I spent about five total hours celebrating Thanksgiving this year — three at the gathering, one in the car each way — but that’s all it took. A short break from routine. A quick scenery change. One step off the beaten path —> a much-needed shift in perspective.
I guess it’s like the iconic Leonard Cohen lyric, about the cracks being where the light gets in? My protective instincts have always worked really hard to seal those cracks, to shut out the unknown/uncontrollable — so, basically the entire outside world — in an attempt to keep me “safe” from pain. If I let them run on autopilot for too long, I can find myself shut away in an airtight vault where sameness passes for certainty, numbness feels like home, and my whole purpose for quitting drinking gets lost in the dark.
Don’t get me wrong; it feels delightful inside the vault; I mean, what sane human really wants to face raw, unadulterated reality — especially (*looks around at America*) right now? Alas, I made the decision to “sign up for life” by saying no to booze, then went and pushed my chips forward into a helping profession, so I’ve got no choice but to snap out of my avoidance utopia if I am going to live/help….and continue to grow.
So, yeah, this latest holiday found my hiding spot and rooted me out. It cleared the calendar on what’s usually my busiest day of the work week, gave me a social engagement I could not beg out of, aaaaand crack! Just enough open space for the universe to shine on in. 🔦
Lo and behold, subtle signs of progress that I’ve been too preoccupied — and numb — to notice, all came to light:
* Gliding down the road in our brand new Grand Cherokee toward my sister-in-law’s house, listening to the Jolly Christmas station on satellite radio, I felt a surge of certainty, that even if I could drink to ease my anxiety and “blend in” better with my husband’s extended family, I truly did not want to. I cherish my clear-headed early mornings, my sunrise runs/hikes in the park, meeting clients at 7:30AM so I can knock off at noon…and the idea of choosing to wake up with a hangover (perimenopause wreaks enough havoc as it is) seems preposterous!
* Sitting at dinner, having just finished one hearty plate of turkey and sweet potatoes, I did something weird (for me). I paused, shifted back in my chair, and allowed my system to settle. I felt…content. Satiated. The usual compulsion to reach for a serving spoon and start furiously scooping, just to keep my hands/mouth occupied and tamp down my persistent social jitters…it was there, but it was mild, and I let it pass. I joined in the conversation happening at the other end of the table. Could it be that I have finally learned to slow down and listen to my body, and I am no longer a complete slave to my anxiety? Holy shit!
(^ I should note that this is not about restricting calories/denying hunger as some marker of success. This is about mindfulness, emotional regulation, and homeostasis, as opposed to knee-jerk reacting to discomfort with the same old maladaptive coping mechanisms and behavior patterns. This is about recovery from disordered eating — the awful all-or-nothing roller coaster of stuffing and starving — which in some ways feels more gratifying than being sober from alcohol! 💪🏻)
* Parked in front of the Packers-Lions game after the meal, I looked around at the otherwise silent living room, and everyone in attendance, from the 20-something kid to the 70-something grandparent, was staring at their phone screen. I realized that I had not even thought to take my phone out of my bag since I arrived, and let me tell you, I swelled with pride (and yeah, maybe a little self-righteousness…🙃). I was not super comfortable or at ease in the moment, but there was no compulsive craving for escape into mindless scrolling, or — thank God — posting. This, from someone who turned into an obnoxious attention whore while drunk and spent obscene amounts of idle time f*cking around on social media/text messaging, which only fueled and worsened the cycle of addiction. Miraculous! 🙏🏻
^ OK, so my Thanksgiving holiday was not completely devoid of scrolling the socials, but I found those two posts especially poignant. While all the epiphanies listed above probably don’t seem all that significant to you, at this point in my journey (I’m 77 months sober as of Dec. 7), the gifts of recovery are very seldom big, flashy, or even evident to the untrained eye.
As with most of the everyday wonders and joys in life, you have to really be paying attention to notice them.
Oh, I just thought of one more example! On Black Friday, I was up early as usual, and I went down in the basement to work out because it seemed extra ridiculous to go running at 3AM, and I glanced at the whiteboard where I used to track my sober days with hash marks. For whatever reason, I had noted the date at 17 months, and it was exactly five years ago.
I stood there for a good while, like Lisa Simpson blissfully lost in fantasy, thinking about all that has happened in the last five years. “All I once hoped for…” I mean, in November 2020, I had just been accepted to grad school, and now, I’m working full-time as a professional therapist (associate license, halfway to full licensure)!
I realized right before Thanksgiving, in my most recent check-in with my therapist, that I’ve spent most of 2025 in a kind of “survive-and-advance” mode, relying once again on the old protective instincts to cope with work stress (mostly via isolation, sleep, and yes, “screen time” on TV and phone). In an effort to be present for my own therapy clients day after day, holding space for their most intense emotions and harrowing experiences, I’ve fallen more and more out of touch with myself. I have, at times, lost sight of life’s big, broad, beautiful picture and forgotten that I do have a place in it.
The lure of numbness is, and will always be, strong for my highly-sensitive nervous system. It’s a powerful force I’ll have to reckon with as long as I’m alive and continuing to give a sh*t.
And yet, resisting avoidance was the whole purpose of getting sober. I quit drinking to give myself a chance at a full life, one in which I engage, contribute and make use of whatever potential — and privilege — I possess, being willing to show up imperfectly because the alternative is to opt out and ultimately disappear.
I’ve discovered that actually achieving that is a daily practice. You never “arrive” at a destination, and the path is not a straight line pointing forward or up, up, up. You have to roll with the unknowns and uncontrollables, tolerate discomfort, face fear, weather storms, and remind yourself over and over that life is worthwhile even though it’s full of suffering and we never really get everything “right.”
I think that’s what Cohen is talking about in his song with the famous quote (it’s called “Anthem”): “Ring the bells that still can ring; forget your perfect offering; there is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in…” The Thanksgiving break rang a sort of bell for me, breaking the protective shell of survival mode and showing me once again that taking the risk of “signing up for life” without alcohol has yielded tremendous reward.
I quickly returned to the workaday routine after the holiday, offering up my imperfect version of supportive therapy to humans in an increasingly cruel, f* ked-up world and the most challenging mental health season. Just as I was about to put my head down to tunnel through another week, I happened to sit back in my seat for a moment.
The crack!
The light:
In that moment, all at once:
* Perspective: Look how far I’ve come. Look who I’ve become!
* Gratitude: I am so thankful to be here now.
* Contentment: Everything is fine; I have all I need.
* Hope: It’s always visible, at any time; I must remember to keep opening up so I can notice…and in noticing, come back to life.
Jen Wielgus Journalism 