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  • When AA is Not Enough

    I started going to meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous on a regular basis when I was eighteen. I was not all that ready or eager to admit that I was an alcoholic and needed help, but I knew that I belonged in those rooms. I heard the message, I identified with others, and I saw people staying sober and living seemingly happy and productive lives.

    From eighteen to twenty-five, I attended AA off and on and had different stretches of time sober. Four months, seven months, eighteen months, thirty months…. in between I relapsed, and I usually stayed in those relapses for six months to a year. I drank and abused drugs again and welcomed in the dark, depressing world of alcoholism and the endless pain and destruction that it causes. I thought I was broken beyond repair. Hopeless. That this Higher Power or whatever had turned its back on me. I didn’t actually want to drink and drug again and live that way anymore, but I saw no other choice. Living sober wasn’t all that great – in fact, it became downright miserable – might as well drink.

    This happens a lot to people who come to AA. They get sober and at first there’s this nice “pink cloud,” because certain things do improve. We feel much better physically, no longer poisoning our system with chemicals. We maybe get a job back or start going to school or are welcome into our families again. We often look better, losing or gaining weight as necessary. We aren’t in immediate threat of getting arrested or injuring ourselves or someone else because of substance abuse. Meetings bring camaraderie and fellowship and laughter. We might even start going through the Twelve Steps with a sponsor and gathering an idea of Higher Power. But from my personal experience and the experience of many others, this eventually wears off and proves to not be enough. It wears off and we are left with intense fear and anger and this sense of something not being quite right. Or maybe maybe we still feel numb. We aren’t actually tending to the problem. We don’t want to drink again, but we don’t want face reality without something to take the edge off…

    What often starts to happen is the carousel of substitution, which at first is harmless and maybe even necessary. One thing at a time. So we start smoking, eating lots of sugar, exercising like mad. We go on some diet or cleanse. Maybe we spend all our spare moments in coffee shops with other sober alcoholics, sharing stories and jokes. Or we start shopping, accumulating nice things. Or we start dating people and having sex. We get a big job and throw ourselves into work. None of these are that bad, especially at first, when it is enough to just get sober. But these things cannot sustain long-term recovery and emotional and spiritual sobriety, and after a while they most certainly will hinder real recovery if they are covering up our ability to face ourselves.

    In my opinion, most alcoholics are not simply “selfish and self-centered” and therefore need to go “be of service” in order to be free from their sick minds that will “always be sick.” I cannot subscribe to this philosophy any longer, because when I did, I didn’t get better. I see too many sick people in the rooms who continue to try to run from their troubles by sponsoring people and talking to newcomers, and they never stay sober or have quality recovery. They may appear to be helping others to a degree, which is a noble endeavor, but they are often still running from facing themselves and healing themselves – denying themselves. Thus, they mostly continue to harm themselves and others. Yes, it is very important to help other alcoholics and be of service in the world. But it is not all there is, and we are far better off being selfish for a good long while and healing our own wounds before we are able to be of any real use to someone else. This is also a much healthier way to be of service – we then can avoid the strange codependent dance of making people our Higher Powers or thinking we have any power to actually change or control another person.

    I believe the root of alcoholism, for most, is self-hatred and codependency, codependency meaning a deep inability to care for and love ourselves. Not all codependents become alcoholics and addicts, but most alcoholics and addicts have some form of codependency going on. It is a family disease, and everyone is affected. It tends to get passed down through the generations, and not always in the form of a bottle. Eating disorders, workaholism, sex and love addiction, even mental and physical illness are a part of the “disease.” When you grow up in dysfunction, you do not learn healthy ways to mature and tend to develop fear-based thinking and lack of trust – therefore a compulsion to control yourself and your environment. Addiction is essentially trying to control. We don’t want to feel so we drink. We don’t want to face ourselves, or we don’t think we deserve to take care of ourselves or have the ability to, so we focus on someone or something else.

    Add to this the great denial that goes along with this disease. Because our culture is so externally focused and other-esteem oriented, it can be very easy to minimize family dysfunction. That white picket fence is a great cover. Money is a great cover, or good looks, or success. We feel guilty if we grew up with privilege – food on the table and new shoes and clothes – but still feel incredible suffering. That is because those things do not mean that the home was safe and loving. Those things are still nice, wonderful in fact, but they do not diminish damage that was being done through various forms of neglect, abandonment, and abuse.

    Alcoholism and addiction are certainly illnesses that have no official cure, and for most of us, once that invisible line is crossed, we cannot safely drink and take drugs again. Something certainly changed in my brain, and if I were to take a drink tonight, I have no doubt that within a few weeks I would be drinking and taking drugs on a daily basis. The treatment, however, is far more complex than simply stopping the substance and atoning for our bad behavior. It is far more complex than attending AA meetings and working with an AA sponsor. The treatment is tending to the entire inner world that lies beneath the addiction. We don’t become addicts by mistake. It is not a fluke but a fairly predictable pattern that emerges in those who experienced trauma or who have a family history of alcoholism and codependency. Do some escape it? Sure. And still some have found a way out through less destructive distractions. Not everyone who experiences trauma grows up to abuse alcohol and drugs. But I can almost guarantee that if you continue to strongly abuse alcohol and drugs for years and years (not just sophomore year of college) you probably experienced some intense dysfunction growing up and probably have codependent issues. If you do, you deserve help.

    So what does that mean for those of us who land in AA? For me, it meant that I could not maintain sobriety, nor have any real deep down in my bones recovery until I addressed the codependency and trauma. Believe me, I did not want to do this. I wanted to be my father’s daughter and pick myself up by my bootstraps. I thought it was indulgent and selfish and over the top. I didn’t want to be a victim, a baby, a drama queen. And remember what I said about denial? Well, it couldn’t have been that bad – I went to private school and summer camp! No. It was that bad. It wasn’t all bad, but much of it was. It was painful, confusing, chaotic, and harmful. Admitting that, owning that, was extremely important. And then I began the search. The inner work. The real stuff.

    Al-Anon, a great therapist, and mindfulness, as well as reading tons of books and educating myself became the center of my recovery. I was teaching full-time, and that became a wonderful place to practice what I was learning and experiencing with recovery from codependency. And I knew I was actually getting better, because I started to see real results on the inside. I started to feel a lot less fear. Instead of rage, I began to feel grief. Sadness. And I could feel it and let it pass through. I began to be responsible for my thoughts and feelings and ceased the blame game, therefore becoming much less free of resentment. I became very aware of my thinking and how it was regularly based not in reality but in projection and what I perceived you were thinking. I learned to build an inner parent that was my constant advocate. Overtime, my food issues, which I thought would never resolve, lessened dramatically until they became virtually non-existent. I stopped feeling like a constant failure and seeking validation. Instead, I validated and esteemed myself.

    Was it easy? No, not really. At times, especially in the beginning, it felt brutal, like I had no skin. It has taken practice and trust. But it got easier, and then it became sort of fun. It seemed magical to me that I could actually change my thinking and perception. I didn’t have to stay sick and angry and scrambling for some external fix. It also gave me a tremendous amount of self-esteem and self-confidence as well as hopefulness, because I knew the solution was always within me. It was like one giant “aha moment” after the other – this was what always seemed wrong with me, and here was this profound solution that could alter my entire life. I got over the idea that maybe I was being selfish by taking care of myself first – I saw how miraculous it was to live this way.

    The service that I can bring to others now is authentic and clean, without any real motive or desire to control. When Bill W. talked about working with other alcoholics as being one of the “bright spots of our lives” and the surest way to avoid drinking, I don’t think he just meant sponsorship or taking another person through the steps. I think what he was onto was the very special connection that happens between two people sharing in recovery, how we are far more understood and heard when communicating with those who are walking our path. Working with other alcoholics, for me, is often just being a friend to a fellow, without expectation or need (because I already meet my own expectations and needs and know it’s not my job to meet theirs), listening and sharing, identifying and connecting.

    I don’t want this to come across like I do any of this perfectly, or as a judgement of others and their paths. I I still have all my human imperfections and days when my thinking is a little wonky. I believe it takes what it takes for people to get what they need and find the brand of recovery that works for them. I only hope to carry this message further, because I think it can get lost in some of the AA jargon and opinions of members, and I hope others can find the joy that I have found! After years and years of hating myself and thinking it was unhealthy and egotistical to love myself and put myself first, to have freedom from that nonsense and a rich healthy inner life is news worth sharing.

    To truly recover from alcoholism and codependency is always news worth sharing.

  • I’d Rather Be Soft

    Think of all the ways we are taught that being tough is better than being “weak.” We learn to defend ourselves physically and emotionally, that hard bodies are healthier, that objects last longer when they are built tough and sturdy. We are told to try harder, move faster, never give up. Many of us are told to stop crying as children, or worse, punished for crying and showing other emotions. In today’s society, women are especially cautioned against being meek and overly-feminine and instead encouraged to grow into kick-ass, formidable powerhouses. Men are all too familiar with the urging to be stoic and steadfast, immune to depth of feeling and vulnerability. But is this the way? There is something valuable, at times, to pushing ourselves, not quitting and certainly not being doormats and pushovers, but I find time and time again that the best solution is gentleness.

    This doesn’t mean becoming slovenly and lazy or completely giving up on caring and putting forth effort. Nor does it mean having zero boundaries and not pretecting ourselves in a healthyway. It means having strength and resolve coupled with serenity – a quiet, intuitive strength, with plenty of flexibility and breathing room. The sound of a cello instead of nails on a chalkboard.

    I developed toughness quite young. In addition to having two two rowdy brothers and an intense father, dynamics in the family were chaotic and confusing, and when you’re a child, that can be frightening. So it seemed the best I could do was be as guarded as possible. I mostly hung out with guys in high school, and this especially helped me be on the defense. It felt far too vulnerable to be feminine and receptive, far too risky, so I adopted a don’t fuck with me attitude and wasn’t afraid to speak my mind. At the same time, I felt I was losing a part of myself. A part that could trust, that felt she deserved to be cared for and loved. I pushed people away with all sorts of behaviors, and I carried this into most of my twenties. People regularly claimed that I was overly-sensitive, defensive, and that they had to walk on eggshells with me. Because I had grown so frightened of getting hurt over there years, and because I always perceived threats to be lurking in the midst, I didn’t trust the world. I thought everyone was out to get me to do serious damage. The best I could do for a long time was put up mega walls and attack you before you could reach me. So yes, there were definitely eggshells about.

    The irony is that I never actually felt tough and defended. The child in me felt vulnerable and afraid, so this other part was always putting up her dukes – but it didn’t actually make me feel safe. It just made me feel less. It also reinforced the victim mentality and that the world was a hostile and unfriendly place. I needed to comfort myself, not defend it. This took years to understand and implement .Even though today I have come to trust that there is (usually) no bad guy lurking about, I can still harden and think I need to protect myself with walls. But I am often being tough and strong for nothing.

    I was told in a Voice Over class I took this weekend (just for kicks) that my voice comes across authoritative, even threatening. A guy joked that I should make a living reading Gothic novels. Yikes. I mean, I always knew this on some level. My dad has been telling me since childhood that I have a voice for the news, and much of my success as a teacher comes from my ability to command a room and wrangle kids, but I always thought it was more calming. I don’t want to be intimidating. I don’t want to be that strong anymore. I had to be defensive for a lot of years in order to protect myself, and then I kept doing it because it was all I knew, but I don’t want it anymore. I rather be open and receptive, not authoritative and intimidating.

    I believe whatever is happening to us on one level is usually happening on all levels. So if I am being too tough and strong with my voice, I am probably being that way with my body, too, or some part of my psyche. I still can carry a lot of physical tension, even when I practice yoga, take walks, meditate, and get massages. It is second nature for me to worry and harden. I carry tension in my neck and shoulders, I clench my fists without noticing, and I have always had TMJ in my jaw. My breathing and physical body are usually the first indication that something is up emotionally. I went through years of chronic pain, only to discover that most of it was because my nervous system was in a suspended state of stress and fight or flight. My body was literally in shock from always feeling that something was going to hurt me and from the trauma that lurked underneath. I’ve always been a breath holder – I thought I had asthma as a little girl because I struggled with deep breathing, but it was actually grief and fear, hidden beneath the facade of everything is fine! Hidden beneath learned defenses.

    One of the most noticeable effects of recovery for me was feeling this softness start to settle into my being: it was as if layers of ice encasing my heart started to melt. It’s nice to see progress and also where I can continue growing and shifting. But I really like softness today. Most everything is better that way: blankets, chocolate chip cookies, skin, hearts. Softness is so much the way, and it doesn’t mean we become weak. In a way it is even stronger, because we are willing to take the biggest risk of all – letting our guard down and inviting the world in. Having the courage to really open our hearts. With that vulnerability, we can practice trust, and if it doesn’t go well, oh well. Try again. There’s goodness out there. Lots of it.

  • Waking Up

    Real recovery is often likened to waking up, choosing to face reality without compulsively smoothing edges and running from what is uncomfortable, inconvenient, and frightening. Whether one is getting sober, confronting sex addiction, or quitting chewing gum at all hours of the day, stopping addictive behaviors, both highly destructive ones and the relatively benign, forces the eyes open to what is actually happening. This is also the goal of meditation – not so much to calm down and relax, but to see our thinking and behavioral patterns and what exists when we stop identifying so strongly with these patterns.

    But it can be a big pain in the ass. Choosing to live awake, no matter how rewarding and enriching, (and for many, how life-saving) can sometimes get exhausting. All that shedding light – can we draw the shades please? Can we go back to the way it all once was, when our addictions worked? Tragically, (thankfully!) we cannot.

    I used to drive way too fast and like a total asshole. Weaving in and out of lanes, tailgating those going the speed limit, daring to make it through yellow lights. I don’t do that anymore today and haven’t for a few years, and it’s not because I’m such a law-abiding citizen. I just find it stressful and tiring. Cruising along at a moderate pace is far more peaceful. It makes driving enjoyable rather than some fight or flight, anger-fueled video game. Problem is, many people in Los Angeles do not cooperate with my nonchalant style. People tailgate me constantly while I drive 38 in a 35, cut me off, weave in front of me at deadly paces. It’s pretty frustrating. Why is everyone in such a rush? Where are they going? Then again, maybe this is my karma for my years of being a jerk on the road. And we all know that drivers in this city are pushed to max with the round the clock congestion, traffic, and construction. People are probably doing the best they can. Maybe they feel the need to rush home to see their families or get to work or whatever important destination awaits. (It is known, however, that speeding will maybe get you there a minute or two earlier.) Thing is, sometimes this situation occasionally makes me wish I could go back to sleep. Start driving like a dick again. Talk on the phone and smoke. Blast the music to deafening levels. Take drugs. I used to do that, and it worked – I was never calm enough (or I was under the influence) to notice how stressful fellow drivers were – I was one of them!

    But we can’t go back to sleep once we’ve awakened, even just a little.  It’s like how they say, all cheeky, that once you enter AA your drinking is ruined forever. It’s a joke, but there’s truth to it. Ignorance sometimes is bliss. Once we start to see ourselves with open eyes, it is very hard to pull the wool over again. But would I choose to start drinking again, or bingeing and purging, or being really really mean to myself, thinking it would block out the sometimes difficult task of facing reality? Of course not. I could start lying to people, cheating, sleeping around, walking the earth without any regard for how I am affecting others, but again, why would I want to? It’s too late. It’s become far more painful now to make any attempt to block reality. I woke up, and I must face the consequences of that… hardy har har.

    I think what is essential is practicing gentleness throughout this process of awakening, both with ourselves and others, because it is not always easy. Waking up is about surrendering and letting go, loosening our grip on knowing and controlling, but that also means we stop having so many defenses. It invites vulnerability, the likelihood that we will get hurt and feel pain. There is the reality of living in the world, and the world is filled with all sorts of endless complexities and dynamics, including people who are still asleep and very insensitive. But it doesn’t mean we walk the earth without skin, affected by every little dysfunction. We still take care of ourselves and armor ourselves as needed. Awareness is better when it isn’t razor sharp, but coupled with benevolent acceptance, curiosity, and humility. Choosing to wake up doesn’t mean we no longer experience very real human frustration and pain; in fact, we probably experience it more (i.e. when driving), but because we are conscious to it, no longer blocking it with destructive addictions, we see it for what it is and are less likely to take it personally. Which is easier said that done, because it can feel very personal when someone drives like a madman in your rear view mirror.

  • The Problem Isn’t Alcohol

    The rooms of AA are filled with love addicts (including myself). They are also filled with sex addicts, food addicts, compulsive gamblers, hyper chain-smokers, spenders and debters, and exercise freaks. (Also including myself, at various times, minus the gambling). I was in a meeting last night that falls into the category of Friday night meeting with a scene. You know the type. There’s trays and trays of food and coffee, a speaker with twenty plus years ready to knock us dead, beautiful dressed-up women, scoping men, and a bunch of surly looking kids from the local rehab. I’m not the biggest fan of these meetings. They certainly serve their purpose, and occasionally it’s fun to get all dolled up and “hit the town,” if the town was the cool AA meeting in Pacific Palisades. I am glad I went and ran into a friend and fellow teacher and that we could have a laugh and chat about the profession. But these meetings are far less about authentic recovery and more about socializing and stroking egos. Any meeting can be helpful and purposeful in introducing a newcomer to the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, but there is something unhealthy about the codependency and covert love addiction at play.

    Back when AA started in 1935 in Akron, Ohio, it was impossible for a meeting like this to exist. AA started with two guys sharing their struggle to stop drinking. It gradually evolved into three men, then five, then a few women before growing into hundreds of people who congregated in various living rooms and talked about recovery. Back then, it isn’t clear if they spoke about other issues beyond alcohol. Bill W. later touched on them in the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions (in a sometimes overly-moral way for my taste.) But they were certainly discussing recovery in intimate settings. The cards were on the table. This was also long before the advent of therapy and the discovered harm of growing up in alcoholism or some other kind of family dysfunction and trauma. It is known that, despite having sobriety and the obvious rebuilding that comes from that, many early AA members still struggled with depression, infidelity, and financial problems. They clearly did the best they could given the times. Bill and Bob created a movement that would forever change the lives of millions of people and give them permission to find faith with or without religion – a miracle. But what happens in a lot of rooms today (especially rooms that give that outside-in approach of look good in order to feel good) is that people stay sick (including myself, for quite some time). We are relieved to get off drugs and alcohol, we are amazed that the obsession goes away, only to find that we are mired in other problems, some of us more than others. The problem is never and was never alcohol. The problem isn’t anorexia or compulsively watching porn or bingeing on caffeine and sugar. (These behaviors can create problems, for sure, and need to be arrested in some form in order to have a shot at true and resonant recovery). The problem is the deep codependency and self-hatred that often lies at the center of most people who become addicts and alcoholics. This is why many addicts, even when sober for a time, end up committing suicide. It goes unspoken too often in AA rooms – many claim it is enough to be sober from booze; I beg to differ. What is the point if you still want to die?

    Bill W. touched on this in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. This book holds many gems; in fact, some chapters seems brand new and charged with brilliance each time you read them. But sometimes the language gets lost on us, (it was the 1930’s) and it isn’t always immediately apparent what the hell he is talking about. The book can be brief in areas where one longs for more explanation and clarity. (I am a big proponent of outside literature that discusses recovery in all its forms. Unfortunately there are some grumpy AA’ers who discount anything besides AA approved literature and send this message to newcomers.) But the book does talk about God. Higher Power. Spirit of the Universe. Cosmic Parent. It explains that the whole purpose of recovery is to find a God of your own understanding to help you live comfortably in your skin, without addiction. Not just without alcohol, but without everything else running amok.

    The book says the root of the problem is selfishness and self-centeredness – it should have taken it a step further and said that the root of the problem is self-hatred (which is a form of self-centeredness). The root of the problem is self-hatred (shame), and also fear and an inability to face reality or “life on life’s terms.” Addicts have a real hard time with this. We would rather check out through a myriad of different prescriptions than deal with what is actually happening, both within ourselves and on the outside. And this doesn’t just magically stop when we quit drinking, or even (for most of us) with our first go-around of the twelve steps. Having been involved in AA since I was eighteen and knowing many people in recovery, most of us will not get better in a rich and satisfying way simply by stopping drinking and working the steps in AA. This is a start, a very important start, but it is merely a beginning. What tends to happen is that we start fixing in other areas. For some, it is mild, and AA does prove to be enough. But for most, those roots of self-hatred and codependency beg for recovery that just doesn’t come from the sometimes very sick halls of AA meetings and AA sponsors. I’ve known young men with sponsors who encourage them to “fuck as many newcomers” as they can. People with fifteen years sober who cheat on their spouses and gamble away life savings and ruin their health with compulsive overeating. This is not a judgement but an observation. If we are meant to have a “life beyond our wildest dreams,” to “know a real freedom and real happiness,” why are so many sober members suffering so deeply in all others areas of their lives?

    Back in 2012, when I hit a very deep emotional bottom at eighteen months sober, I wanted to die. I didn’t want to drink, but I was beginning to feel I had no choice because I was so uncomfortable in my skin and so filled with fear and rage. I remember reaching out to my sponsor at the time, and she kept telling me to read the Big Book. I knew in my heart this was not the answer. Something deeper was brewing. There was no way I was going to have abounding recovery if this kept up. Luckily, a dear friend of mine got honest with me and told me to go to Al-Anon (and also recommended a therapist). She knew enough of my family history to surmise that yes, I belonged in those rooms. I thought I didn’t “qualify” because I wasn’t dating an active alcoholic, but Al-Anon is far more than that. Pretty much anyone can qualify, especially if they grew up in a dysfunctional family. It is the closest program I have found to addressing the deep soul-sickness that most of us alcoholics have. It’s not sexy and glamorous and fun like AA, but it works. It gets to the heart of codependency and this struggle to take care of ourselves and love ourselves. Because it gets to that deep core root, other areas of our lives tend to get better as we recover. The more we learn to love, value, and take care of ourselves, the less inclined we are to smoke, overeat, and engage in unhealthy relationships.

    Therapy was also helpful for a time, but it needed to be constructive, purposeful, and aligned with twelve step principles. I started therapy for the first time at fifteen, and back then it was much more about simply expressing feelings, to the best of my ability. I went off and on over the years, often having a helluva time being honest and letting my guard down. When I got sober again in 2011, I saw a therapist for about a year who helped me tap into some very old feelings from childhood and understand the dynamics at play within my family. I still think of her with such reverence, gratitude, and warmth. But it wasn’t until I saw another therapist, the one my Al-Anon friend recommended, who helped me rebuild an internal system. That was the work. It wasn’t about just blabbering on about feelings – it was work that helped me, part by part, rediscover my center and lead from there. The work was not always fun, and sometimes this therapist drove me nuts, but she delivered. The miracle was when I discovered how much less fear I felt in my daily life. It was a dramatic shift. And I knew she was the real deal when she encouraged an end-game. After seeing her for almost two years, I felt I didn’t need the therapy anymore. She agreed. And off I went. (I don’t think everyone needs therapy, especially if working a kick-ass Al-Anon program, but it was certainly imperative for my recovery.)

    But it doesn’t stop at Al-Anon and therapy either. And recovery doesn’t lie in our relationship with our Al-Anon sponsor or a particular meeting. In my humble opinion, Al-Anon and constructive therapy are gateways to the big wide internal world of having an intimate relationship with ourselves and with a Higher Power of our understanding, thereby having relatively clean behavior on a daily basis. And that is recovery: the ability to take complete responsibility for our lives, mostly the job of loving and caring for ourselves and expecting no one else to do this for us, coupled with an unapologetic faith in some sort of God/Higher Power/Spirit. From this space, we can be truly useful and purposeful in the world. We can spread goodness and light. We are not looking for fixes outside of ourselves, because we come to find that we are already “fixed.” We might still act out here and there or have “slips;” after all, we are still human. But there’s a very deep and sturdy core foundation within ourselves, and so the compulsion to get high on anything disappears.

    Do we get better and eventually stop doing the work? No. But I don’t think it has to be some grim duty or hardcore practice. Once we recover and build a foundation, and I think it takes a few years, we tidy up as necessary and keep it simple. We watch with loving awareness and curiosity our thinking and behavior. I still have all my feelings, and sometimes they are a little colorful. Just last night I was feeling pretty sad and down on myself and started to hear that old story in my head that if I only were this, then I would be lovable. My practice is that I have to dialogue with that part of me and remind her that she already is lovable, no matter what another person says or does, whether I am alone or not, single or not, noticed or not. I usually have to get in a good cry and write out the thought pattern. Prayer is helpful and sitting quietly so that there is space for the feelings to come up and out. The old me would have run for the food or cigarette or turned on the TV in order to avoid the feeling, but it is better to just get it over with. When you have built the foundation you come to trust that the feeling, no matter how much it hurts or how much discomfort it brings, won’t kill you. In fact, when you let go and let it in, it hurts a lot less. The absence of feeling is often much more painful.

    Recovery in AA is wonderful. There is friendship and spirit and laughter and fun. And in the beginning, it’s a great beginning. But for those I have come to know, including myself, who are comfortable deep down inside and free from other compulsions, their recovery came from healing codependency and love addiction, or more, plainly, learning to love and value themselves unconditionally, whether the people at the trendy meeting were noticing them or not.

  • Orthorexia: “Health” Has Many Disguises

    Health is not often what people think it is, especially in places like Santa Monica, where more people tend to jog, practice yoga, and eat kale than guzzle beer and smoke cigarettes. While jogging and yoga and kale are all good for you, they alone do not create health. And there are people who are happy and healthy who never set foot on a yoga mat, a treadmill, or a vegan restaurant floor.

    Orthorexia, “the obsession to only eat foods one considers healthy,” was a term I learned back in 2008, when I realized that my whole “in the name of health” dieting was really just an eating disorder in disguise and was actually making me incredibly unhealthy, on every level. Like all the raw food books told me to, I avoided dairy, sugar, wheat, gluten, meat, trans fats, and processed food. I juiced raw vegetables and consumed greens, avocados, quinoa and herbal tea. I got very thin. For about ten seconds, I felt I had made it. I was a size 2! 115 pounds! I had shiny clear skin! A feeling of lightness! But wait… why did it soon feel so unbearable? Why was I freezing cold, extremely moody, and without any sexual desire for my handsome boyfriend at the time? Why could I not stop obsessing like a madman about every single thing I put into my mouth? Oh, and why wasn’t I getting my period? I was eating so healthy! So organic and raw! I was full of vitamins and nutrients! The truth is, I was starving, not only for calories, but for a wide variety of nutrients that come from a balanced, relaxed diet. And even more than that, I was starving for freedom from the obsession to eat “healthy” and avoid “bad” foods.

    Today, I eat very differently. I would even call it… normal? I still enjoy vegetables and quinoa and avocados, but I also (gasp!) eat a lot of dairy. I love it, and it feels good in my body. I eat sugar. Peanut butter. Sometimes gluten. I drink my coffee with cream. If I feel like having cereal or pizza or a cheeseburger, I have it. I don’t find myself craving tons of junk food that often, but when I do, I give it to myself, and I like it. I don’t really crave meat either for whatever reason, but when I do, I eat it. I don’t restrict anything completely. Even the “evil” processed foods. Every now and then I’ll drink a Diet Coke or eat a bag of chips or those sour candy gummy things, because they just sound so good. And you know what? They are. Do they make up my daily diet? Nope. But I don’t worry if I have them. And my body is much happier and my health much better. I have peace of mind and relaxation around food. I pretty much eat when I am hungry and stop when I’m full. Sometimes I eat fast, sometimes super slow. I try to practice mindfulness and awareness around eating, but not that much. I just give myself a big break about it all. I don’t feel guilty for eating certain foods. I don’t restrict or control and I don’t binge. And I also don’t think about it all that much, which is unbelievable, because it used to be all I thought about.

    I read Dr. Lissa Rankin’s book recently, Mind Over Medicine, and she explains how health is so much more, far much more than what we put into our bodies. Yes, it can be nourishing to eat our fruits and vegetables or give up a food if it is really making us sick, but more important than any diet is our mental and spiritual well-being and the stuff that actually makes up our lives. She talks of people who eat pizza and lie on the couch but who have rich inner lives and happy social and work lives, and how their health is far better than those who eat organic and clean and get lots of exercise but are miserable everywhere else. She discusses how obsession alone can raise cortisol levels and increase stress, and stress is far more toxic to the body than a plate of fries. More and more diet recovery books and blogs are big on letting go of all restriction, no matter what. More doctors are writing about how gluten intolerance might be more psychosomatic than because of any physical problem, that being vegan doesn’t actually help you live longer, that the occasional processed food isn’t harmful to the body. The body is strong, smart, and unbelievably healing on its own, and our minds are far more powerful to heal or harm us than what’s on the plate.

    We live in a culture of extremes. People either want to eat vegan and raw or live off of McDonald’s and Marlboro Reds. It’s easier in a way to do one or the other, especially when you have an obsessive mind, because there is something so terrifying about letting go and eating moderately and without rules. There is something far more challenging about listening to our bodies naturally (not too closely) and giving them what they want, rather than following a diet plan or rigid list. Rules can help us feel safe and contained, and following them can help us feel like good people, but when it comes to food, it’s really just food. When I first read about orthorexia, the writer was a man who had been recovering for a few years, and one simple statement was so profound to me. It went along the the lines of, “something as simple as lunch shouldn’t be so scary and stressful and able to ruin our lives.” And I remember thinking, holy shit. That’s true. It’s just lunch. Just food on a plate. Why am I letting this completely dictate my life? Why are any of us?

    Food obsession can be a tremendous distraction from having to really look at our lives and experience our feelings. In fact, it might be the strongest distraction out there. It is also widely socially acceptable, if not encouraged. What do you hear in the lunch room? Are people talking about their latest diet? A new food they’ve given up? A supplement they’ve added that is changing their lives? Is someone getting props for losing weight? For giving up dairy and sugar? Probably. And there’s nothing wrong with any of that, necessarily, but food isn’t that magical. Nor is the lack of it. And anyone will tell you that losing weight in and of itself won’t actually change how you feel on the inside. You might get compliments or enjoy loser clothing, but real happiness and contentment comes from inner work. (Weight actually tends to stabilize naturally, when we focus on healing deeper issues.) Our self worth doesn’t come from how clean of a diet we have or a number on a scale. It can for a moment, but it is hollow and fleeting. It was for me. More important for our health is our relationship with ourselves, with others, with our daily work and creativity, our spiritual lives and connection, our thinking. And yes, food should be enjoyable. Sometimes it really is! It can be quite delicious and comforting. And some people derive a lot of satisfaction from cooking and entertaining. But the idea is balance. Allowance. Letting go. Restriction is restricting, constricting, and starts to be exhausting and alienating. It won’t make you healthy, not deep down inside.

    Eating disorders are real, and orthorexia can be just as serious as anorexia and bulimia. I have nothing but compassion to those still suffering – I know what a monster it can be – and I pray you find your way to recovery.

  • Keep Coming, Keep Going

    Keep coming back. It’s a well-known saying in the rooms of twelve step programs, and next to one day at a time might be the most commonly uttered one. At first, it sounds trite, annoying, maybe even condescending. But when you really think about what it means, it is deeply profound and hopeful. It speaks of resilience, grit, and starting again. Starting over. Trying once more. We keep coming back, no matter how many times we leave or “fail,” or try a tougher path, and through this we keep moving forward. Slowly.

    The importance and specialness of this occurred to me tonight during an extra delicious yoga class. I started practicing yoga very young – my step-mom dragged me to classes when I was twelve, and by fifteen it had really gotten its hooks in me. I was a dancer, so the movement of it came naturally, and I was flexible enough to do the poses. But what I loved most about it was how it made me feel. There was something about it being both solitary and communal, quiet yet intense and sometimes very challenging, strengthening but not rigid that made me fall in love with it. It was the only other thing during my teenage years, besides alcohol and drugs, that gave me peace and self-esteem. And because it is essentially about breath and presence more than physical ability, it is meditation, and meditation shows you who you really are. It cracks you open to your true spirit, which has nothing to do with all your crazy thoughts, scary stories, and life situation identities. Certain poses brought on tears. Certain sequences made me feel confident and strong. It changed my physical body. It made me feel clean. But even more than that, it showed me that there was a sacred place deep inside of me that could never, ever be broken. It was much more than exercise – it was expansive and spiritual. It gave me tremendous hope and courage. By eighteen, I had become a regular practitioner and had advanced to more challenging vinyasa classes with exceptional teachers here in Santa Monica. I looked forward to every single class and to the magical effects of yoga.

    Then I stopped going. My whole life changed. Everything fell apart after high school. Alcoholism, eating disorders, love addiction, and chronic pain took center stage. For the next eight years of my life I didn’t practice. I was terrified something was wrong with my body because I was in so much physical pain. I was angry and confused and lost. I knew yoga was still a solution, but I thought my body was broken and that I was unable to move that way ever again. This belief only furthered my resentment and self-pity. It took a lot of years and dedicated work to overcome the addictions and chronic pain. It was a slow and sometimes infuriating process. But I kept coming back. I wanted recovery.

    When I first started exercising again, after finding the solution and healing from chronic pain, I stuck mostly to walking and the occasional run. I was nervous to go back to yoga. I thought it would hurt. I knew I wasn’t as flexible or in shape as I was in high school when I practiced several times a week and danced every day. I was resistant to taking a Level 1 class because of good ol’ ego. But about five years ago I returned. I took the easy classes and moved through the fear and pain. I started practicing more often and began to get a little stronger and healthier. It wasn’t the same, though, for quite a while. I was teaching full time at that point and dealing with a lot of underlying food and body issues. I didn’t feel comfortable going to the classes I wanted, with all the thin and beautiful and extremely fit women (and men.) The same zing just wasn’t there.

    So I would go off and on. A little bit here, a little bit there. I was sometimes upset that I couldn’t do certain poses, because my thinking was “well if I had been practicing all these years I would be better than everyone!” Ha. I had to work with that. I had to practice gratitude and humility around the mere fact that I could walk, that I was sober, that my body was healthy, even if it wasn’t all that in shape. I kept walking and occasionally took dance classes and sometimes tried to pretend that I didn’t need yoga or like it all that much. I would go for a week or two and then stop for months. Go and leave, go and leave. It was interesting to be aware of the resistance that would come up around it. Looking back, I think a lot of my intention to returning was to try and get thin. I wasn’t always patient with my body and didn’t give myself enough time to really get reacquainted with the practice. It is hard work and demanding of the muscles. I also didn’t have the energy to go as often as I needed because of my schedule.

    But the thing is, despite not going for years, despite not committing regularly when I first went back, I still kept returning, overall. And I keep returning today. I see so clearly that it is never too late to keep coming back and having a new experience. And that applies to so much in our lives. We are not failures for walking away from something or struggling with a practice. We are not failures if we relapse in recovery and have to start again. I have been back at it now for a little over a month, and it is really starting to feel like home. I have been going between two and five days a week, depending on my energy levels and time needed to recover, and I try to commit to that in order to give my body what it really wants. My muscles are getting stronger, my body more flexible. I don’t have the eating disorder behaviors and body image issues that I once did, so it’s not simply a vehicle to lose weight and get strong and sexy. (Although that is a nice byproduct!) More than the physical, it is deepening my awareness, my gratitude, my true nature. It doesn’t feel forced – it feels joyful. I love going again, and I love that I have the time to go again, and I love my very special teachers here in Santa Monica who are so knowledgeable and open. They often speak about how yoga is not just a practice that takes place in a room for ninety minutes, but it is something that we carry out into our lives and the world. What we learn on the mat – presence, strength, gentleness, courage, willingness, stillness, peace, gratitude – we learn to take into our lives. Much like, practicing these principles in all our affairs, as we learn in twelve step rooms.

    I remember many times when I felt so hopeless to ever overcome my seemingly insurmountable problems. My plan was to kill myself or die an alcoholic death. I have witnessed many others feel that same hopelessness and fear and self-punishment around perceived failures and setbacks, only to muster up astounding courage and grace to face their demons. It is deeply inspiring, and it’s almost more beautiful, more resonant when we fail, because we are that much more grateful and reverent for the overcome. All we have to do is try again. We keep coming back, and we keep moving along the path, and our lives really do transform.

  • Recommended Books

    I probably read more books than is necessary on recovery from addiction and codependency, but they have been unbelievably helpful in my process, and I continue to go back to many them regularly. Some woke me up to new insights and practices, while others were comforting in difficult times. Here is an exhaustive list, in no particular order. I have starred the ones that I believe to be essential.

    A Course in Miracles*

    Healing the Shame that Binds You by John Bradshaw *

    Toxic Shame by John Bradshaw

    Facing Love Addiction by Pia Mellody *

    Facing Codependence by Pia Mellody*

    When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron *

    The Places that Scare You by Pema Chodron

    The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown

    Daring Greatly by Brene Brown

    A Lamp in the Darkness by Jack Kornfield *

    The Heart of the Revolution by Noah Levine*

    Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm by Thich Nhat Hanh

    Healing the Child Within by Charles Whitfield *

    A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson

    Love Without Conditions by Paul Ferrini *

    The Mind Body Prescription by Dr. John Sarno *

    The Great Pain Deception by Steve Ray Ozanich

    You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay *

    Heal Your Body by Louise Hay

    Drop the Rock by Bill P., Todd W., and Sara S.

    Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget by Sarah Hepola

    Drinking: A Love Story by Caroline Knapp

    The Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts

    Tattoos on the Heart by Father Gregory Boyle *

    The Highly Sensitive Person by Elaine N Aron *

    Introvert Power by Laurie A Helgoe

    Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Life and Love from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed

    The Way to Love by Anthony De Mello

    Awareness by Anthony De Mello

    Real Happiness by Sharon Salzberg

    Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E Frankl

    When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Harold Kushner

    Buddha’s Brain by Rick Hanson *

    Facing the Fire by John Lee

    Eating in the Light of the Moon by Dr. Anita Johnson

    Breaking Free from Emotional Eating by Geneen Roth

    Emotional Freedom by Judith Orloff

    Defy Gravity by Caroline Myss

    The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion by Christopher K. Germer

    Undoing Depression: What Therapy Can’t Teach You and Medication Doesn’t Give You by Richard O’Connor *

    Children of the Self-Absorbed by Nina Brown

    The Body Myth by Margo Maine

    Emotional Wellness by Osho

    Mind Over Medicine by Lissa Rankin, M.D.

    Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow by Elizabeth Lesser

    Eating With Fierce Kindness by Sasha Loring

    The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists by Eleanor Payson *

  • Boredom or Suffering

    Take your pick. Which one would you rather feel? It has been said that humans must often choose between one or the other as a general rule of their human experience.

    One might consider the two to be synonymous; after all, extreme boredom can be a sort of suffering, and the experience of profound pain or distress can start to get a little tiresome, although I have found the latter to be less true. Suffering can be a great distraction and sometimes a little romantic, exciting, and dramatic. Look at the history of the world. The great literature of the world!

    If you asked me a few years ago which one I felt more comfortable with, I would have chosen suffering. I liked my suffering. I still like movies and books and shows that break my heart into lots of pieces. I like a good cry. But for me, suffering got old. Hating myself got old. When you’re young and foolish, I think you have to go through that rite of passage – the belief that being a broken, fucked up, great big mess somehow makes you special. Oh, that drama alone can be such a drug. And if you’ve ever watched a movie or listened to music, you know how deep it can all seem. But it’s not, really. You come out of it and you discover, being a helpless and suffering mess is not all it’s cracked up to be. Mad love is not special. Living that way eventually makes you sick and causes harm. I have come to accept, with gratitude, that I will never be seventeen again, or twenty three, chain-smoking and struggling with addiction, boy-crazy and underfed, thinking it meant I was significant. Or, let’s be honest, cool. But I’m glad I went through it – it taught me to be grateful for calm, flat seas. Maybe even boredom.

    I don’t want to actually be bored, though, or apathetic, or some immobile sloth. There’s a reason you start to feel terrible after watching a marathon of TV – your brain is craving healthy stimulation. There’s a reason that doing absolutely nothing for days on end (which is so enticing when you are jam-packed busy) starts to feel empty and purposeless. It is why many people think moving to a nearly deserted island would be a dream, only to find it is mind-numbingly dull. Not that we need to do a whole lot. I still subscribe to the unconventional path of doing less; I think pausing, accepting, and surrendering are far better tools than rushing, forcing, and expecting, but I also know that the body is meant to move, the mind meant to learn, the heart and soul meant to heal and grow. We are meant to help ourselves and others to develop and expand. We have to try things and do things in order to have experiences. We are meant to get out into the world, whatever that means for each individual.

    If we work for it, we come to rest somewhere in the middle, balanced between boredom and suffering. We find what lies between the two: relative contentment and comfort. We can’t expect to be overjoyed and high all the time, nor should we have to suffer immense pain, anxiety, or grief incessantly. We are meant to live in the middle. Problem is, nobody wants the middle. No one likes to be right sized, hanging out in the gray, non-special.That takes a lot of work and maturity. The Buddhists call it equanimity. Twelve steppers, serenity. Others, being present. Not having expectations. Simply existing. It’s not full of sexy extremes and highs and lows (that’s why no one writes great novels about it.) But I think it’s the way. The easier, softer way. And then, when you do feel the highs and lows, you really feel them, you appreciate them, and you also are quite glad to see them pass.

  • Grow Up

    I’ve had a new moment of clarity, folks.

    That real recovery might be about growing up into a mature, balanced, healthy adult. I don’t mean looking like an adult, with a suit and briefcase and big fancy job, or a brood of kids and busy appointment book. But one who is able to live moderately, free from addiction and the need for extreme highs and lows, able to feel all feelings without shame but not act on them, able to be completely responsible for oneself, able to stop trying to fix and change others, able to accept imperfections and humanness, and from this, able to connect authentically and freely with other human beings.

    First, I thought recovery was just about staying sober. Yes, but no, not at all. That is merely the very beginning.

    Then I thought it was about stopping other forms of self-destruction and addiction. Yes, that is good, too, but that is a lot like staying sober. The beginning.

    Then, I thought it was about loving yourself. OK, yes, it is A LOT about that. My experience has been that until you really begin to heal codependency (the inability to love and take yourself, by yourself) you can’t really grow up.

    Then I thought it was about feeling and expressing every single feeling in your body. This is necessary, especially in the earlier stages. You’ve got to unfreeze the grief in your system, feel it, and let it emerge, especially if it left over from childhood.

    But then, once you’ve learned how to stop abusing yourself, once you have learned how to love yourself, take care of yourself, nurture yourself, feel your feelings, and stop completely the expectation that some magical person is going to appear and fix you (and you stop trying to fix others) this incredible freedom emerges – because you no longer feel, think, and behave like a helpless child or enable others to act like helpless children (unless of course, they are children.) And… drum roll please… here comes buckets of self-esteem and self-respect! What a feeling. I like it a lot.

    I will always have my little girl inside of me. I will always have to dialogue with her when she feels scared and sad. I am a human being, and I can still sometimes be triggered by what seems like a big scary mean world or a big scary mean person. But I have really started to accept that it is no one else’s job to do this for me. Nor do I want it to be. Nor do I want to be responsible to “save” another adult. As if I am that powerful anyway!

    Yes, my parents didn’t give me great tools when I was growing up. There was neglect, abuse, trauma. Most of us deal with this in some form, whether it is relatively mild or extremely toxic. Some of us are more affected by it then others. Some of us become wildly codependent while others more or less grow and mature without experiencing immense suffering. Some of us become addicts, others don’t. Regardless of the hand you are dealt and how you play it, letting go of the fantasy that someone will come along and fix your life is a true mark of maturity, and from it comes true capacity for joy and contentment. This usually takes time and dedication to recovery. We don’t heal magically. For me, it took addressing various addictions and stopping them (especially drugs and alcohol, first) and then slowly beginning to unravel the sickness within. It took being a part of different twelve step programs (Al-Anon being the most helpful), a few years of constructive therapy, journal writing, reading about codependency, addiction, and recovery, talking and sharing with others in recovery, prayer, meditation, and a whole lot of patience and faith. It took practicing loving myself and being my own best friend through this process, which is sometimes so painful and heartbreaking. We have to grieve what we didn’t get in our childhoods. We start to understand that it wasn’t our fault that our needs weren’t met – there was nothing wrong with us – it was just the way things were. When we can accept this, we can re-parent ourselves and move to forgiving those we perceived as having failed us.

    Grief was a very important part of the process for me, and still sometimes is. I had to give myself permission to feel very sad, disappointed, and angry. I had to really hold that little child inside of me and tell her I was so sorry, but that I would be her parent now and that I wouldn’t abandon her. I had to practice not abandoning her.

    But in order to not abandon that little child within, we eventually have to stop identifying with her. We have to grow up, and that means we have to stop blaming anyone (even people who may have been to blame) for our feelings or so-called problems. We have to stop the cycle of feeling like a victim and wallowing in self-pity. This cannot be rushed, though, because it would be too traumatic for the inner child. It can be too shaming at first, to make that inner child feel guilty for having self-pity. It is normal for children to feel self-pity. For a time in recovery, I needed to just feel devastated and blame my so-called villains. Only we can gauge when we are really ready to let go of our sad stories. I believe it comes over time, in bits and pieces and small steps. (Nothing in recovery is overnight, get used to it.)

    I believe most, if not all of this is done internally. The outsides do sometimes reflect the insides, but just because one appears to be mature and able to take care of herself on the outside does not mean that she feels that way within. And yet: acting as if can be helpful. I know it was a huge step toward learning to take care of myself was when I started working full time as a teacher, because a big job like that forced me to start taking care of myself – otherwise I would have drank again or spiraled into some sort of self-destruction, because the stress was so intense. But looking and acting like a grown-up does not mean you have actually grown up. This is why addiction in all its forms runs amok in our “adult” culture. Everywhere you turn, seemingly successful men and women are suffering.

    So yes, mostly, becoming a healthy adult is within. I recently went through a breakup, and nothing has shown me my recovery more than this experience. The love addiction at play in the relationship was very mild compared to previous relationships, but it was still there. The belief that simply being with someone was an answer, that my problems would be taken care of by this person was still there. It showed me places in my heart and mind where I still want my parents (or someone) to step in and clean up my messes. It showed me how I ignored red flags because I wanted what I wanted and places where I could still feel real sorry for myself. Let me be clear that I do not regret for one moment the relationship or my experience with this man. I don’t at all think I did anything “wrong”, I am not beating myself up, and I am so grateful for the entire experience – most of all, I am proud of how well I have taken care of myself since he broke up with me. Awareness is a tremendous gift, especially if we are willing to grow from it and not beat ourselves up. There is no way I could have gotten through this in such a healthy way had I not built an internal parent. I give myself what parents are supposed to give their children: unconditional love, freedom and space to feel feelings without shame or judgement, time to reflect, permission to talk about it, and most of all the TRUTH that how a person feels about me, treats me, etc. says nothing about my actual worth or goodness. That is there completely, no matter what. I give it to myself.

    I didn’t realize just how codependent I was until going through this experience. I always knew, but it really hit home recently. I walked around looking at you, because I wanted to see myself through your eyes. I needed the world to give me unconditional love and positive regard, because I couldn’t give it to myself. Of course, the world could not deliver this and I took it personally, and then it reaffirmed the story that there was something wrong with me, something unlovable about me. No longer. I might still do this occasionally, but I truly understand now, in my bones, that it is my job and my job only to love myself unconditionally and be responsible for my life. What freedom!

    This doesn’t mean living in a sterile and friendless world without help and support – the opposite, actually. If I can take care of myself, I don’t have to rely so heavily on others, have expectations, or end up resenting people for not giving me what I think I need from them. It allows space to relate and connect with others freely and offer, as they say in twelve step rooms, experience, strength, and hope. But I don’t think we are meant to rely on other adults for internal love, despite what Disney and advertising and the whole darn culture tells us – we are meant to connect with others to shine up the love that is already within us, that we give ourselves.

    I remember when I wanted the high and lows of drama and addiction and wanted desperately for my prince to come or daddy to fix it all or some magical Santa Claus god to just give me what I wanted. I see how much of this was fueled by a refusal to face reality and become a healthy, integrated adult. It takes work to become one. In this culture with its backward values and the stresses of modern living, I think many of us just don’t organically grow into healthy adults, and if we really want serenity and internal calm, we have to do the work to get there. But what an opportunity, what a privilege – to have a solution to the very real pain of staying stuck in a broken childhood.

  • Suffer On

    My friend is suffering. His head and heart are boiling with that sticky dread of self-hatred and hopelessness. He feels he is broken beyond repair. He thinks there is something deeply wrong with him. He’s trying everything, as a sober alcoholic, to not feel. He doesn’t believe me when I say I have been there, that I have really really been there, and that it can get better.

    I understand. God, did I used to hate hearing people talk about overcoming adversity when I was neck deep in it. They didn’t understand my pain and suffering. They didn’t understand how very hard of a time I was having.

    Like me, my friend is a recovering alcoholic, and he’s about two and half years into the game. That’s two and a half years of no longer self-medicating, therefore giving himself plenty of space for the real shit to come up. Such is the way. Most addicts have histories of trauma or abuse or some heavy load that demands to be dealt with. Here are the things we do in lieu of drinking and drugging to not confront that heavy load:

    eating disorders of all types, body obsession
    sex, porn, fantasy
    enmeshed relationships (both platonic and romantic)
    television (Netflix and such have really made this even easier)
    work, school
    gambling
    caffeine, nicotine
    shopping, spending
    hypochondria (a form of obsession)
    care-taking others, codependence, love addiction
    internet
    exercise
    (care to increase the list?)

    Most addicts, once sober for a little while, will come face to face with at least one of these substitutions. They’ve got twelve step programs for nearly everything now. In moderation, most of the behaviors on the list are benign, and some are quite healthy. But for an addict, they can become an obsession, another fix, and that’s what turns it unhealthy. Addicts have a real hard time feeling feelings and facing reality, and so they are likely to pursue anything that distracts them from their own shit. From my own experience and twelve years spent in recovery and relapse, until we stop ALL the fixing we will never heal the nasty shit that dwells within us.

    Just what is the nasty shit within us? Usually the same bag of tricks: self-hatred, shame, and fear. Often stemming from some kind of trauma.

    How do we heal it? We feel it.

    Sounds simple enough. In a way, it is simple, but it certainly isn’t easy. It can be deeply painful, and not just emotionally. It also can take it’s sweet ass time. Our bodies go into a kind of shock when we get sober. We certainly aren’t used to being awake to life. We have always taken the edge off, and most of us lived in daily blackouts or states of extreme inebriation. The body does not yet know how to allow these feelings to come up. They can stay stuck down below for quite a while. But if we keep at it, they will come up and out.

    I have written about this before, and I used a metaphor of black goop. That is what it felt like for me. I felt clogged from head to toe with sticky stinky sludge. I felt poisoned, and I was, with rage and guilt and grief. Some old, some new. And for a while, it wouldn’t budge, even stone cold sober. I tried to feel, and I couldn’t. I tried to cry. No dice. I just felt agitated and convinced that if only I were thin and beautiful, all would be well. If only I had a relationship (ha!) everything would be great. Save me, oh prince! Then one day, I wanted to die again. I thought there was no hope, that I was broken beyond repair. I understood being sober a year and a half didn’t mean shit and couldn’t save me.

    I had terrible insomnia for weeks, and I was ready to throw in the towel and start popping pills, even though I desperately wanted to stay sober. I kept thinking there was something wrong with me physically, and that was why I couldn’t sleep. A dear friend told me flat out, “you’ve told me of your issues with your childhood and family. You belong in Al-Anon. There’s nothing else to figure out.” I had been told this before, but it never registered. I never even considered it. But for whatever reason, when she said this, something clicked, and it clicked HARD. Of course I belonged there. And of course I deserved to address my core issues. For a long time, I thought I didn’t. I wanted to be my father’s daughter – I wanted to be tough and strong and simply move on from the past. Yeah, good luck with that. It will come back to haunt you, especially if you’re an alcoholic. That was a first step of sorts: feeling worthy. Feeling I deserved to get better. My friend is struggling with that: he doesn’t think he deserves to take care of himself. He thinks it’s indulgent and selfish and weak to take a look into his wounded heart and soul. (Oh, this backwards culture.) Oh, oh, oh, is it the way of strength.

    I certainly had to stop pretending that it hadn’t been traumatic just because I grew up in affluence and had a solid education. That’s the America Dream talking, and we all know how Death of a Salesman ends.

    So I went. And boy oh boy did I find what I was looking for. First, tears. Rivers of ’em. I started to weep, and it was the best thing I’d ever felt, while also being the worst. But what mattered was that the feelings weren’t frozen. The black sludge was loosening and leaving. I started to heal.

    And then something miraculous happened: I started to like myself. A lot. Then I started to love myself. I started to be a lot less afraid of the big wide world and all its players. I had more self-esteem. Some authentic forgiveness. I started to feel joy, and there ‘aint nothing like joy. There were layers and layers and layers of buried shit, but I just kept cleaning it out. I had faith in the process, even when it was hard and painful. It is still sometimes hard and painful. But I go with it. I’m still going.

    I say this not at all to brag but simply to offer my experience. I’m close to five years sober and have been in Al-Anon over three. The meetings in and of themselves don’t keep me sane, but they, combined with twelve steps and the delicious evolving world of recovery do. There exists miracles, I can promise you that. If I can get better, so can my friend. So can you. My entire life, especially ages 10-25 were spent running like mad from anything uncomfortable. I stuffed my body full of drugs and booze and food and sex, and I obsessed until the fear was bigger than any chance of feeling grief. And yet: I don’t do that today. I don’t check out anymore in destructive ways. I cry easily, and I let it out, and I feel my feelings. I still sometimes judge them and feel guilty for having them. I still sometimes watch TV when I am tired of dealing with my mind or eat when I’m not that hungry or obsess about a relationship that I have no control over but like to think I do if I think hard enough. After all, I am human. But I learned and then started to really feel, that I am not broken beyond repair, that I am not broken at all actually, and that I am unconditionally loved, supported, and cared for no matter what.

    But I had to do quite a bit of suffering to get there. Damn, I was a real good sufferer. It seemed the only way at the time. You can’t force or rush or control someone’s process of healing. As much as I would like to help my friend, there is really nothing I can do except love him and support him and be there for him. But he might have to suffer on. What I do trust is that he will find his way. I just hope I can be there to see it.