Four years free
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One of the things about living alone is that sometimes the silence looms. This is not a complaint—I like living with myself more than I could have imagined—simply an observation. Sometimes, say, with a Saturday afternoon with myself at home, or in the post-work-post-gym-and-dinner-time, I look for ways to fill the quiet. This is my long winded way of sharing that I listen to a fair amount of podcasts and lately it’s been a lot of Glennon, Amanda and Abby. They release at least a couple of new episodes a week, and it’s interesting and easy listening and I resonate with their intensity and humor and the way they speak right into the absurdity of being human.
Do you know what I appreciate most about their conversations? The way they reference and describe sobriety. There is something deeply comforting to me about listening to people in long-term recovery talk about their lives, specifically, when it’s something that they own about themselves, when its not something they are ashamed of; when it’s simply another fact about who they are, like being blonde or a certain height. Although one of their episodes was devoted to talking specifically about addiction and recovery, mostly, the fact that none of them drink is just woven into the fabric of what they share. There’s a level of integration that I find aspirational.
On a recent episode about navigating big emotions (hi), Abby made a comment in passing about how when she was still drinking, there was a persistent “putting off until tomorrow.” It’s a simple and obvious comment, a tiny blip in the conversation, and I so needed to hear it because it is my experience. The worst part about my drinking wasn’t the hangovers. It wasn’t the shame, nor the self-loathing (though these things are terrible things). The worst part of my drinking was being beholden to a thing that kept me out of my life, and locked in the hamster wheel of putting off until tomorrow.
This week, I celebrate four years free from alcohol. I don’t put things off anymore. I look out the window of the treehouse, I take in my surroundings, I am overwhelmed. My life today is unrecognizable to me now, to who I was four years ago, and I hope this gratitude never dissipates.
Four is a graduation. It’s the mercy of the deeper blue. It’s knowing how to take care of myself. It’s agency, and having a say. It’s embracing the messiness of being human instead of micromanaging it. It’s having an array of fresh tools and coping strategies at my disposal and also it’s forgiving myself when I flip the bird to every last one of them. It’s showing up anyway. It’s a commitment to walking through the world heart-first. It’s thirty-second-spurt-cries at the wonder and terror of it all. It’s the end of magical thinking, it’s facing reality with eyes open.
Four is forward. Four is the long view. Four is unapologetic horizons, four is plans-in-place, four is a 401k.
Four is (forgive me) more fun. Four is friendship. Four is feet on the ground.
Four is where the story starts. Four is where things get interesting.
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Sometimes, I feel embarrassed about sharing recovery stuff. There are still plenty of 3am freak-outs, staring at the ceiling, worrying about Other People’s Opinions and whether or not I should just shut the fuck up already. These freak-outs are juxtaposed by my commitment: If I want to see the death of Big Alcohol in my lifetime, if I want to live in a world of informed consent, and where we are all free, then sharing is urgent. So, I’ll keep going, despite my discomfort.
I don’t really have, like, a lesson to share. I’m doing what I can to stay curious, and open, and to receive my life and my people. I know that the deeper in I get, the deeper my capacity to forgive myself and others, which translates to a deeper capacity for love. I know that I am grateful for this practice that anchors me more fully into myself and has given me a sense of purpose, meaning and belonging.
My goals moving forward are humble. I want to travel to remote places and soak in the beauty of nature while she’s still here. I want to continue the process of integrating, of shining light on my shadows, of softening more and more into myself. I want to fall in love. I want to work less. I want plenty of sleep. I want to pay off my student loans and buy a Ferrari.
OK that last one is silly! Mostly I want to thank all of you for your eyes on my words, for your friendship and support and your trust. Let’s go for a swim.
SELF MADE is a newsletter for fellow 🌺late bloomers🌺 with a focus on recovery, creativity and community. It's written by me, Dani, a writer, coach, and recovery advocate in San Francisco, CA.
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Love this so much. Are you going to write a book? ❤
DANI!!!!! Fellow 4-year-friend!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉 I am so so SO happy for you, and grateful to have you in my life. LOVE YOU!!!