As far as life in recovery goes, it’s a work in progress and you are always taking its temperature(Heartburn). In spite of moving forward, there are moments of slipping backwards. Crappy time travel where the emotional triggers are incendiary land minds that are hidden in the grass. In active addiction, those land mines are super obvious. Until they increase in frequency so much that they blur together like Sheldon’s costume on The Big Bang Theory.
When you are lucky enough to make it through that phase and start working on picking up the pieces, you check to see if everyone’s life jackets inflated before you do anything else. Nobody gets out without damage. There are therapy sessions and lots of phone calls. There are family huddles. Some breakdowns. Arguments about stupid shit like how to load the dishwasher Safe things to fight over. Instead of who you are angry with. How scared you felt. How hard it was.
But as length of sobriety lasts, the harsh seemingly endless winter finally breaks. You feel your heart warming.
Things that used to be bittersweet are now just sweet which is why I cried when I got my first flower delivery from JKR with no other agenda than to tell me happy birthday and that he loved me. But even that’s not easy. None of us are promised another day, right? And as I listen in to JKR’s meetings (they are open, so I’m allowed to attend) I see the people who come and go and I worry about them. I collect their absences, take their temperature. Why? Because I don’t want that cautionary tale to be mine. Ours. I know it’s one day at a time. But honestly, no one is promised anything more than that. One breath at a time. One minute at a time. One hour at a time. One day. Then another. And the hope is if you can string enough of those days together you are left with something beautiful. That keeps me going
Because there is so much beauty. There are Scrabble games and football. Seeing the kids. The dogs. There are moments where I’m able to listen to an audiobook while flipping through Vogue while he plays guitar or watches a documentary or sports that feel so perfect. It is such a beautiful life.
But that doesn’t mean the pain is gone completely. It hangs around like one of those horrible clingy ghosts with vengeance on their minds, ready to swoop in and set me off without warning. They throw grenades and place land mines in front of me. Mines that explode, and then I do, and he apologizes, and I don’t want that. I don’t need him to apologize for the rest of his life.
And anyway, haven’t we all decided that addiction is a disease?
Do I apologize to him for my asthma or the stomach god that rules every single meal decision we make? Do I apologize for my frequent migraines? For the fact that I don’t eat breakfast with him on weekends when I go to hot yoga? Do I apologize for my highly competitive nature which makes me a bad sportsmanship when he’s beating me in Scrabble? I should, because that’s not cool and I can repress that with self-talk and, ya know, just not being an asshole?
Do I apologize for my messy nature? The fact that I lose things all the time. Things that adults shouldn’t lose. Like my driver’s license(many times), books, my keys, my phone, and time. Yes, I lose time all the time. Ha! I made a funny(something my father used to say).
Do I apologize for my snarkasm? The way I make the dogs talk and make him answer them? Do I apologize for how one second, I’m all in on some show or cold brew type or (literally fill in the blank) and then completely off it the next, like someone without the courage of their own convictions. How many Netflix series have I started with him and never finished because it failed not only to keep my attention but also to fill whatever highly specific void I needed from my entertainment. Like the next season of Flack. Where the hell is it?
Do I apologize for my foul mouth? I curse like a sailor. Plus, my kids curse also. And in a weird way, that makes me proud. He is no prude when it comes to language, but I admit that I am worse way worse. I view profane language as an expression of power and edginess and full living that many people repress because they are weaker or less lucky than I am. Whenever there are studies that show that use of profanity means you are intelligent, man, I’m all over them. Like this study which literally states that the benefits of profanity include pain tolerance, honesty, integrity as well as creativity. See? I feel vindicated and fully actualized. People who swear a lot wear ripped jeans and cool t-shirts and have crystals in their hair. And I am that person in my heart, if not always in my appearance (although sometimes I am).
But I know in addition to those other not so great things, I am so full of good stuff, like he is. So full of art and books and fun. I am in love with angles. Specific viewpoints in life and even just in my house. If I position myself in such a way I can see all of the things I love in full view. Especially when the kids are home. But mostly, I am the person madly in love with my husband. I am that person all the time. So that means I am a grateful person. Profoundly in love with a group of people who show up on meetings and share their struggles on the regular. And, as cliché as it is to say, the struggle has made me even more grateful for the love. All of it.
And along the way I have doubled down on my G-d given gift to appreciate the little things. The pop of sunshine. The rainy days. The feeling of hope that buying any plant gives me despite my notoriously horrible history with gardening. The belief that most people are decent and good in parts, at least and some people are magical.
The ability to witness the struggle and the relief when someone finds their footing. These are beautiful things, aren’t they? But still I worry. How much have we hurt our kids? There was no actual drinking when they were little, but there definitely were years of addictive and enabling patterns. Each of us guilty on both parts.
Bruce Feiler wrote this article about the importance of family narratives and how we help our children by telling our family story. Apparently, there are three main types of stories-the first is everything has always gone well for us-we are lucky and deserving. The second is our life is essentially shit because we once had it in hand, but then lost it all. The third is we’ve had ups and downs as a family, huge losses with big gains, but in the end, we are all going to be ok because we love each other.
The third one is the one to shoot for, apparently. Booyah!
Yes, I tend to gravitate towards studies that tell me what I want to hear—coffee causes weight loss and brilliance!People who curse are awesome! Grey eye-people are rare and the best at everything but playing sports. (true). Retail therapy has been proven effective! Eat chocolate every day! You get the point, but this article was based on decades of studies by super smart people who distilled their life’s work down to one simple thing-our kids do better when they are told the truth about their life and their family. We all do better when we talk about things. Hurrah!
So, I’m going to take this. This relief I feel that my kids are going to be ok, maybe even better off for having had to struggle. I don’t mean that I am grateful for the pain they’ve gone through because that’s crap. I mean that since they had to go through the pain, I am hopeful they will be changed for the better and because I can’t control their worlds or keep the wolves at bay, I hope they will have learned ways to protect themselves, love themselves, lift themselves. As a family we have loved and lost and built and destroyed. We have stood tall and fallen all in the same day, in the same minute, in the same breath. In the end, we are still here. Together. Family.
I worried so much that the addiction had broken the foundation of our family. It could have. There are so many stories like that. But in the end, I found that our foundation had never been about drinking or not drinking. It had always been about loving. Hard love, for sure, but love, after all. Strong love. Devoted love. Personal love. Kind love. And after all we’ve been through, it’s a relief to know that foundation is still just as strong. We were once whole then we lost our footing and our minds, but in the end our family is still together because of love. That’s kind of beautiful.
So, what does any of this have to do with writing? It’s all the stuff of good books, right? The inciting incident played repeatedly a million times in your life, all these inciting incidents. Then the struggle. The low point. So many of those. The turning point. The final battle. The resolution. The return home. It’s the struggle readers show up for, right?
We want to urge the turtles out of their shells and cheer as they make it to the water(cute video here). We want to help that chicken hatch, by one small tap on the top of the egg as in that Three Pines episode, but is that the right thing? The struggle leads to growth. Growth leads to resolution. Resolution leads to the happy ending. Together. Forever. Amen. If this is a romance. Or not if it’s a horror movie. Let’s face it, those are fun to watch, also, just not fun to live.
So, if the struggle makes us what we are, then let us be one thing-loving. That’s the key to it all. It’s the gift of spirituality. Radical optimism comes from an understanding that this is a benevolent universe and (I believe) G-d wants us happy.
Tenderness. Kindness. Clarity. Honesty. Hope. Those are the tenets I want to build the back half of my life upon. Those are the things I hope I’ve taught my children. The same values I try to put in my books.
Now for this week’s recommendations: I am currently listening to The Best Minds by Jonathan Rosen
I am currently watching The Last Thing He told Me on Apple TV. I am breathlessly awaiting the next episode!
I finally started watching Avatar the Last Airbender on Netflix. My kids freaking love this show and I’ve never watched it, despite all of my author friends who have recommended it and I gotta say, it’s pretty good. Taking it slow, an episode every weekend.
The NFL draft. I am a glutton for punishment. A NY Jets fan. Lifelong. Ugh. And every year I get excited about the draft. Every year I watch it and I hope…..please let this be our year. I told myself I wouldn’t do that this year. I was done. But….we did have the rookie of the year on both sides of the ball last year, so…..I might be a tad bit excited about some of it. Maybe. Especially since their Twitter account has really upped its game.
I am trying a new cold brew this week from Bones Coffee Company. Love the name of this particular brew. Army of Dark Chocolate. I usually hate flavored coffees but I’m kind of digging this one. Especially with my birthday cheesecake. Yum. But it frothed up a bit as I poured the cold water over it. Anyone else notice that?
Ok. See you all next week when I FINALLY will write about false beliefs. I promise this time!
I am captivated by your stories. Thank you for sharing and teaching. I miss you. Send JKR my love.
Army of Dark Chocolate is our hot brew of choice. Bones is great. Love your writing, Stace. Thanks for sharing it with the world. Hugs.