Tag: mental health

sober lifestyle

Liberation

jenwielgusjournalism
L: April 2018 – 40 years old; R: August 2025 – 47.

I’m six years (plus three months) sober, but still a big Avoider, and after experiencing all the ways this personality type can harm a person over the past 40+ years, I think I finally found one way that it helps.

I stopped looking in the mirror.

OK, so it’s kinda hard to make that claim, after I clearly invested time in assembling the attached collage ⬆️. That is me, standing at the mirror in our master bathroom, and the “After” selfie was snapped only a few months ago. I’m not sure it’s the best way to illustrate the point I’m trying to make, nor am I sure exactly how to explain the miraculous transformation that’s happened from L to R.

But I can tell you it has nothing to do with my weight.

You’ll just have to trust me when I say: I’ve adopted an “ignorance is bliss” mentality toward my appearance that’s been a total f^cking game-changer. I feel as “recovered” as one can from a disordered relationship with eating and exercise, and more comfortable in my skin than I ever dreamed possible.

I truly have quit body-checking, beyond a quick last glance on business days before I leave for work. This is really a preemptive courtesy to my clients, given my tendency to “save some for later” when I eat spinach, not to mention my rough touch with the mascara brush….

Can’t hold a safe, therapeutic space for folks to let their guard down when you’re out here looking like Elaine after a 6-hour schvitz!
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sober lifestyle

Injury

jenwielgusjournalism
New Year’s Resolution: Being able to bend over and put these on (tightening the laces might be too ambitious a goal at this point). Maybe by spring I’ll actually be able to use them for their intended purpose. 🤞🏻

I have this Thanksgiving tradition where I design myself a brand new pair of running shoes — technically, they’re “bought” by my in-laws, the Christmas gift I tell them they got me during our annual Exchanging of Receipts ’round the tree — and then, I run myself straight into the ground before they even come out of the box.

The universe has sent me the same lesson for multiple years now, on the same threshold between fall and winter seasons. Is this time THE time I actually learn?

I thought maybe sitting down to flesh it out was a step in the right direction, even though I can’t sit, or step, or do anything without pain crackling through my lower back, stabbing at my SI joints, throbbing in my hips and shooting down my hamstrings.

I mean, screw custom sneakers; the real gift would be household appliances I can operate entirely above the waist, you know what I mean? 😬

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sober lifestyle

Resistance

jenwielgusjournalism
Source: @inspiredtowrite

The first thing I stopped consuming was social media content — outside of Instagram and Threads, which I’ve unapologetically curated into echo chambers full of pro-recovery/therapy profiles and fellow blue hearts. I went and deactivated Twitter, which should’ve been done 10 years ago, but I digress…

The first thing I started creating (before this post) was a plan to GTFO of Pennsylvania. I mean, not permanently, though my hubby did come downstairs early on the morning after, talking about Canada and going to live on a lake (he’s a keeper, and the only thing keeping me from going full 4B 😉). I asked if Vermont would be a good compromise.

But what I actually did was book a round-trip flight to Chicago for the upcoming holiday. I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving since I lived at home, which would’ve been prior to my Northwestern graduation in…shoot, 1999? While I made a life for myself out in the world, after much wandering in the wilderness, my first instinct in times of crisis has always been to get my ass immediately back to my parents’ house.

All you folks in 12-step programs might recognize this as “pulling a geographic.” And yeah, guilty as charged! Running away is still my go-to self-soothing strategy, even though the lesson of “Wherever you go, there you are” has been hammered into my brain by the school of hard knocks over 20 years’ time.

The difference now, at 64 months sober, is awareness. And clarity. The understanding that each action/reaction is a choice, with consequences, and I am fully responsible for the choices I make and the consequences that come. Whether I weigh pro vs. con or act impulsively, whether I consciously break cycles or continue dysfunctional patterns, obey the commands of old programming or resist that pull and do something different — that is up to me. Each moment of my life presents a new opportunity, and sobriety equips me, empowers me, to seize it.

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sober lifestyle

Representation

jenwielgusjournalism

🚨 SPOILER ALERT: THIS POST CONTAINS PLOT DETAILS FROM THE NEW MOVIE “INSIDE OUT 2.” PROCEED AT YOUR OWN PERIL — AND DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU! ⚠️

When I saw that Anxiety was the new cast member in the “Inside Out” sequel, the feeling in my gut driving me to go see the thing immediately overrode my Anxiety about going to a crowded public movie theater in the summer when school’s out.

That’s not easy to do, in general, because Anxiety (yes, it warrants continued capitalization) has been my most powerful driving force since birth. And these days, during my “time of the month,” it’s basically my entire personality.

I joke that I’m going through “second puberty,” though the hormonal mayhem of perimenopause has hardly been funny. You have to understand: I only recently started feeling my feelings when I stopped drinking to self-medicate Anxiety just under 5 years ago. So while I look mature, I’m kind of a combo teen/toddler when it comes to emotional regulation.

When we walked into the theater last Wednesday, my period was due any minute; consequently, the vigorous heartstring-tugging I expect from all PIXAR movies completely rocked my world this time around. The crying babies in the audience had nothing on me; I had to physically strain to keep my visceral reaction in check. It was so strenuous that I left with a splitting headache.

To quote the Disgust character: “Overreact much?”

“Inside Out 2” review: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 (that’s 8) out of 10. It wasn’t a perfect movie, but its representation of Anxiety as a rabid, relentless go-getter that can completely hijack the personality and dismantle the sense of self (if we let it!) was 100% spot-on. 🎯

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sober lifestyle

Redirection

jenwielgusjournalism

Graduation has seemed like a forgone conclusion, and a bit of an anticlimax, for much of these last few months. But if I needed a reason to get pumped about crossing the stage in cap and gown this weekend, all I needed to do was remember: No more summer sessions, with their excruciating four-hour classes and overwhelming onslaught of assignments! No more group projects or presentations where I’m at the mercy of other people’s shitty organizational and time management skills!

No more Wednesdays arriving at work before 5AM and driving home from class after 8PM! 🙏🏻

Those were the jubilant thoughts I summoned to make me smile as I took my last stroll around campus last week on my very last hellish hump day. Shuffling along the lake- and farm-side nature trail where I’d decompressed after many a long, emotional day at practicum/internship, and looking up at the vibrant green trees that have always calmed and comforted my jacked-up nervous system, I felt a bittersweet mixture of melancholy and relief.

I “did the thing,” as we said in my counseling cohort. I successfully walked this grad school path and took my first baby steps into the mental health field. I “made it through the woods,” if you will, and now, it’s time to pause and take in the scene/enjoy the view, then keep walking on whatever path reveals itself to me next.

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sober lifestyle

Solidarity

jenwielgusjournalism

Some folks at work were talking about the first impressions we give to new people, and I involuntarily got looped into the conversation when one of them spotted me shuffling papers nearby. An easy target. Bullseye! 🎯

“With YOU,” they said, gesturing toward me, “my first impression was, ‘Whoa! That girl is overwhelmed!”

It’s moments like that when I’m reminded why I drank. Call me highly sensitive — no, really, go ahead; the shoe fits — but I think being pinned to a spot where you feel alienated and alone is one of the more excruciating aspects of human life in a civilized society. My instinct in those situations has always been to flee, whether it was lacing up my roller skates or hopping on my bike as a kid, beelining to the office door for a break-time walk every day of my professional life, or downing any “adult beverage” I could get my hands on to free my restless spirit from the anxiety-ridden pressure cooker of social gatherings/interactions.

Of course, when you’re four years sober, starting from scratch on the bottom rung of a brand new career and working in a fast-paced medical facility, all you can do is muddle through — and try your best not to lose your sh*t.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, a baby deer trapped in a sudden flood of light, “I’m pretty sure anyone in my situation would be.”

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sober lifestyle

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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sober lifestyle

Exodus

jenwielgusjournalism

My husband and I are supposed to set off today in the ’ole four-wheel-drive sleigh, to embrace the majesty of a holiday road trip to Chicago, via Honesdale, PA.

Our annual Christmas vacation typically takes us to both his (north) and my (west) parents’ houses, and we prefer to drive, rather than fly, because it gives us greater freedom/independence at our destinations — not to mention more room to pack.

Given the chaos at my part-time marketing job (who knows if I’ll even have it when I return to Philly in January), and the uncertainty over my counseling internship at the methadone clinic (they haven’t gotten back to me about training, start date or schedule 🤷🏼‍♀️), I’m especially eager to am-scray this year. I want to travel, even though our cross-regional trek could apparently involve some weather-related perils. 🌨

I mean, at least that’s what I’ve heard from my forecast-obsessed family members, who keep texting me about storm reports they saw on the news. I know they mean well, but getting freaked out about stuff beyond our control is precisely what we recovering alcoholics are trying NOT to do, so…snow–renity now! You know what I’m saying? 🙃

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