I'm back from a lovely, sober few days away visiting my husband's family. Not drinking is so much easier these days. Once in a while over the holidays I had a little pang of wanting a drink. But I am getting much better at talking myself down from these pangs when they happen, or distracting myself until they pass. Really though, that longing for drink isn't all that intense any more. It's more like a tired, half-hearted part of me still chimes in once in a while with "maybe a drink?" but it isn't all that compelling. I know people say that when you revert to drinking again, it doesn't take long to pick up where you left off. Well, that seems to be my experience with quitting drinking for me this time around. I feel I've already reverted the habit of not drinking that I established over the past couple of years. I've already been through over a full year of not drinking, so I don't have all that many "firsts" to contend with. And having gone back to drinking twice after long spells without booze, only to find that drinking wasn't going to work any more as either an escape or a refuge, I simply can't kid myself that there's any point in it for me. That romance is dead and gone, it seems.
Because I start these posts with a tongue-in-cheek "Round 3," I thought I might make a note of what's been different this time compared to the last two rounds of getting sober. The first time I quit, over two years ago, I thought the world would open up and shake in congratulations at my having accomplished 100 days without drinking. In fact, no one cared much. Feeling like I was part of something bigger than me in this sober blog world was so important to me, but I was way too over-invested in needing connection with others, without really knowing how to connect, or who I might connect with. So when 100 days came and went and people who I thought were cheering me on missed what was, to me, an enormous milestone, I was devastated. I'd been feeling like I didn't belong after all, and I know that was a part of me moving away from the blog world, and the letdown was huge. Right now I feel so far from how sad and hurt I was at the time that it's almost hard to take it seriously, but I want to honour that feeling here. Recently, Laura McKowen wrote about the incredible loneliness of early sobriety, and I found great comfort in that. Every trace of friendship and connection in those early days was a lifeline, and every small hurt was amplified as a result. Now I'm relieved to know that many people feel like that when they first stop drinking. And because I know that, I'm more aware that I need to pay attention to taking care of myself and not let myself be too hurt by small slights online or in my day-to-day life. My first response to small personal slights is still, "She probably hates me," but I have got much better at setting those thoughts aside, accepting the feelings that come with them but not getting knocked too far off course as a result.
After drinking for a few months and then quitting again, the next time I made it to 100 days was my birthday. That time I was way more careful about the letdown that can come with sober milestones. I had been in the online sober community longer, so I felt I was developing some real friendships here. I was better at knowing what I needed and working at setting it up for myself. But I was feeling what I called at the time a "giant hole of longing," and it was tough coping with that.
This time, I don't feel so much longing or sadness or alienation. I think I am more mature about what it might mean emotionally to live as an adult. I still often feel disconnected from people, but I am working on making better connections and realizing that the feeling of disconnect is more an old habit than a reflection of how I really am in relation to those around me. My 100 days sober coincided with Christmas Day. My husband and I spent a wonderful day together--we slept late, ate a yummy brunch, went for a long walk that ended at the cinema, where we watched the lovely movie, Brooklyn. (Go see it! It's a beautiful film, one that lives up to the novel in a way that few films do.) I acknowledged my accomplishment with my husband, but we are both used to me being sober now, and we both prefer it. I didn't need to make much fuss over the number of days, nor did I want to spend time online talking about myself that day. The online sober world is an important support for me, but I often get as much support reading and commenting on other blogs as I do writing about my own celebrations and struggles. Still, I am proud of myself for getting hold of the drinking and returning to being sober, and for making it to 100 (now 110!) sober days. Sober suits me, and I am very much planning to stay that way.
Just the same, I'm in a kind of holding pattern about some things, and that means I'm on the edge of enormous stress that I can't even let myself feel right now. Based on some soul searching abut what I'm doing with my life, I've put in applications for a few school programs that would mean a change in direction for me academically. Being accepted into any of them would also mean making a big move geographically. The application process for these programs is insanely competitive, so the next few weeks will be filled with regular email checking to see whether I have been invited to an in-person interview, which will mean plane tickets and massive preparation and a couple of days being on while investigating whether a program and supervisor is right for me, followed by more waiting to see what's been decided. Or I may not make the first cut of interviews at any program, which means a couple of months of waiting and wondering, all the while working on my thesis and engaging with students in my TA duties, and trying to see if I can fill in some shifts from my old job here and there because flying to interviews will be expensive and I will need the cash. I'm excited about it all, but I'm crazy-nervous, too.
All that is just to say it's not going to be an easy month ahead. Getting sober is a good practice in dealing with trouble, though, and I am trying to use what I've learned from the sober stuff to deal with all this other stress. Today I let myself take an extra day off from all I have to do, and I spent the day reading a mystery by a new favourite writer. I think I'll just go back to that now for the day, and then tomorrow I will try to come up with a plan that will help me get things done and take care of myself. I feel a little numb, and I know that's a response to the worry and uncertainty about what will happen in all this. But I also know that many intense feelings will come and go over the next while, and none of them matter all that much. I'm happy to be where I am in my life in 2016, sober and trying to make some big life changes. I don't expect it will all magically work out, but I know I will deal with what happens as it happens. I can't tell if what I feel is calm or numb, or maybe it's flashes of that elusive thing I've heard about, patience? Either way, I have some work to do, and a whole lot of waiting. And for now, I'll read for a while longer, and have some dinner, and forget about the work and the waiting for one evening.
Thanks for keeping me company as I figure out how to live sober. I hope you're figuring it out, too. Peace and joy to you all in this new year.
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Monday, 4 January 2016
Friday, 24 January 2014
Hello, doubt. So nice to see you again, my old friend. Can I get you a cookie?
Yesterday was somewhat grisly for me. I felt tired and weepy and cranky, a big knot of yuck. I rode my bike, went to class, picked up what I needed from the library, met a couple of friends for a walk and a chat--all things that would usually make for a great day. Still, by the time I came home, I felt like giving up on everything. School, the not-drinking routine, anything I have usually thought of as good just seemed bad. I tried explaining it all to my partner, which ended up with me in a convoluted quagmire of doubt and despair. He held my hand and talked with me for an hour, after which I realized I could cope, though I still wasn't sure what exactly I was coping with. Then I tried to stand up and could barely do it, and I realized I had a headache and a fever and was exhausted. So I had been getting the flu, and I guess that wasn't exactly lifting my damp spirits any.
The malaise is kind of interesting, though. For me, quitting drinking means taking care of myself, and taking care of myself means questioning what I'm doing, asking whether it's really what's good for me or if it's just what I'm doing. That's fine, but too much questioning is paralyzing, and that's just as much of a time suck as drinking too much. No I'm not preparing an elaborate excuse to pick up drinking again. I'm really not doing that, at least for this stretch of time I've set myself. I'm just noticing a pattern, and I think it's down to that old chestnut, the black and white thinking. For me, it's been relatively easy to drink too much in the evenings and then barrel through the days. Yes, I had spells when I felt like living crap, and at times I was pretty darn anxious. But booze really is a helpful way of not thinking about your whole life if what you really want to to is put your head down and just get through things. Now that I don't have that, doubts lead to questions and questions lead to existential paralysis, and really I do have a whole lot to get done in the next few months.
I guess what I'll have to do is learn to balance attending to the doubt with setting it aside. Thich Nhat Hanh has a lovely passage in one of his books, probably Peace is Every Step, where he talks about cultivating patience with anxiety. I just looked through the book to find the passage, and I can't, so maybe it'd in a different book after all. No matter, his sensibility infuses all his books, and I can remember it enough without an exact quote. He recommends, when you start to feel anxious, saying, "Hello, anxiety. Welcome." Sometimes you can sit with the anxiety and pay attention to it. But of you can't because you have to do other things, he says to welcome the anxiety, ask it to sit for you until you are ready, and then carry on with what you are doing until you can be more attentive. I have done this on and off for years, and I find it remarkably helpful. (Sometimes I get carried away, and I offer it a cookie and a comfy chair, and then I start to wonder why I am being so nice to my anxiety when I have to get on with things rather than sit in a comfy chair eating a cookie. But that's just a distraction, a little sibling rivalry with my old friend anxiety, and it passes.)
Anyway. I realize this is a helpful practice, and I need to do the same thing with other uncomfortable, disruptive emotions. I need to be hospitable, offer a them warm welcome, whatever they are. But I don't need to put down what I'm doing and engage in a marathon wrestling match with that emotion. No need to spend days and days in the grip of doubt, examining every aspect of my life thats uncertain. Some things are uncertain, and they will stay that way for a while at least. I'm not always sure about school, but I like a lot of it, and I have to finish writing a thesis, which takes time and concentration. I'm not sure about my plan once that's done, but I have sent my application and now there's little point thinking anything through unless I have a concrete offer to evaluate. I probably won't be able to keep working the same job a whole lot longer, as I know I find it too draining, but I don't have to solve that today, and deciding about that will likely be taken care of once I figure out what I'm doing with school next year. I am happy with my partner, my apartment, my city, and a whole lot of things about my life. I know deciding to quit drinking is a good decision for me, even though I'm not sure about it all the time. I'm not sure what to make of this whole discipline of psychology that I'm studying, and I won't be able to figure out my role in it any time soon. OK, that's some certainty, and a lot of doubt. So when the doubt comes, as it has this week, I am trying to take Thich Nhat Hanh's advice, and say, hello doubt. Welcome back. No time for wrestling now, I'm busy, but I promise I'll go for a walk with you later. First I have to do some schoolwork. And then, having settled my friend doubt comfortably in my favourite chair, maybe even with a cookie in her hand to keep her occupied, I can get back to work. Because paying attention to emotions doesn't mean letting them run the show all the time. Sometimes, you just have to get things done.
That's what I'm trying, anyway. I've been sleeping lots and taking slow walks every day, trying to keep myself calm in the face of this. I suppose I do need to get back to doing real meditation practice. But for now, I'll set the doubt aside, have some hot tea and get back to work.
If you're still reading, many thanks. Peace and joy to you. And a cookie for your own fears and doubts.
T
The malaise is kind of interesting, though. For me, quitting drinking means taking care of myself, and taking care of myself means questioning what I'm doing, asking whether it's really what's good for me or if it's just what I'm doing. That's fine, but too much questioning is paralyzing, and that's just as much of a time suck as drinking too much. No I'm not preparing an elaborate excuse to pick up drinking again. I'm really not doing that, at least for this stretch of time I've set myself. I'm just noticing a pattern, and I think it's down to that old chestnut, the black and white thinking. For me, it's been relatively easy to drink too much in the evenings and then barrel through the days. Yes, I had spells when I felt like living crap, and at times I was pretty darn anxious. But booze really is a helpful way of not thinking about your whole life if what you really want to to is put your head down and just get through things. Now that I don't have that, doubts lead to questions and questions lead to existential paralysis, and really I do have a whole lot to get done in the next few months.
I guess what I'll have to do is learn to balance attending to the doubt with setting it aside. Thich Nhat Hanh has a lovely passage in one of his books, probably Peace is Every Step, where he talks about cultivating patience with anxiety. I just looked through the book to find the passage, and I can't, so maybe it'd in a different book after all. No matter, his sensibility infuses all his books, and I can remember it enough without an exact quote. He recommends, when you start to feel anxious, saying, "Hello, anxiety. Welcome." Sometimes you can sit with the anxiety and pay attention to it. But of you can't because you have to do other things, he says to welcome the anxiety, ask it to sit for you until you are ready, and then carry on with what you are doing until you can be more attentive. I have done this on and off for years, and I find it remarkably helpful. (Sometimes I get carried away, and I offer it a cookie and a comfy chair, and then I start to wonder why I am being so nice to my anxiety when I have to get on with things rather than sit in a comfy chair eating a cookie. But that's just a distraction, a little sibling rivalry with my old friend anxiety, and it passes.)
Anyway. I realize this is a helpful practice, and I need to do the same thing with other uncomfortable, disruptive emotions. I need to be hospitable, offer a them warm welcome, whatever they are. But I don't need to put down what I'm doing and engage in a marathon wrestling match with that emotion. No need to spend days and days in the grip of doubt, examining every aspect of my life thats uncertain. Some things are uncertain, and they will stay that way for a while at least. I'm not always sure about school, but I like a lot of it, and I have to finish writing a thesis, which takes time and concentration. I'm not sure about my plan once that's done, but I have sent my application and now there's little point thinking anything through unless I have a concrete offer to evaluate. I probably won't be able to keep working the same job a whole lot longer, as I know I find it too draining, but I don't have to solve that today, and deciding about that will likely be taken care of once I figure out what I'm doing with school next year. I am happy with my partner, my apartment, my city, and a whole lot of things about my life. I know deciding to quit drinking is a good decision for me, even though I'm not sure about it all the time. I'm not sure what to make of this whole discipline of psychology that I'm studying, and I won't be able to figure out my role in it any time soon. OK, that's some certainty, and a lot of doubt. So when the doubt comes, as it has this week, I am trying to take Thich Nhat Hanh's advice, and say, hello doubt. Welcome back. No time for wrestling now, I'm busy, but I promise I'll go for a walk with you later. First I have to do some schoolwork. And then, having settled my friend doubt comfortably in my favourite chair, maybe even with a cookie in her hand to keep her occupied, I can get back to work. Because paying attention to emotions doesn't mean letting them run the show all the time. Sometimes, you just have to get things done.
That's what I'm trying, anyway. I've been sleeping lots and taking slow walks every day, trying to keep myself calm in the face of this. I suppose I do need to get back to doing real meditation practice. But for now, I'll set the doubt aside, have some hot tea and get back to work.
If you're still reading, many thanks. Peace and joy to you. And a cookie for your own fears and doubts.
T
Monday, 20 January 2014
Round 2, Day 14: Peace and calm
I've been busy with school, and will be for a few weeks at least, but I want to try to keep up on posting to remind myself what's going on with me. So here goes:
Since I made the commitment to stop drinking for a new stretch of time, I feel so much better. Some days I feel so calm, it's like I've been drugged, but I think this might be natural, and the crazy up and down of my normal days are the drugged state. Now the hundreds of mice running wheels in my mind seem to be sleeping and eating and doing whatever it is mice do when they're feeling all right. They deserve the break, poor critters.
Most of the time, I haven't wanted to drink. I'm being careful to structure my evenings away from booze. As soon as I hit what would have been wine-time, I make myself a lovely drink (cranberry and lime with sparkling water is a new favourite, but I keep trying new ones) and I sit, savouring the taste, and the pretty colour in the glass, and the relaxation after the day that the drink signals. Last time around I stopped doing that as soon as I didn't feel I really needed it. Now I think the sensuous pleasure of a pretty drink and the signal that it's time to relax after the day, all that might be an important part of what I was getting out of drinking. If that's true then I need to include it as a way of taking care of myself while I'm not drinking.
A few nights ago, I did have one of those piercing longings for wine. I came home as my partner was eating a little snack and sipping a glass of wine. It looked like the perfect thing to do, and I wanted one, too. I was tired and hungry (yes, I know they are triggers for everyone) and it had been a busy day, and I had arrived home too late to cook what I had planned for dinner. So a perfect storm of wee disappointment and fatigue. I sat on the couch for a few minutes, thinking, "OK, if you really want to you can just go ahead and have some wine. Is that what you really want?" It isn't. I know it. I have made myself this 13 weeks promise, and I'm not breaking it for a little weepy spell of being tired.
Instead of cooking, we decided to splurge and eat out at a fancy place we've been wanting to try. Before we went I carefully pictured myself sitting in that restaurant ordering some deluxe no-alcohol drink. But that restaurant was full, so we went nearby to one of my regular haunts, the cosy local where I've enjoyed drinking wine and reading a book with dinner for years, long before I even met my partner. The couple at the next table had glasses of red wine, and they twirled and swirled and fondled those glasses like they were in love with that wine. When I looked away, at the menu, I discovered that the restaurant doesn't even have a mocktail list, and their price for sparkling water is truly alarming given the quantities of it I can drink. I wanted to treat myself, but I couldn't figure out how to do that without having wine, which I wasn't going to do. I could feel the evening start to slip away from me. But I really didn't want to be like a spoiled child who can't just enjoy what's on offer because of wanting something that can't be had. So I asked the server if they had decent pomegranate juice (they do) and I made up my own special drink order: a wineglass with a little pomegranate juice topped up with soda water and a wedge of lime, no ice. For a minute I felt like one of those difficult people in restaurants who always makes a big fuss, but I got over it, and when my glass came, it was pretty, and the drink was good. The wineglass twirlers left, and my partner and I enjoyed a lovely meal after all.
That's a frightfully long passage about not having a drink, but I really do want to remember what happens. That awful mix of sadness and longing didn't exactly go poof when I shifted away from it, but it got smaller, and by the time I'd sipped and eaten, I was glad I had kept with my plan. Reminding myself that shifting away from little disappointments is just a bald fact of adult life actually helped me. Mainly, I wanted to enjoy a dinner with my partner, and I knew it was well within my reach to wreck it with my tricky mood, and I did not want to do that to him or to me, or to us.
Lately I am working very hard at practicing a dispassionate kind of mindfulness, noticing, "Oh yes, I see, this is the kind of thing that makes me want to drink. Isn't that interesting." Yesterday, work was a brutal mix of being short-staffed and crazy-busy, with a big dose of coworkers passive-aggressive decisions and reactions to it all. And I just didn't engage. I arranged for my own breaks to get covered and stated clearly that I would work as best I could to cover but I would not work overtime or skip my meal or breaks. I offered critical suggestions for how we could do a better job covering the schedule but didn't get caught up in it when coworkers decided to be heroic or irrational or enraged (or, in one case, all three) at the day. And when I came home afterwards, I noticed that I was foot-sore and mentally exhausted, but I was also pleased that I hadn't got caught in any of it. I made a fizzy drink and read the New Yorker for an hour, and by the time my partner arrived, I was starting to relax. No wine required for that. Just some rest, and time, and some paying attention to how I felt. These little "hoorays" seem so huge to me. I know putting this together over and over is a part of the work I need to do, and doing it reinforces how important it is to keep it up. Hooray indeed!
I started writing about peace and calm, and instead wrote about two wee crises that got stirred up over the past few days. It's true, they happened, but peace and calm feel like the main thing in my days. I am sleeping and eating well and reading lots, not getting as much schoolwork done as I'd like but trying my best. Every time I feel the worry-mice start up, I say, "No. Not that." And I go for a walk, or read something, or make a cup of tea or a fizzy drink instead. I think it's going well.
Lots more to say, but now I'm going for a walk in the almost sunshine, and then I will write two more pages of my thesis. And that will be an OK kind of Monday for me.
If you're reading this, thanks for the support. Peace and joy to you.
T
Since I made the commitment to stop drinking for a new stretch of time, I feel so much better. Some days I feel so calm, it's like I've been drugged, but I think this might be natural, and the crazy up and down of my normal days are the drugged state. Now the hundreds of mice running wheels in my mind seem to be sleeping and eating and doing whatever it is mice do when they're feeling all right. They deserve the break, poor critters.
Most of the time, I haven't wanted to drink. I'm being careful to structure my evenings away from booze. As soon as I hit what would have been wine-time, I make myself a lovely drink (cranberry and lime with sparkling water is a new favourite, but I keep trying new ones) and I sit, savouring the taste, and the pretty colour in the glass, and the relaxation after the day that the drink signals. Last time around I stopped doing that as soon as I didn't feel I really needed it. Now I think the sensuous pleasure of a pretty drink and the signal that it's time to relax after the day, all that might be an important part of what I was getting out of drinking. If that's true then I need to include it as a way of taking care of myself while I'm not drinking.
A few nights ago, I did have one of those piercing longings for wine. I came home as my partner was eating a little snack and sipping a glass of wine. It looked like the perfect thing to do, and I wanted one, too. I was tired and hungry (yes, I know they are triggers for everyone) and it had been a busy day, and I had arrived home too late to cook what I had planned for dinner. So a perfect storm of wee disappointment and fatigue. I sat on the couch for a few minutes, thinking, "OK, if you really want to you can just go ahead and have some wine. Is that what you really want?" It isn't. I know it. I have made myself this 13 weeks promise, and I'm not breaking it for a little weepy spell of being tired.
Instead of cooking, we decided to splurge and eat out at a fancy place we've been wanting to try. Before we went I carefully pictured myself sitting in that restaurant ordering some deluxe no-alcohol drink. But that restaurant was full, so we went nearby to one of my regular haunts, the cosy local where I've enjoyed drinking wine and reading a book with dinner for years, long before I even met my partner. The couple at the next table had glasses of red wine, and they twirled and swirled and fondled those glasses like they were in love with that wine. When I looked away, at the menu, I discovered that the restaurant doesn't even have a mocktail list, and their price for sparkling water is truly alarming given the quantities of it I can drink. I wanted to treat myself, but I couldn't figure out how to do that without having wine, which I wasn't going to do. I could feel the evening start to slip away from me. But I really didn't want to be like a spoiled child who can't just enjoy what's on offer because of wanting something that can't be had. So I asked the server if they had decent pomegranate juice (they do) and I made up my own special drink order: a wineglass with a little pomegranate juice topped up with soda water and a wedge of lime, no ice. For a minute I felt like one of those difficult people in restaurants who always makes a big fuss, but I got over it, and when my glass came, it was pretty, and the drink was good. The wineglass twirlers left, and my partner and I enjoyed a lovely meal after all.
That's a frightfully long passage about not having a drink, but I really do want to remember what happens. That awful mix of sadness and longing didn't exactly go poof when I shifted away from it, but it got smaller, and by the time I'd sipped and eaten, I was glad I had kept with my plan. Reminding myself that shifting away from little disappointments is just a bald fact of adult life actually helped me. Mainly, I wanted to enjoy a dinner with my partner, and I knew it was well within my reach to wreck it with my tricky mood, and I did not want to do that to him or to me, or to us.
Lately I am working very hard at practicing a dispassionate kind of mindfulness, noticing, "Oh yes, I see, this is the kind of thing that makes me want to drink. Isn't that interesting." Yesterday, work was a brutal mix of being short-staffed and crazy-busy, with a big dose of coworkers passive-aggressive decisions and reactions to it all. And I just didn't engage. I arranged for my own breaks to get covered and stated clearly that I would work as best I could to cover but I would not work overtime or skip my meal or breaks. I offered critical suggestions for how we could do a better job covering the schedule but didn't get caught up in it when coworkers decided to be heroic or irrational or enraged (or, in one case, all three) at the day. And when I came home afterwards, I noticed that I was foot-sore and mentally exhausted, but I was also pleased that I hadn't got caught in any of it. I made a fizzy drink and read the New Yorker for an hour, and by the time my partner arrived, I was starting to relax. No wine required for that. Just some rest, and time, and some paying attention to how I felt. These little "hoorays" seem so huge to me. I know putting this together over and over is a part of the work I need to do, and doing it reinforces how important it is to keep it up. Hooray indeed!
I started writing about peace and calm, and instead wrote about two wee crises that got stirred up over the past few days. It's true, they happened, but peace and calm feel like the main thing in my days. I am sleeping and eating well and reading lots, not getting as much schoolwork done as I'd like but trying my best. Every time I feel the worry-mice start up, I say, "No. Not that." And I go for a walk, or read something, or make a cup of tea or a fizzy drink instead. I think it's going well.
Lots more to say, but now I'm going for a walk in the almost sunshine, and then I will write two more pages of my thesis. And that will be an OK kind of Monday for me.
If you're reading this, thanks for the support. Peace and joy to you.
T
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