“There is
something wonderfully bold and liberating about saying yes to our
entire
imperfect and messy life.”
~ Tara Brach, PhD ~
The back seat of a Dallas police cruiser is
made out of black molded plastic. Practical
for its purpose, I suppose, but pretty brutal in the middle of a hot Texas
August with your hands cuffed behind your back.
I was pretty skinny then – preferring pills to food and knowing that
they always worked better on an empty stomach or with just enough food to keep
me from throwing them up - and the cuffs felt like they were crushing into my bones between my body and the hard plastic. There would be
no pills for me on this day. Overnight,
I had taken my last handful and pushed myself to a rare edge where my
fearlessness disappeared and I found myself on a hotel bathroom floor bargaining
with the universe and promising to get myself together if I could just not die
that night…if I could just wake up one more time. The universe complied and I made a plan. Just one more bottle…enough to wean myself
off…just one more time. As it turned
out, the universe had it’s own plan – and it was nothing like mine at all.
When I was released from the firm grasp of
the Texas criminal justice system, honestly, I was completely resigned to the
fact that I would never be able to have any kind of normal life again. Convicted felons don’t get very far in the
job market, and my social skills had been all but erased by my time behind
locked gates. Content with making the
rent and my legal fees, I lived life by the one foot in front of the other
philosophy. I was terrified, isolated,
and filled with shame and regret and grief.
Still, I had a job, I had a place to lay down at night, and I had money
for food. I had what I needed, and it
was enough…really, more than I ever really thought I deserved.
I have no idea what happened between here and
there, but I must have done something very right.
On August 23, 2014, I mark 11 years of sobriety. Ten, five, even three years ago, I wouldn’t
have imagined that it was possible to be in the place that I am in today. Recovery is an ongoing journey, and much of
the road is rocky and unpaved.
Sometimes, we figure out a way through the parts that seem impassable,
and sometimes, we sit down in the gravel, cry, scream, swear, and wait for help to arrive. Either way, every time we make it through, it
is both a momentary victory and a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow…or in five minutes…there will be
another pit of quicksand, construction zone, or crumbled bridge to
navigate. Life on life’s terms.
The most important thing that my own journey
has given me is an appreciation of my own freedom to choose the path that I
walk today, and tomorrow, and the next day.
I can choose to walk in fear of what is next, or regret of what is past
- sometimes those roads seem to be the easiest to walk, because they are so
very familiar - or, I can choose a more mysterious path that leads to places
unknown, and trust that, whatever the difficulties that the journey holds, I
will figure out the way through, or find a place to rest until help comes
along. What I know for sure is that
there is no easy or straightforward way to anywhere worth being…I am going to
get lost, likely more than once…that there is no shame in asking for directions…and
finally, that sometimes, the best thing that I can do is just to stand still
until those directions make themselves known, often in some very unexpected
way. With my meditation practice, I have finally found the way to some internal settling…a hope that peace is possible...and a map to find my way home when I need it. I have learned to say yes to what is here and not strive to eliminate it or destroy it or push it away with drugs, alcohol, or anything else. Whatever pain or fear or grief or joy...I am learning to welcome it, honor it, and sit with it for as long as I need to. I am learning that I don't have to believe my crazy thoughts and that the stories that make up my life do not define my true nature or block the light inside of me. It is a process, but I am learning. I cannot even begin to describe how my heart fills with gratitude when I reflect on the gifts that this practice and the people it has brought into my life have given me…so many times, when I have felt so weak, so alone, and so close to the edge…I have turned to this practice for refuge and, again and again, have been reconnected with my intention to be with myself and with others with the kind of love, compassion, and honesty that cannot exist in the absence of sobriety.
I have so many things to be grateful for. In the throes of my addiction, I often
behaved in ways that might be unforgivable to many, but I have been blessed
with the kind of people in my life that believe in redemption. Many of the relationships that I thought were
lost forever have been restored and the new friends that I have made throughout
this journey have enriched my life in a thousand ways. Even those relationships that were completely
destroyed with no hope of reconciliation have left me with valuable lessons that I
probably couldn’t have learned any other way. I have earned the trust and respect of my
family, and I am so incredibly thankful for their love, support, and presence
in my life. I have a good, solid job
that allows me to take care of myself and plan for my future, while helping
addicts who still suffer to get the help that they need...and through offering my experience, strength, and hope to others, my own sobriety is supported, nourished, and strengthened. Today, my life is so much more than it has ever been...it is full, and crazy, and imperfect, and messy...
And it is way more than enough.
Some days, it overflows…
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