I didn’t realize how hard it had been raining until we finished hiking one gorge (Taughannock Falls; pictured above) and got in the car to head to the next (Ithaca Falls; see below). I plopped into the passenger seat, and all at once, I was forced to feel my soggy jacket and leggings clinging to my limbs, my soaked hat/hood weighing heavy on my head, and my tangled hair clumped against my neck.
For the previous two hours, I’d been completely unbothered, my personality split off to its “pleasant” side as my three favorite elements of the universe — my partner, nature and movement — converged in/around one gargantuan hole in the Earth. I found myself feeling grateful for the weather, because despite it being a Saturday morning at a high-traffic tourist attraction, my husband and I barely encountered any other humans on the trails. It was a cleansing rain, from that point of view, washing away both the residue of the week and the weight of the world.
But then, we stopped, and sat stewing in our respective puddles, and I felt my mood instantly turn irritable. Every inch of my body was antsy, to either get where we were going, stat, so I could move again, or get on back to our AirBNB so I could change into cozy pajamas, stuff (burn) my mouth with freshly-baked frozen pizza, and dissociate to Netflix by the fire.
Reality sure has an annoying habit of spoiling a good adventure! You think you’ve executed the perfect escape, absconding with peace, serenity, a regulated nervous system…when, whoosh! It rushes in, drowning your spirit once again in existential dread.
I guess that’s the curse of being human, to be given “one wild and precious life” and have to live it under the looming specter of death. I feel like this dichotomy smacks me in the highly-sensitive face every day, in one way, shape or form — even amid the supernatural splendor of an empty gorge — and I am never not aware of how alcohol used to bridge that gap and soften that blow.
Recovery has been giving me a much greater awareness and deeper appreciation for the wild preciousness of my life, even though it’s mixed with plenty of pain. My therapist put it nicely in one of our recent sessions, which have basically turned into clinical supervision now that we have the same job: “You have to fill your heart with the beauty and let it carry you through the pain.”
The more I go looking for beauty, the more I find.
There are times, though, if I’m being honest, when my hubby has to pry my eyes open.
It was JP’s idea to drive up to Ithaca on a whim the weekend after Labor Day, for no other reason than to break from routine (we told our hosts we were celebrating 18 years married, but that milestone really happened back in July). It was an exciting adventure, a giant gulp of fresh air…and it never would have happened if his mind worked just like mine.
I’m a creature of habit who’s most comfortable in a predictable habitat. I eat the exact same things, to the point I can click “fill cart with last order” every week on the Giant or Door Dash apps. I watch the exact same shows, to the point I can glance at the TV at any random moment and quote the next line or name the verdict in the case. I wear the exact same outfit around the house, to the point JP calls it my “uniform.” I’m locked into pretty much the same daily patterns, to the point that, yikes, even writing this out is becoming tedious. 😬
Familiarity might breed contempt, but it also creates a sense of safety. I clung to the soft, warm comfort of sameness when I stopped self-medicating my anxiety with alcohol.
I’m blessed to have a partner I trust who occasionally steps in to interrupt the cycle.
It’s hard to refuse him when he shows me an array of luxurious-looking rental homes with big decks and private docks, mere steps from local running and hiking trails. It’s hard to resist a long weekend getaway filled with the sounds of the forest, wide open spaces — and no set schedule.
I joke about my split personality, but JP can attest: I really do become a different person on a hiking trip. It’s a strange but welcome shift, to step onto an unfamiliar pathway feeling curious, playful, light and free. To face the unknown with a sense of possibility, letting go and “giving it up” to my higher power, who always seems most powerful, and present, in the great outdoors. Mother Nature wraps me up in a big hug and says, “It’s all OK,” and “You are loved.” And I believe her!
Problem is, my bed and blankets back home send the same message. So it’s not quite as easy for JP to lure me out on a “regular” weekend…good thing he has pickleball to fill his social bucket on what I’ve started calling my “Shut-In Saturdays.”
After a little over a year, the novelty of working full-time as a therapist — a career path that was nowhere near my radar when I first got sober — has started to wear off.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the tremendous privilege that comes with the profession: folks see me as a competent clinician and trusted confidante with whom they feel safe sitting and sharing their secrets and struggles. It’s not that I don’t treasure the relationships I’ve built and the person I’m becoming in the process — one client even told me I have a “calming presence”…OMG, never thought I’d ever hear those words leave another person’s mouth! 😳
The work is just a lot more taxing than I bargained for, and striving to do it well is taking an undeniable toll.
Two things can be true at the same time: I’m living a dream, and life feels heavier than ever before.
I remember reading a book in counseling school called “The Family Crucible,” and the author said something like, “Being around people who are trying to grow and change makes me feel alive.” That quote really resonated with me when I was still all about the passion and purpose of diving into a helping profession, but now that I’m really in the thick of it, carrying a “big-girl” schedule of 20+ clients a week, I sometimes feel…well, a little too much alive.
To go from avoiding intimacy all your life to actively cultivating deep, intimate connections for a living? Man oh man, what was I thinking?!?!?
It’s not that I want to drink, here at 6.25 years sober (10/7 marks 75 months) and Year Two in post-grad private practice. I want what I’ve always wanted…which is, OUT!
Quitting — on my job, my recovery, my relationships, my own growth process — is not an option. It is not a desire, either, though I, like any human, have my moments of doubt.
I’m working through the same stuff that I work on with my clients, and really, it’s all about interruption. Catching ourselves when the comforting habits and safe routines that keep us chugging through life start to keep us from feeling alive, or when our spiraling thought patterns and autopilot actions/reactions start to run us off track and into the ground, and choosing to pause, ponder, break free, do something different, walk a new path. And as we go, look around. Open our eyes. Life can be so beautiful!
I don’t really have to look, or travel, too far to remember that. I have a constant reminder right by my side. 🥰
Jen Wielgus Journalism 