I think what I’ve learned is that endings are never quite endings. More like “to be continued.” Because there’s no finality to change.

We’re all given a limited number of breaths on this earth. None of us know what that number is.

From as far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be in love.

I became a lot more curious about what was really bothering me about not just this situation, but all situations in life that provoked a reaction in me. Every itch that demanded to be scratched.

I thought that repeating the same thing every day would have gotten boring and crazy-making, but it was the opposite. As I walked the same trail for the third time on the eighth day, I realized nothing is boring if you’re paying attention.

When Ryan came to me, he was grappling with the profound loss of his mother, feeling overwhelmed by his demanding job, and facing behavioral issues with his daughter. These combined stresses had led to poor health, unhealthy eating habits, and daily drinking as a coping mechanism.

Abstinence alone keeps the focus on the outside - simply looking at if there’s been use of the substance or not. It causes us to label things as absolutes - “good” vs “bad,” “success” vs “failure.” Rather than thinking we’re failing because we still crave something, or feeling shame and guilt because we “gave in”, sobriety recognizes the progress that we’re making in a journey that requires our presence every day, leading to something that can last a lifetime.  

We can repeat the same things over and over as a way to move closer to ourselves, or the opposite - further away. Every day you get to decide the habits you’ll practice for the tomorrow that you want. Discipline isn’t about control or punishment. It is an act of love to remind us we have choice. And that it’s not only our right, but our responsibility to choose.

The words we say to ourselves matter. The words we say out loud matter. Every time we say we’re going to do something, and we do it, we teach ourselves we are trustworthy. Every time we start to say something damaging, hurtful or unkind to ourselves, and instead choose something softer, more understanding, and more loving, we show ourselves that we’re able to take care of not just what’s outside of us, but inside of us too.

The thing I learned was that true intimacy isn’t an “easy” thing to achieve. In the stark light of morning, any feigned closeness is always revealed to be a harsh, distant divide. Feeling raw and vulnerable again, we retreat back into ourselves to hide - quiet, tired, and perhaps lonelier than if we’d never pretended in the first place. 

As I learned last week, care needs to be a consistent effort. This is how we create long-term, lasting energy for ourselves. How we learn to not try harder, but softer. A slow drip of kindness towards ourselves so that a full breakdown becomes something not only avoidable, but unnecessary in order for us to give ourselves permission to pause, reflect and rest.

I even noticed how my judgment of the weather was something I’d created in the mind. Walking rain or shine, I realized it was never that bad once I was outside, which then helped me see this is applicable to really most things in life. The dread I create for myself is most often much worse than the actual thing itself.

And that’s why I attributed my sobriety to yoga. Because it was mostly while I was doing yoga that I would feel peace. I thought I had to go to yoga to find peace.

But now 18 months into sobriety, and 4.5 years clean, I’m learning something crucial, about myself, and perhaps a truth I’d been missing.

Peace isn’t found, it’s felt.

And at first, nothing seems to be happening. The soil stays, unmoved. There is no sign of progress. Some days there’s rain, helping you to water the seeds, as cold, and wet, and unpleasant as it may seem at times. And some days there’s sun, bringing forth hope and light for better days to come. And some days it’s overcast, neither here nor there, but even on those days, if we look carefully, it’s not that hard to see that magic is still unfolding.

Sometimes the scariest thing is acknowledging just how much power we do have, and what actions we can actually take. Because then, we’d have no reason not to do it.

Death was impersonal to Lady. Sickness was also impersonal to her. She lived like she had chosen it, without complaint, only an unflappable conviction that hers was the best life. We watched her slow throughout the years. She watched us do the same. In the last year of Lady’s life, there was a sense of peace about her that radiated throughout the household. A sense of acceptance, of something resembling laziness, but maybe really just a savoring of each second, the wisdom of knowing that to rush is a fool’s errand.

Self-hatred, destructive thoughts, insecurity, blame, doubt, all the cards we keep shuffling over and over from hand to hand as if this pain is meant to be carried. It’s not. Allow your fingers to release its grip on this collection of hurt. Our beautiful, intricate hands and bodies were meant to create, to touch, to heal and discover and move like nothing else on earth. They are not meant for this game of self-destruction; rather, the work and art of reinvention, and resurrection.

When we sit in silence we can feel the vibrations of everyone going through the same thing. Reminders that we are not alone is everywhere. The human experience hasn’t changed. We still struggle in the same ways in our minds, in our hearts. Suffering is universal. It is the one language we can all understand. We don’t need to believe this, we simply know it.

My attachment to anxiety is what I always thought was my “drive”. It was the motivation behind most of my actions. My anxiety of other people suffering drove the codependent tendencies in me. My anxiety of not being perfect drove me to never allow rest, or silence in my life. And the only way to detach from anxiety, I’ve learned, is to allow it.

Things present themselves and your view is no longer blurred, the sound is no longer dulled, the blows are no longer soft. And alcohol is very good at postponing things we actually should have dealt with years ago. So here I am, dealing with years of back taxes in emotional management.