Tag: connecting

Feeling the pain I caused others


I’m an intellectual, analytical sort of guy by nature. So regardless of my addiction – or perhaps in addition to my addiction – I don’t connect well with my feelings. I can analyze a situation, describe the feelings I am, was or should be feeling…but I haven’t always connected with the emotions involved. I think it’s part of my coping mechanism for life. Coping with isn’t the same as living, just like tolerating someone isn’t the same as loving them.

I want to experience life – live life – love others…not just cope and tolerate.

I’m learning how to these days in recovery with a lot of tools and help.

This week, I realized how strong that coping mechanism has been.  About a month ago, a friend told me stuff I never knew that was going on around me and about me while I was in my last years of active addiction. In my selfish, self-centered world, I didn’t think anyone knew about my using — nor cared. Secretly, there were times I remember hoping someone would care, would say something — but I also know that most attempts to “help me” would have just driven me further away, strengthening my denial and the grip drugs had on me.

This friend told me about how people very close to me were aware of my using, sometimes in surprisingly graphic and real detail. But, these same folks knew that in most cases, the best thing to do is to let go, and let someone’s Higher Power guide events. Knowing and yet not being able to help was painful for them.  The helplessness, the despair, the concern, the fear.  And, I was oblivious to it all.

But, my analytical mind had really only processed this on one very intellectual level until this week. I filed the “news” away in my memory – didn’t talk about it with anyone really – but it would surface from time to time. Yesterday, I was talking with my sponsor and told him about this realization of the world around me – of the pain and worry I caused for some of the closest people in my life. Even then, I honestly felt little – it was a story, seemingly someone else’s.

Last night, I had some dreams that brought this awareness to light. I awoke and lay in bed thinking about what I shared the day before.  I saw the people involved in my mind, and started to cry – sobbing heavily as a greater sense of guilt, regret and sadness came over me. It finally all hit me — and I simply allowed myself to feel the pain and sadness.

I know the outcome is amazing – we’ve survived this and they continue to be in my life. I will make amends when the time is right.  But, the self-awareness from this is a great gift of recovery. The fact that these two folks courageously faced this situation with appropriate “detached love” and continue to be in my life is an even greater gift.

But perhaps the greatest gift was the reconnection between my intellect and my emotion. I understand better how important it is to live more authentically with the union of heart and mind, living through and experiencing the feelings of joy, sadness, fear that come with the events in life.  For now, for me, this takes conscious awareness and an effort to remain open to possibilities, to new world views, and to a maturing capacity to feel. The “lag” between events and feeling them is growing shorter, but it’s still there. My ability to detach is so strongly rooted in my way of living that it will take time to grow.

But, baby steps.

Today, I can see it for how it should really be.

Today, I feel the pain I cause others.  And for now, that is a wonderful gift.

To be continued….

A Forgetful Pretender


Every once in a while, I come across someone who shares something that encapsulates what I’m experiencing in a way I could probably never articulate. Tonight, someone shared his experience as one of being a “forgetful pretender.” He talked about how he doesn’t have a lot of good memories or bad memories from his past — he simply doesn’t remember much period. He shared how part of that probably comes from the fact that for so long, he wore masks, keeping others at a distance and avoiding experiencing much in life period. In a sense, he was going through the motions. And, since he really wasn’t “present” — since he was more pretending to be someone else to fit in, or to please others, or to live up to some other set of expectations — he was a shell of who he really is…and as such, has little to remember about being there, about feeling, about experiencing life.

Wow.

For much of my life experiences, this resonates.  I have these great experiences and situations, but don’t remember much about how I felt at the time. I often have friends or family tell stories about events in our lives together, and I’m reminded of the facts — remember physically being there – but that’s about it.

I used to wonder if there was some mental block – some “shield of protection” because of some deep emotional scars.

I used to wonder if my brain cells were so fried from my using that I had little left of my long-term memory.

I used to wonder if the lack of storytelling in my life slowly eroded my memories.  Without family get-togethers where we tell stories; without friends in my life from decades of time who help keep stories alive – did the memories just whither away?

may

And now, I can see that while some or all of that may be true — unresolved losses, physical damage to cells and lack of oral traditions — another explanation is my lack of connection to life, to my feelings, etc. could also explain my lack of memory.

Like B., I too am a bit of a forgetful pretender.

Or, was.

Because now, I have the desire to experience life – to be present – to connect with others – to feel feelings.  I have tools to help me cope with feelings and live through them.

It takes time and effort to retrain my patterns of thinking and living to not drift back into old routines. But, I know it’s possible.

And I know it’s worthwhile.

So I’m transforming slowly from a forgetful pretender to an authentic feeler for whom memories will build and last.

What another amazing gift of recovery.

Thanks B. for your sharing and insight.  You’re an expressive poet…

What a difference a year makes


Last night, I sat in church listening to the pre-service music, reflecting on my journey over the past 365 days. This was my second Christmas clean and sober. Last Christmas, I was 3 days into inpatient treatment spending the holiday getting the help I so desperately needed. I can recall a couple of people asking gingerly how I felt about being in treatment for Christmas, almost afraid to ask out of well-intentioned pity or sadness. But in my heart, I knew that the alternative would have been miserable. I was vocal and grateful about what a wonderful gift to be alive, full of life. I was glad to be in the treatment center over Christmas. It was where I needed to be.  And every step of this journey has been exactly what I needed to go through – whether I felt it or not at the time.

I literally teared up with joy during most of the pre-season music and during the carols throughout the rest of the service last night. I didn’t hold it back completely because it was wonderful to feel the joy and excitement of the season – almost as if the entire experience were new to me. And in one respect, it was. I was given the gift of new life a year ago and much like I imagine it is for someone who survives a bad accident, or treatment for cancer or other life-threatening illnesses — like addiction — I truly see life from a different perspective. As the Judy Collins song says so poignantly from her own experience, “I’ve looked at life from both sides now…”

I take things a little less for granted. I don’t sweat the small stuff as much as I used to. I savor the moments a little more than in the past. And, with each day that passes, I grow in acceptance, surrender and humility through the grace of my Higher Power.

I teared with joy for Adrian, born on my re-birth day, named after his father’s close friend who died of an overdose three years ago. I felt gratitude for the two newcomers at Homegroup just before the service, thankful that they found the courage to walk in the rooms and seek freedom. And, I cried with a hopeful sadness for my friend J who text me this week, still in the grips of his addiction – hopeful that the experiences he has had with recovery wrestle to the forefront of his mind and spirit and give him the courage to find help.

What a difference a year makes.

What a change in perspective.

Merry Christmas.