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sober lifestyle

Personality

jenwielgusjournalism

When forced to interact with others in group settings, I typically have two speeds: Anxious over-talking, and total shutdown silence. My brain fires off frantic messages as I vacillate between modes, and more often than not, the result is cringey awkwardness.

This is why I’ve always sidestepped social situations when presented with a choice. Alas, avoidance is impossible at this counseling job I’ve been scrambling to get a handle on since late January.

Each day, I’m tasked with navigating the tricky dynamics of vastly different client and coworker personalities, while trying to practice a craft I only started studying 18 months ago and stay on top of an ever-growing list of administrative duties — I’m starting to get calls from probation officers, y’all! 😳 Meanwhile, I’m replaying past sessions over and over in my head, certain that I totally f*cked everything up.

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sober lifestyle

Willingness

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To call it “right living” sounds a little sanctimonious, but I’m not trying to paint sober folks as holier-than-thou saints. I quote this lovely passage from the AA literature because it speaks to my personal experience.

After 44 months of continuous sobriety (as of Tuesday), the “promises” they talk about in the 12 step universe are definitely coming true in my real world.

Living alcohol-free and working a recovery program is bringing me more satisfaction than anything I might have achieved or acquired in my 20 years as an addict. No, I’m not, like, totally satisfied with where I’m at. There’s much to learn and room to grow. Still, waking up today, compared to four, five, 10 years ago?

Translation: No comparison.

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Fitness

jenwielgusjournalism

The other day, while sitting in my office trying to take deep breaths and clear my head between back-to-back therapy sessions, my phone vibrated with a text message. It was a marketing blast from a local gym I used to belong to in a former life.

Hey Jen! How are you doing with your fitness goals since we last saw you? If we can help, give us a call!

I let out a guffaw. “Fitness goals”…ha!

The Jen they “last saw” four or five long years ago, bears such little resemblance to the person I am today that I doubt anyone at the gym — or any of my old haunts from the pre-2019 era — would even recognize me. And I’m not just talking about the physical effects of aging and a sedentary lifestyle.

Jen circa 2023 needs professional help, for sure, but it ain’t so I can improve my clean-and-jerk numbers or learn butterfly pull-ups.

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Immersion

jenwielgusjournalism

The content of this blog has landed me in the crosshairs of Employee Assistance (at my first marketing job, circa mid-2019) and “Aggie Care” (during the initial culture-shock days of grad school at Delaware Valley University, in the fall of 2021).

Concerned parties read my raw reflections on mental health and addiction and sounded the alarm: 🚨 Achtung! There’s an alcoholic in our midst! 🚨 And I was taken by surprise both times, being ushered into a glass-walled conference room in the middle of a work day for an eval by an ADP consultant, and receiving an obligatory email from the head of the psych department while sitting in class. It felt like I was back in first grade on one of my frequent powwows with the principal; if there’s one thing I’ve always kicked ass at, it’s being a mischief-making squeaky wheel!

Hard to believe I’m the one who’s applying the grease now, isn’t it? This past week, I started seeing clients one-on-one at my new part-time counseling job, and it was one of the most mind-blowing experiences of my entire life.

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sober lifestyle

Hope

jenwielgusjournalism
Top: Celebrating sobriety; bottom: Starting my counseling career.

Tomorrow is the day I officially start meeting with clients — in my own office, at a real drug and alcohol treatment center, for pay.

Holy mackerel; life comes at you fast!

One month ago, I was newly a unemployed copywriter scrambling to find a counseling internship before the start of the grad school semester.

And 43 months ago, I was gutting out the first day of a scary new life without alcohol, not having the slightest inkling of the new NEW life I would be living in recovery.

So there was only one way to spend this day — my official sober month-iversary — and that was to get up at 4AM for a lovely moon- and headlamp-lit run through the state park, grab a quick shower, and log onto a virtual 12-step meeting to share my “experience, strength and hope” as a very grateful guest speaker (who kept her story under 20 minutes…score!) And then, to crash under an avalanche of emotion just after breakfast, nearly forgetting I have to show up for a class tonight — in person.

I can’t get out of it. I tried. 😩

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Leap

jenwielgusjournalism

I started my new job this week, and thank goodness they’re allowing me to ease into the actual counseling part, observing and shadowing other therapists before I meet with clients face to face on my own.

If you saw me on Day One, getting lost multiple times in the circular hallway, walking in on a colleague in the bathroom because I had a master key in my hand and too many new things overwhelming my brain, and then getting slammed with my monthly cycle, complete with painful cramps, in the middle of a staff meeting, you’d understand that I was not ready to put forth my best self in the service of others.

Then again, will I ever really be?

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Manifestation

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The woman sitting next to me in the conference room at my sober retreat a few weeks ago was telling a fantastical tale, and I was working hard to keep my incredulous inner cynic from bursting out.

She said she and her husband had traveled from Philly to a quaint little town in the Carolinas, and she loved it so much that she asked God for signs that they were meant to move south. Shortly thereafter, they wandered into a local church, where the door just happened to be unlocked and the priest just happened to be available to chat. He told the couple he knew of a nearby house that had just gone up for sale. They left the church to tour the house, made an offer on the spot…yada yada, it’s two months later, and they’re all set to relocate to their new home.

Pfft! Woo-woo overload, right?

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Vulnerability

jenwielgusjournalism

“I don’t want to go,” I told my husband. “I’m feeling really vulnerable.”

He looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean?”

Oh boy…how could I put it into black-and-white words? How could I even sift through the avalanche of thoughts that had been rumbling through my brain all morning, as I contemplated the sober women’s retreat I was scheduled to attend?

My mind had been busier than usual, churning out potential excuses. Looking for an out. Strenuously chipping away at my resolve…

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