Insecurity

Someone recently asked me if I went to rehab to get sober, and I was like, “No, but I wish I could go now.”

I mean, generally speaking, there’s nothing I would rather do than put responsible adult life on “pause,” indefinitely, to go read, reflect, hike, do yoga, get therapized, yak with likeminded folks about recovery, philosophy, history, humanity…which, incidentally, is what I do with my friend Kim on our “Living Sober” podcast. It’s worth a listen, if you’re into all that deep stuff, too! 🗣️🎙️👂🏻

I should probably warn you that some off-color language occasionally slips outta my mouth on the pod. In the only listener feedback we’ve received (from someone other than my mom), an emailer took issue with my “use of profanity.” 🙊

Figures! It’s been that kind of season lately, when my square-peg edges seem particularly rough, and all the world seems especially round. Like any good self-protective human who feels cornered, and like any recovering addict who buried their old trusty escape hatch, I find myself really yearning to run away and leave it all behind. Thus, I guess, the rehab fantasy. 🤷🏼‍♀️

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I know what you’re thinking: Didn’t you just come back from Hawaii, you spoiled brat? Yeah, but that was before I started processing my departure from my internship site — which includes telling my clients I’m leaving them 😭 — and applying for post-grad counseling jobs — which involves rubbing salt in some of my most painful unhealed wounds 🤕.

Three years have somehow passed since I gleefully celebrated my admission to grad school, and now, I’m a little over a month from the end of my academic career (this time, it’s probably forever) and the dawning of yet another new version of “the real world” (from which the only escape is death ☠️).

I’m on my (*checks notes*) third career transition in the past five years, but this one carries much higher stakes, given my advanced age and the time and energy expended and loans taken out to pursue the counseling path.

Pondering this, I can feel all my ancient insecurities rushing up like the river of slime in “Ghostbusters 2.”

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Yikes, right? I wouldn’t call this a full-fledged Season of Evil; I’m fortunate to have enough going on in my personal life to help keep professional stress from driving me to unhealthy distraction — or turning me into a totally miserable “dry drunk.” Here, let me give you my “swear I’m not a freak” resume…

I organized and executed a St. Paddy’s Day lunch outing with the four ladies from my biweekly therapy group, which, let me tell you, is heavy lifting for an introverted homebody who doesn’t drink. 😰 I’ve been running more regularly, and finally seeing an uptick in my strength and endurance on the never-ending hills at Tyler State Park. I’ve also seen some beautiful progress in clients at work. 🥹 And, wonder of wonders, I just found out that someone nominated me to try out for the role of Graduate Commencement Speaker at the ceremony in May. 😳

Of course, that just riles up the ’ole slime river even more. Another worthiness competition that I could potentially lose? Another buzzsaw threatening to shred my self-esteem? OK, universe, you can CUT THE SHIT now!

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Lately, it seems like every day has brought a new chance to stare down/defeat my insecurities, and I’ve been blowing it, big-time.

Example: I left class crying in each of the past two weeks, stung by criticism of my counseling style (the basic gist: “You talk too much”) in a case presentation, and then gut-punched by a rejection email from a local therapy practice, where I’d just sent my carefully curated cover letter and revamped resume.

Painful memories from professional lows past came flooding back, from the day the smarmy consultant the newspaper brass brought in to critique our “Game On!” video project passive-aggressively had me fired as show host, all the way up to the day my first counseling supervisor fired me as their supervisee, directly to my face, a few months into internship. And in between, the Mad Max wasteland that was my marketing “career” stretches as far as the eye can see.

Meanwhile, I look around my present-day life, and most of my cohort seems to be facing the future with confidence, secure in their skills and job prospects. That sense of inferiority gets in my head, and it’s hard to shake.

I feel my approval-seeking inner child crying out for comfort at random times, and I have to go digging for the “calm, competent, playful, persistent” higher self my therapist is always lecturing me about, to do damage control in the moment.

It’s a voice that whispers: You have so much to offer an employer, and you will find your place, and you are not “less than” just because others fail to see your worth.

That higher self is there, but it’s pretty green and not yet practiced in rescue efforts.

I can always find reassurance in my “safe places,” whether it’s jumping in my car and bawling all the way home, or ranting at my husband until I tire myself out/he has to jump on a work call, or retreating to my bed with a Tootsie Pop or four and opening my Instagram app:

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It sure is exhausting babysitting those insecure inner kiddos! I feel like growing up means re-parenting ourselves over and over, our higher selves swooping in to put our asses in “time out” so we can gain some perspective — once we get done wailing.

Sometimes, my insecurity screams so loud that it drowns out the wise voice of that mature adult I’ve been slowly trying to become over these past five years. Self-doubt gets so big and obnoxious that it scares off the authentic, creative, passionate, resilient, resourceful, soulful, empathetic and humble woman who has emerged, albeit timidly and sporadically, since I quit drinking.

These triggers/tests bombarding me at the moment are all part of the glorious emotional and psychological shitshorm that is personal growth! Sadness and confusion are byproducts of recovery; they tend to bubble up when we’re learning — however late — to face our underlying issues and manage our existential distress.

We all reach points in life when we’re torn between the awesome possibilities that come with freedom and choice, and the overwhelming terror we feel at being free to choose.

Entering the job market in a brand new field is definitely one of those points, and being pinned there doesn’t always bring out our best.

I could conceivably have stayed the course at my internship site, but I decided to walk away with no clear destination in sight, essentially “betting on myself” to find a better fit. That’s a ballsy move, and I’m terrified it might turn out to be a “check my body can’t cash.”

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I mean, what made me think I was “good enough,” with all my warts and weaknesses, to take my bachelor’s in journalism and background in sports reporting, pop culture blogging, social media marketing and (cringe!) SEO copywriting, and carve out a niche in the professional counseling world?

What made me think I was worthy, as a “late bloomer” who’s still half in the bud, of a spot at the adults’ table with all the prim, proper, well-behaved normies who seem like they were born to be therapists?

What made anyone think my twist on the rags-to-riches redemption story — “When I started here at DelVal, I was unemployed, and as I stand before you today…I’m unemployed once again! But folks, it has been at least four years and 10 months since I was blackout drunk and lying face down in my own puke in a stadium parking lot, and I’m here to tell you, you too can live your dreams!”— could possibly outshine the Junior Achievers and America’s Sweethearts I’ll be up against in this commencement speaker popularity contest? Note to my nominator:

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Uh oh, here comes Vigo again…better wrap this up!

With this Master’s degree I’ll finally be getting my grubby hands on in a few weeks, I’m about to be let loose to pursue whatever opportunities might be awaiting in the great unknown. Part of me yearns to sail off toward new adventures, while the other part wishes I could cling to solid ground — even if that solidity is only an illusion. It feels very much like in addiction, when we chose to stay imprisoned by “the devil we know,” rather than take a risk and go see what’s on the other side of our fear.

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So this post is basically one big long-winded self-intervention. I do not need to be physically shipped off to rehab, but I do need a “time out.” I need to pause, slow down, and remove myself from this self-imposed pressure-cooker with all the foolish comparisons and unwinnable competitions that I’ve allowed to rile up my ugly insecurities and distract me from the truth.

I have “bet on myself” many times before, never more balls-i-ly (new word!) than when I sailed off from the illusory safety/security of alcoholism into the uncharted waters of sobriety, and bravely navigated through every storm that’s hit me since. We’ve taken on some water along the way, no doubt, but we’ve never turned back.

The “commencement speech” I really need to hear can be delivered quietly, in private, and nobody else needs to understand or approve.

Say it loud, my girl: Your wise adult higher self is always here to comfort your inner child whenever life gets scary (or slimy!), and as long as she keeps steering the ship, you are going to be OK! Would you please stop forgetting that?