Learning to Wear Life Like a Loose Garment

The images haunt me. I cannot control the pangs of embarrassment that invade my first thoughts when triggered by a person, place or thing, but I can control my second thoughts. And my actions.

That was not always the case. As I walk past a neighbor's home, I remember passing out during a party and awakening at 3:00 a.m. in that neighbor's dark house, feeling like an anvil was resting on my head and skulking home.

Waking up in strange places was not an unusual happening in my past. In college, we called it the "walk of shame," when one traipsed across campus on early mornings in party clothes from the previous night's festivities. It was embarrassing to be seen on such occasions. It amazed me how a campus community of 8,000 could seem so small when it came to gossip about who had been with whom on a given weekend.

I did not drink to be social or because I liked the taste of whatever beverage was in my hand. I drank to get drunk. I drank to escape the self-abhorrence that plagued me. It started early in life when I discovered the salve that muted the negative tape on constant replay in my head. It made me forget the sexual abuse and rape. It made me forget my alcoholic father's rage. It made me forget that he thought I was my mother when he was drunk. It eased my imposter syndrome. It eased my suspicion as a biracial woman that I simply did not belong anywhere.

I learned how to hide my dependence on alcohol. But my methods stopped working. My husband found my various stashed bottles and insisted that I go to rehab. It took a few stints in rehab until recovery looked better than using alcohol to numb my pain.

One of the most lasting lessons in rehab was the maze exercise. We were blindfolded and put in a rope maze. I struggled for what felt like hours to try to escape. I was the last one left in the maze. There was only one way out. It was to raise one's hand and ask for help.

The lesson we learned is that we cannot recover alone. Alcoholism is a disease. An alcoholic's brain metabolizes alcohol differently than that of a "normie." I cannot effectively treat my disease alone.

Some say that the opposite of addiction is connection. I believe that. If I allow a trusted friend to bear witness to my pain, I find relief. I no longer suffer alone. I no longer feel a need to drink things away.

I cannot change the past. But I can learn from it. When the student is ready, the teacher will come. I now believe that every person and situation has the capacity to teach me something, if I am open to the lesson. I am open. I am open. I am open.

There is a well-known American nurse who wrote about the most commonly expressed regrets of her dying patients. They included not spending enough time with friends and family, and not allowing themselves to be happier. I may have some regrets when I die, but they will not be these.

I no longer use what others think of me as a barometer of self-worth. I accept that I cannot control others. I do esteemable acts to increase my self-esteem. I alone am responsible for my happiness. I live with intention, being as careful about how I spend my time as how I spend my money.

Recovery has provided me a guide for living. I believe in something bigger than myself, I take responsibility for my actions, I wear life like a loose garment, I strive to lessen my character defects, and I pay it forward to others. I am no longer carrying rocks like negative self-judgment. I live and let live. Sobriety has set me free.