inventory), I did feel a sense of relief. Kind of like "There, I said it outloud. I did it, let' move on." I didn't burst into flames. The world didn't self-destruct. (For those who are reading this and know me somewhat, I can be a  bit dramatic so I really thoughts these things were a possibility.) For the first year of recovery, I was spending my time keeping my nose above water. In the 2nd year, I turned my focus to the future and wondered what I could do. Addiction sucked. Recovery was pretty sweet compared to the previous 15 years. Somewhere in that time, I was able to find that balance of saying, this is who I was for all these years. I clawed and scratched my way into recovery. That has value. I have strength. And if I can do it, others can too.  I changed my vision. I finally understood my recovery as a time to redefine myself and my values. I lost so many things in addiction including any sense of self. I know that life became pretty miserable when I didn't know what to do other than circle the drain. Church this week was just a good reminder that I can stay to the vision and keep my eye on a bright future or run to the past and dwell on what could have been. 

Peace all!
​Julie

Wrestler Chyna Doll (Joan Laurer) passed away a month ago from a drug overdose. I remember watching her on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. I felt a weird connection with her even though we had very little in common. If my recollection serves me right, she was on Celebrity Rehab somewhere around 2008. The interview I remember (which is not much because I was in my own alcohol induced stupor at this point in my life) was her trying to decide whether or not she was an addict. While in treatment, she was coming closer to making that admission. I remember thinking it was so weird that she didn't think she was an addict. That was something I never really struggled with in terms of my addiction. I knew I was addicted, many, many years before I was willing to do anything about it. I was taken by her because she was so tough and broken into a male dominated arena. Yet here she was addicted, just like me. 

​Anyway, another high profile death due to addiction is here. My instincts tell me that prescription drugs will ultimately be shown to have a contributing factor in Prince's death as well. Meanwhile in the "normal", non-famous world, 200,000 people per year are dying because of illicit drug use, 85,000 a year from alcohol related deaths and 20,000 from prescription drug abuse and/or dependence (National Institute on Drug Abuse). Holy crap, right? Substance Abuse is going to be taking over the #1 area of health concern by 2020, topping diseases such as diabetes and cardiovascular issues. Opiates are taking 100 lives a day.Yet, I feel like our voice is silent.

I understand, firsthand, why anonymity is so crucial in recovery. My shame about being addicted was so strong. I did not want anyone to know anything about my issues. When I returned to work after my first stint in rehab, I just told people I had an unspecified health issue. It wasn't until months after I came back that I was willing to talk about it with anyone other than my boss who knew and supported me through my issues. 

After a while, though, I felt that me not talking about what I was going through in terms of recovery was starting to feel just as bad as me lying about the problem I had in the first place. I started sharing what had happened and I felt a great deal of pressure be lifted from me. I didn't want to be anonymous anymore. I don't care if people know that I am addict. In fact, I wanted them to know. I also want them to know that I am in recovery and ask the questions about addiction so they might be able to get some answers too.

There are pros and cons to staying anonymous and to getting out there and being a voice for recovery. No doubt, people still judge addicts. We are still having the discussions out there about whether or not addiction is a disease or just a lack of willpower. I understand both sides of the argument very well and can really support either side. However, anonymity is causing one major problem in my opinion. We aren't organized. We aren't advocating for ourselves and we aren't doing much to reduce the stigma against us. I believe the recovery community has 1000 good reasons for staying out of the limelight. Part of it comes from AA and the traditions which indicate that AA does not get involved in anything - political or otherwise. Part of it comes from the safety of not being judged in a neutral environment. I guess this begs the question, can a person participate in advocacy and remain anonymous?

Addiction is killing people. Plain and simple. 23 million Americans are in recovery and took many different ways to get there. Yet, we are still talking in code on the street and unwilling to come forward to have our voices be heard. For those of us that took the journey to get sober, we know the difficulties with getting insurance to pay for treatment. We know what it is like to show up in the emergency room and be turned away. We know what it is like to be given a pill from a doctor who clearly doesn't understand addiction and be sent home. The most effect place to institute change is at a policy level. Paul Wellstone did that for us when he demanded that insurance companies pay for mental health and substance abuse services like all other medical conditions. This is still not happening but we have no collective voice to share these issues to promote change. 

I want to reiterate that I understand the desire for anonymity. However, if we are ever going to change the stigma that we face, it's time to come out of shadows and be proud of what we have accomplished. It's time to show that what people might believe addiction to be is not necessarily correct. We need to organize and have our voices heard. There are more treatments available than ever and also a better scientific understanding about addiction. Addiction doesn't have to be a death sentence anymore. I believe our silence is costing us dearly.

As I am getting closer to 40, what remains of my biological clock reminds me that there isn't too many years left to do the whole motherhood thing. There was a time in my life that I thought I wanted at least 5 children. In a weird way, the person I ended up marrying was extremely anti-children and in order not to rock the boat, I went along with it. Given all the issues I experienced with addiction, I am grateful, in a way, that children didn't happen for me. As my ex used to say, you would be a terrible mother. Since he saw me drunk most every day, he was right. 

But, what about now. It took me some time after my divorce to get sober. Once I did, it was a long road to obtain any level of stability that would open the door to welcoming children into the picture. I had a long-term relationship of 5 years in which I thought this might be the person to have that conversation with. Unfortunately, there was too much drama outside of us that continuously affected us. I never did get to be a priority in his life and finally I had to decide whether or not this relationship was even remotely fulfilling anymore. As it turns out, nope, it wasn't.

Dating has not been a great deal of fun for me. In fact, I just left it alone for almost 2 years. My focus has become my career and my recovery. While I love children, I just don't think that they will happen for me. I was having a conversation with another late 30-something about turning 40. What does these mean if we never had kids? Am I less of a woman for it? Unmarried. Childless. Nearly 40. In today's age am I still considered a spinster? The fact that I have 2 cats probably isn't helping much either with the stereotype.

My Facebook feed is awashed with pictures of new mothers, mothers whose children are doing wonderful things, mothers becoming grandmothers. From time to time, I have a pang of jealously, wondering if I tried hard enough, could it still happen for me. In all honesty, though, I am not cut out to be a mother. I listen to my friends talk about the struggles of raising children. Dealing with the hurt and pain of a sick child or issues of bullying at school. While I know their love runs deeper than I probably can feel for their children, I often hear the intense sacrifices given up for them - the sleepless nights, the stomach wrenching worry, etc. I also do see, feel and hear about the unconditional love and joy children can bring as well. 

I have accepted that children are not going to be for me. Around Mother's Day is one of the main times when this subject really starts to eat at me. I start to have the shoulda, woulda, coulda conversation. Had I not gotten so wrapped up in my addiction, it could have happened. If I hadn't stayed in a dead-end relationship for 5 years, it could have happened. If I would get out there and try harder, maybe. In reality though? I hate the shoulda, coulda, woulda. For much of my life in recovery, I have devoted myself to allowing God to take the reigns in my life. Just because I want it, doesn't mean that is what I need or what I get. 

I guess I consider my motherhood to be focused on my recovery. The first few years were tough but as the years move forward, I am amazed at what my recovery has allowed me to do. I am a voice for possibilities. I am a voice for access to treatment. I am an example showing that recovery is possible and it works. I will remain devoted to nurturing my recovery for the benefit of my community. I am an advocate for others. This type of motherhood is extremely rewarding to me. While I may never know the joy of holding my own child, I take deep pride in holding the hands of my fellow brothers and sisters who suffer from addiction. I am considering myself a "non-traditional mother". 

Lest we forget, I also am overly devoted to my cats. My furry babies are also part of my motherhood. We provide each other love and joy every day. Again, not a traditional mother but a worried, obsessive, concerned and in-love person who would do a lot to ensure the comfort and safety of my little beasties. 

For all my friends out there that didn't have the opportunity or didn't desire to have the opportunity to have children, I encourage us to redefine our motherhoods. Many of us have the instincts and might have made excellent mothers in the traditional sense. However, we were called, directed or moved to something different and there is nothing wrong with that. Whatever it is that we chose to take care of, to raise and to nurture is something that we can be very proud of. 

Peace!
​Julie