Tag: recovery

sober lifestyle

Recommendation

jenwielgusjournalism

The biggest news in my life right now, other than the tatt and what’s going on every week in Season 4 of “Fargo” (Timothy Olyphant 😍…that’s pretty much it), is my quest to study psychology in grad school.

We’re officially in Phase 2 of that quest; I just received an email from the admissions office saying they reviewed my application and they’d like to invite me to a formal interview with the program director and other high-ranking school officials.

🥳

I learned a few things during Phase 1:

  • Openly identifying as an addict isn’t a professional death sentence;
  • My GPA at Northwestern was lower than I thought;
  • Probably the best decision I made in my (pre-sobriety) life was to move to Bucks County, PA, to join the local newspaper community.

Like most things you’re immersed in day after day for years, I didn’t really appreciate what — and who — I had in that community until I left it. I had a surrogate home/family, both in the company buildings and out on the sports beat, even if my loner personality made me, like, the distant third cousin twice removed in that scenario.

(Here’s where I am obliged to mention that I met my husband at the paper back in 2002.)

Most of us who moved on from the Bucks County Courier Times/Doylestown Intelligencer in the Gatehouse era did not do so voluntarily, so we didn’t really get to stop on our way out the door, look around and get proper perspective on our careers there and all the relationships we built over the years.

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sober lifestyle

Spirituality

jenwielgusjournalism

Living within walking distance of Tyler State Park is right up there at the top of my gratitude list, next to “super-supportive hubby,” and I’m in the park so often that I’ve become quite adept at stealthily squatting in the woods.

The bathrooms are closed, I assume because of COVID, and you gotta do what you gotta do, and there are plenty of large trees to hide behind in the off chance a family of bikers appears out of nowhere, as they always seem to do when I’m in the middle of saying my prayers out loud to the sky.

Yes, I’m a literal tree hugger who talks to nature. And however peculiar this might look to the random passerby — as far as I know, I haven’t traumatized anyone with my brief displays of public semi-nudity — this is how I stay sane at nearly 15 1/2 months sober.

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sober lifestyle

Fortitude

jenwielgusjournalism

In a former life, my hobby was signing up for fitness competitions and paying to get my ass kicked — and my nerves rattled — for entire Saturdays, from pre-dawn until whenever the three, four, five workouts were complete, and I got knocked out of the running for the coveted plastic trophy/tin medal/commemorative T-shirt/$5-off Hylete coupon, and I’d fully drained the 12-pack of hard ciders I packed with my CrossFit gear.

Apart from the drinking, I honestly hated every second of those comps. I hated the whole day. It was awful to wake up scared, feeling immense pressure and dreading what I had to do — what I’d chosen to do — and wishing I could just choose not to do it, just change my mind, even if that made me a weakling or a coward.

It’s been a long time since I felt that particular kind of unpleasant anxiety. I’m feeling it now.

Tomorrow, I’m going to wake up and go get a tattoo, all by myself.

The last time I did this, four years ago, I white-knuckle-death-gripped my husband’s hand for 45 minutes straight as Sue, my tattoo artist, branded my shoulder with a simple, monochromatic ‘W’ flag in honor of the Cubs’ historic World Series victory. I think I branded Hubby in the process.

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Excitement

jenwielgusjournalism

Each morning sky I witness while out on foot in my neighborhood is unique and beautiful in its own way. But after enough mornings wandering the same streets and pathways, adding photo after photo to the Instagram feed, everything kind of starts to look the same.

Each hashmark I make on my basement whiteboard to record another day of sobriety is its own great accomplishment. But more than a year spent performing a ritual tends to lessen its luster.

I actually had to cross-reference the board with the calendar this week, because I absentmindedly missed a few days and fell behind in my tally. A few minutes of calculating cleared up the confusion, and I know for a fact I’ll have 15 months of sobriety as of this coming Monday. It’s clear, though, that the novelty of this mark-a-day tradition — which once had me bounding down the stairs like a kid on Christmas — has officially worn off.

It’s a good thing I’ll be celebrating my “anniversary” by speaking (in person! 🤭) at a 12-step meeting in a nearby town. When your own recovery process has started to bore you, it’s time to ramp things up or the whole deal is bound to break down.

Sobriety is kind of like life, you know? It gets so freaking monotonous — like, to the point that it physically hurts — and to avoid staring into an empty void wondering about the point of it all, you have to invent some excitement.

You might actually physically hurt yourself just to feel more alive.

If this post seems to be taking a dark turn in a hurry…I mean, I’m always up for a good existential chat, but I really just want to talk about this new tattoo I’m getting.

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sober lifestyle

Certainty

jenwielgusjournalism
Celebrating a sweet Chicago Sunday on my Monday sunrise walk. Forgive the tired face; it was smashed into a pillow like 10 minutes prior to taking this pic. 🥱

Sunday was the first time in a long time that I sat down and intentionally watched sports. It was a “safe” endeavor, given my complete lack of skin in the Eagles-Washington game — which, come to think of it, lacked “skin” altogether, now that the home team has dropped its controversial nickname.

“Safe” is all I do these days, now that I’m sober.

Of course, the second that game was decided, the sports gods LOLed at my snugness (and smugness), and FOX switched to the final seconds of Bears-Lions. Detroit had the ball down 4, with favorable field position and plenty of time to snag the winning score. Then, before I could change the channel in a panic, they had it — no, they dropped it! — and Matthew Stafford was launching one more last-ditch pass…😱

This was precisely the type of emotionally-charged, unpredictable situation I have been strenuously trying to avoid for the past 14 1/2 months.

It’s almost — no, it’s exactly — like I don’t want to feel things I can no longer numb with a drink. 🤔

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Support

jenwielgusjournalism

It can be difficult for non-addicted people to understand that just because it’s been X number of days/years since your last “fix,” and you appear to be “killing it” in recovery, that doesn’t mean you’re totally OK with confronting the same old “people, places and things” from your drinking life.

It doesn’t mean you’re “cured.”

Familiar “triggers,” or situations in which you drank to self-soothe for years and years until it became an ingrained habit, can be very powerful, no matter how much time has passed. A certain person, or even a feeling, can send you reeling off in an anxiety spiral.

Then, add the ready availability of your go-to “medication,” your drug of choice looking you square in the face, and it’s not so easy to “act normal” or play it cool.

So, when I was overcome by a sudden, very unexpected sobbing fit on Sunday morning before we left for a family barbecue — the first gathering on our schedule in more than 2 months, and only the third time we were venturing out in a non-work capacity since COVID-19 quarantine closed everything down — I knew my husband was not the only one to talk to about it. He’s wonderfully supportive, and I 💯 would not be 428 days sober today without him…but he’s not an alcoholic.

A healthy support system absolutely starts at home, but for me, a well-rounded recovery requires some occasional, non-blog branching out.

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sober lifestyle

Inspiration

jenwielgusjournalism

I’m a recovery junkie, craving anything and everything having to do with beating addiction. No amount of “you are not alone” seems to be enough.

That might explain why I’m now writing two or three blog posts per week on this subject, and on top of attending a regular Thursday 12-step meeting, I’m filling most of my free time devouring the inspirational stories of fellow addicts.

Including “Approved AA Literature,” I’ve read 24 “Quit Lit” books in the past 427 days. Some of them multiple times.

Can’t count the actual number of sober podcasts I’ve played on my phone while working out in my basement or walking in the park, but I have a solid rotation of four or five “shows” that I subscribe and look forward to every week.

I owe so much of my progress to these authors and speakers. I’ve never met them, but they feel like friends, and I owe them all a huge debt of gratitude.

Thus the list I’m going to post below. Not that anyone mentioned will ever know how much they’ve done for me, but for anyone reading this who’s struggling with addiction — or just an unhealthy relationship with alcohol/drugs/food/love — I feel like my heroes can help you, too.

Enough with the intro. Let’s get to that list.

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sober lifestyle

Aspiration

jenwielgusjournalism

You know how people ask, “What would you do if money wasn’t an issue?” as a way of getting at your true goals?

As a little kid, I would’ve replied, “Cover the Cubs for the Chicago Tribune,” except I thought being a reporter was, in fact, a stable, well-paying job that set you up for a comfy life. 🤣 I also had no clue that life as a pro sportswriter was 90 percent waiting around to talk to dudes who just stepped out of the shower and were, like, actively trying to avoid talking to you. 🤣🤣

My gut said, “Write books,” but I only verbalized those words as a kind of pie-in-the-sky “reach.” Even in a childhood characterized by creative invention, I had trouble imagining such a free-wheeling, left-to-your-own-devices lifestyle. How would you support yourself, just sitting there and writing?

You had to pay your bills. You needed a “real job.” Dreams were cool, but money was an issue, and despite my youth, I somehow understood the importance of setting “practical” goals. Middle class kids who wore clothes from Venture had to pick something “safe.” Dreams were for the rich kids with a built-in safety net!

That’s how I thought, and it probably explains why it took me until age 42 to start thinking about my true purpose and how I might go about pursuing it.

I think I might have figured out what my dream is, and instead of throwing up a bunch of knee-jerk “reasons why not,” I’m sort of actually allowing myself permission to say, “Why not?”

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