Sober Stories

It’s been quite a long time since I’ve blogged. Time to begin again.

I’m calling these Sober Stories

Enjoy.

 

Story 1

The Big Oy Vey

 

My parents, two sisters, and brother were holocaust survivors. I was the only child born in the US after the war. Their story is extraordinary and heart-breaking and heroic, and I can only tell you in general terms what happened to them. I would have more details if I were able to read my sister’s book, “Portrait of a Holocaust Child-Memories and Reflections.” But alas, although I was not alive during their horrific ordeal, I cannot go to any holocaust museums, nor read any books, nor look at documentaries on the holocaust lest I start writhing on the floor dribbling.

Their experience, however, somehow made its way into my DNA.

In my three decades of recovery from life, drugs, and alcohol, I’ve received the great gift of meeting extraordinary humans along the journey of life who have illuminated my path. I feel compelled to share their wisdom with you. I call these stories …sober stories.

This one is called: The Big OY VEY

When I was about 8 years sober, I was sitting at an AA meeting waiting for the speaker to begin sharing, “what it was like, what happened, and what it’s like now.” This is the usual format of a speaker meeting in AA. I was waiting to be inspired…waiting to hear something that would alter my thinking and therefore hopefully diminish some of the depression, anxiety, and emotional pain of living life on life’s term without self-medicating. In other words…waiting to hear something that would give me relief. That’s why I self-medicated. I’m looking for relief. Relief from my FEELINGS. My obsessive, critical, judgmental, diffident, self-mocking FEELINGS. The FEELINGS that says, “you are not worthy, you are stupid, you didn’t finish college, you are less than, you will never be confident, you will never be good enough and probably nobody really loves you (that’s always the icing on the cake isn’t it?)   

Back to my story…so I’m waiting to hear the speaker.

She spoke.

It was worth the wait. She was marvelous…stunning, articulate, warm, intelligent, and exceedingly honest. She did not look to me like the person she was describing. She looked nothing like what she described as her life…literally leaving her small children on a pier in California with no adult supervision and taking off to Hawaii in a drunken stupor.

And then she dropped the bomb.

“I have learned how to lean into the pain.”

Mic drop.

Whattttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt???????????????????????

 No self-medicating, no delusion, no deflection, no retreat just “bring it on.” Are you fu---ing kidding me?

Whoa!!!!!!!!! Do you mean no more running away? No more self-deceit? No more self bullshit? No more deflecting by getting another hobby; gardening, cooking, cleaning, facebooking, instagraming, twittering, tiktoking,  letter writing, planting, painting, skipping, hiking, crocheting  (I am beginning to sound like the UPS commercial) I WILL DO ANYTHING EXCEPT FEEL. (or going to the gym)

Oh nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Oy Vey.

Her theory is: cry, scream, rant, rave, writhe and FEEL THE PAIN.  

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Don’t go around it?? Don’t bury it?

 Go through it?? What are you new?

The big oy vey.

 Lean into it. Feel it until it’s over. Stop Fighting. Pay the price of pain then get up and go again. OH MY.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

And then I tried it. Not without a therapist, a shitload of meetings, and twelve dozen donuts. But, I did it. Again and again and again and again and again.

Not pretty.

And I do that now. Not gracefully. Not without an initial pushback. But I do it. Because I’m pretty much willing to pay any price to stay sober and fight for my mental health.

And it was worth it. I’m alive.

And in this process I became a hero instead of a victim.

How utterly simple.

How utterly complex.

How utterly divine.

Like love.

Utterly simple

Utterly complex

Utterly divine.

Oy vey.