Tag: friends

Courage, Rebellion, and a Universe that has Your Back

Something that isn’t talked about enough in the rooms of the recovery community — courage. It takes courage to admit that we have a problem. It takes courage to ask for help. It takes courage to leave behind old habits and old coping mechanisms. It takes courage to get honest with ourselves and others. It takes courage to get sober or get clean.

In some ways, getting sober is a radical act. I mean, one day I was drinking to excess and the next day I made a decision not to drink. And while we use the one day at a time mantra, I knew that I was making a life decision. I knew that I was making a commitment not just fit the day, not just for the foreseeable future, but really for every day of the rest of my life. I knew that in my core.

Getting sober was an act of protest against the substance that had been my tyrant for so long. An act of rebellion. I put my foot down and said, “Enough! I can’t live like this anymore!”

But I didn’t do this on my own. I needed help. I needed people to show me the way. I needed people to lean on. People to call when things got rough. Because, let’s face it, rebellion is a hard road. There are times when we need support. A kind face. An open mind. Someone to listen. Someone to hear. Simone to cry with.

Last Monday, I had one of those hard days. Things went off the rails with my son. I lost my temper. I was angry and escalating the situation — it’s telling that a week later I can’t even recall what the argument was about. And the I paused. I took a breath and left the Hoise for a walk, right after setting dinner in the table.

I went for a long walk and was contemplating the concept of a higher power. Contemplating how the God of my childhood had been a failure and how I had let that go. I was thinking about the mystery of the universe, and thinking about how things always seem to work out. My faith in things getting better is definitely part of my higher power.

The universe has your back.

The thought crossed my mind, just as I was looking at the liquor store where I’d been a regular customer. I kept walking, down an old rails to trails path in my town when I came upon two friendly faces from the rooms sitting outside a local coffee shop.

“How’s it going?”

“Shitty,” I said as I pulled up a chair.

We talked briefly and it felt good to let it out. There was something cathartic about talking about my feelings and frustrations, if only for five minutes. I said I needed to be going and that I was planning to go to a meeting that night.

Both men got up and gave me a hug. Hugs have been sparse in this COVID-19 world and while I’ll admit that they felt damn good, I also felt guilty for accepting them, and vaguely worried that I’d unknowingly exposed myself to the virus.

But, mostly I felt good. Even courageous and rebellious people in recovery need hugs and support.

The universe has your back.

Posted on by damien 2

Permission to Grieve

Before I begin, I want to say, categorically, that I’m not going to pick up a drink. When I think about the escape that alcohol provides, I can’t help but remember the emotional prison where it held me hostage for so long.

But I’ve been thinking.

Thinking about drinking.

Mostly it’s grieving. Grieving for things I can’t have right now.

I’m remembering the times when booze was fun. When I didn’t really have a problem with it. My 20’s. That sweet time after college when I had few responsibilities and just enough money for a little fun, when a spring day meant a mountain bike ride around Loch Raven culminating in a spontaneous barbecue in the alley in the Charles Village.

I’ve been thinking about these things, because COVID-19 makes them impossible. I can’t have friends over. I can’t go on a mountain bike ride with friends and have a barbecue afterwards. I can’t even see my family.

And while booze is something I’ve decided I can’t have (and I am quite certain about that) I have found myself going back to memories of easier times — fond memories of spring days like the ones we’ve been having here in Maryland and those memories involve beer and friends.

But the grief really isn’t about the beer. It is about the lack of connection with friends. It’s about how absolutely awful things are right now. The days blend together making every day feels the same. Every day has a background buzz, a continuous stream of bad news. Every day is more news about death, the spread of the disease, and our federal government’s abject failure to respond to the crisis appropriately.

Thank God for our governors. Real leadership is taking place at the state level and filling the vacuum created by the current federal administration’s complete and utter failure to lead. One shining star in this crisis has been my state’s governor, Larry Hogan. Today he announced that he’d brokered a deal with a South Korean firm to get 500 thousand test kits for Maryland.

In all of this, my mental state has been deteriorating. I’ve found myself sleeping later and longer than usual. I’ve found that I’m not motivated to do the things that bring me joy. I haven’t written a post here in over a month. I’m not playing the guitar. I’m less motivated to cook. I haven’t been running or cycling.

I recognize these as classic signs of depression setting in.

So today I made a bit of a change. I got to the end of the day, things felt incredibly heavy. My wife had picked out a dish for dinner that was in the latest Bon Appetite. I was feeling kind of grumpy about making it to be honest. So, at 5:30, I did the one thing that I know will make things better pretty much every time.

I went for a run.

I went out for a run with no specific training regimens in mind. Not intervals. Not a specific distance. No fucks given about my heart rate. I just ran.

And it did make things better.

When I got back, I talked with my neighbor for a few minutes, and that made things better too. Then I went inside and cooked these amazing shrimp tacos. We had a great dinner and I hit the shower and then a Zoom meeting.

I’m making a commitment to myself to do more runs. To make some phone calls. To cook more adventurous meals rather than subsistence cooking just to get calories in the body. I’m going to work to make life as close to normal as it can be while things are decidedly not normal.

And at the same time, I’m going to work to go easy on myself and my family. To wear life as if it were a loose garment.

We have to recognized that things are not normal. We have to recognize that we need to be gentle with ourselves. We have to give ourselves permission to not be firing on all cylinders every moment of every day.

And we have to be able to grieve. Even if that grief is for things that we no longer really want — because this is a fucked up time that we’re all living through.

Posted on by damien 6

Having Fun Sobriety, as an Introvert

Earlier this week, I was at a discussion meeting where the topic was “having fun in sobriety.” Very quickly there were a number of shares that centered around making friends and doing activities with other members of a home group. Stories about coming into the rooms and quickly developing friendships with people who had common interests came up. People talked about going to a variety of activities including football games, movies, dinner, dancing, etc.

Very quickly, I felt uncomfortable as the tone of the meeting seemed to be moving towards two fallacies common in the rooms — the only people who you can be good friends with in recover are other people in recovery and the only way to have fun in recovery is by making friends with others in recovery and doing lots of social things with them.

I’ve heard versions of these two myths over the years. Here’s a common story I’ve heard over and over again in the rooms that encompasses both:

“When I came into the rooms, I had a lot of friends, but they were all drinkers. Today, I don’t associate with them anymore, I found out that they weren’t really friends. Today, all my friends are in the program. We do a lot of things together that I might have done with my drinking friends in the past, but we just don’t drink.”

There are two things that make me uncomfortable with these two myths. Firstly, some in recovery conflate introversion and/or social anxiety with isolation. And secondly, some in recovery seem to advocate that it’s important to have friends in recovery to the exclusion of friends who are not in recovery.

I sometimes think that because addiction leads to isolation in many cases, we mistake introversion for isolation in the recovery community. Introversion is a personality trait and it is defined not by whether or not someone is outgoing or social, but rather by whether or not one gets their energy by being around people or not. There are many introverts who are outwardly social, but who find that they are worn out after socializing rather than energized by it.

As an introvert, I find getting together with a group of people tedious and tiresome. I would prefer to meet up with a few good friends in a small intimate setting rather than go to a large party or sporting event. Don’t mistake me, there’s nothing wrong with a party or a sporting event, I take part in them from time to time, but I know that the social dynamics of these events aren’t best for me.

We also tend to conflate introversion with social anxiety. Whereas introversion is a personality trait, social anxiety is a mental health condition. At the same meeting, I heard a woman talk about how she suffers social anxiety and that this was not looked at as isolation by her sponsor. She told us that her sponsor made her attend Christmas parties and actually timed her attendance with a stop watch. I was horrified. No one should be forcing another person to do anything that they aren’t comfortable with in the name of recovery.

Introversion is not a “bad” thing that need to be corrected. While an argument could be made that social anxiety might be treated as a mental health issue, it is not something that we need to “fix” in others. Most of us in recovery are not medical or mental health professionals. Still, I sometimes feel that there is a sense in the recovery community that both are problematic “character defects.”

I believe this stems from the fact that connection between humans is so foundational to recovery. It is fundamentally true that we need connection in recovery, but connection comes in many forms. It doesn’t always look like a group of people doing something together. Sometimes it’s a one on one meeting over a cup of coffee. That’s the way this introvert prefers his connection.

Secondly, I find it disturbing when I hear people say that the only friends they have are in recovery. While I can certainly understand the rationale behind the old adage of giving up “people, places, and things,” one isn’t required to abandon their old lives when they enter recovery.

To be fair, there are some people who one may not associate with after getting sober — I have a few of those friends of convenience myself who I no longer see. I suppose that if all of my former friends fell into the category of being friends of convenience (just drinking buddies), then, perhaps, I’d feel differently about this. But I also know that my life would be forever changed if I’d abandoned all my friends who are still drinkers when I got sober.

I have some very good friends who are not in recovery. Friends that I’ve known for more than half of my life. They are just as capable of listening to me when I have a tough topic that I need to talk about as a friend in recovery. I think my life is richer for the fact that I am able to have good friends who are in recovery as well as good friends who still drink.

I enjoy hanging out with my long time friends from my college days and I’m comfortable with them drinking beers around me. I’m also conscious of the fact that there are limits and at a certain point, it’s time for me to check out and leave the party. It’s all about boundaries that I’ve set.

All of this is to say that it’s not only possible to have fun in recovery, but that having fun in recovery can and will look different for different people in recovery. How an extrovert chooses to have fun will necessarily look different from how an introvert has fun.

What are your thoughts on this? Do we conflate introversion and social anxiety with isolation in the rooms? Do you have friends in and out of recovery?

Posted on by damien 8

False Narratives: Overcoming the Internal Voice that says, “You Can’t”

“I only run if someone is chasing me, like you know, the cops.”

I’ve said that thousands of times, perhaps hundreds of thousands of times. Usually, I said it either when someone suggested that I go for a run with them, or when they were bragging about their latest extraordinary run. Fitting that I’d move to a running town, made famous by some fool who runs in all sorts of weather wearing nothing but a Speedo. One of the few successful shops on Main Street in Annapolis is a running store. It’s been there as long as I can remember. You can’t take a drive for more than 30 minutes without seeing at least 25 of those obnoxious 26.2 euro style stickers on cars. I’ve always enjoyed seeing the occasional 0.0 sticker, thinking to myself “I’m not the only one who doesn’t run.”

Except now I do.

Perhaps it’s peer pressure. Perhaps, I’ve just finally succumbed to the influences of the area. Perhaps it’s another case of ego getting the best of me. Or perhaps, it’s just that I’ve learned a few things about myself over the past two years and eight months without a drink. While it’s quite conceivable that I have indeed let my ego take over and given into peer pressure, I prefer to believe that I’ve learned to believe in myself.

For years, I told myself that I couldn’t do things. Running was only one of them. I told myself that I couldn’t lose weight, couldn’t eat the right foods, couldn’t leave jobs, couldn’t get the girl, couldn’t stop drinking, couldn’t be an alcoholic. My faith in the fact that I wasn’t capable of doing things or of being things was perhaps the strongest faith I’ve ever known. I was sure that I couldn’t run.

But I secretly wanted to. Just as I secretly wanted to stop drinking, and secretly wanted my wife to tell me I was an alcoholic. As if I needed someone to tell me that I could be.

External affirmation and confirmation is something that I’ve sought my entire life. When I was a kid, I needed desperately for other kids to like me. Perhaps that started because I moved around so much after my birth father committed suicide. By the time I was in fourth grade, I’d lived in six different apartments or houses and been to five different schools. I was already different from all the other kids because my dad had died. I was different in other ways too, ways that I didn’t know at the time, and am grateful for today. But it was not easy being the new kid all the time.

In addition to that, by the time I settled into a private school in fourth grade, I was living in a neighborhood in the country which had two other kids my age. And all my friends from school lived 5, 10, 15 miles away from me. During the summers, we would go to the pool, and I would know who the other kids at the pool were by their reputations as bad kids. They were easy to spot. They were the bullies who would dunk younger kids in the pool. But I didn’t know many of the other local kids, because I didn’t go to school with them.

Today I know that my near constant need for external affirmation was driven by the deep rooted feelings of abandonment that arose from my father’s suicide. I still struggle with wanting things that I can’t have or don’t need to this day. It’s as if I’m trying to fill a void with material things. Only those things don’t fill the void, they just collect dust in the house when they are no longer exciting and new.

I suspect that many people who suffer from addictions have similar stories. And by that I mean, I know they do, because I’ve heard them. Like many others in recovery, I suffer from a deep sense of not being worthy. And for me that deep sense of unworthiness has manifest as a voice that tells me that I can’t do things.

But I’ve learned that I can do things that I once thought were impossible. I’ve learned that I am worthy. And I’ve made it through the day today without taking a drink — one day at a time, 978 times in a row and counting.

So I got to thinking about this running thing a few months ago. Maybe, just maybe, the idea that I can’t run was another lie that I’d told myself. Maybe it was another story I’d made up to cover up a sense of shame I felt for not being athletic, for not being fit, for being overweight. And maybe, like so many other narratives, it was false.

I started reading a few sites about running. I started thinking about it more and more. I did the walking version of the Beaver Stadium 5K run event over Blue White Weekend. And I saw most of my friends doing the run. Dudes in their forties just like me, running a 5K. Some of them, still heavier than they should be, and some recently slimmed down smaller than I’d ever known them to be. And I wanted to be like them.

I thought to myself, what’s stopping you?

And I answered: “My ankles are fucked. I did a lot of damage to them as a young skate rat. Same with my knees. You don’t have it in you to run, your body just isn’t built for it.”

Except I suspected that maybe I didn’t know these things to be true as much as I suspected them to be excuses. I have been an avid cyclist. I walk a lot and I love to hike. Sure, I’ve had some problems with the left knee, but maybe I was letting that get the best of me.

It was about 5 weeks ago that I had a conversation with a long time friend who happens to be a runner over a bowl of pho where I confided that I’d been thinking of giving it a try. Dave told me that many people start out by trying to run for a given period of time or a given distance and find that it’s painful and end up hurting themselves. This sounded familiar, in fact I sounded like what I expected to happen. But he went on to say that the best way to start would be to essentially sprinkle short distances of running into my walks. He suggested that I look into an app called Couch to 5K that would help me to time the intervals.

Suddenly this made sense. I could try this, even if it didn’t sound like running. Because, really, it didn’t sound like running. It sounded a lot like walking. And it also sounded very different than how I’d gotten back into cycling. See with cycling, you get on the bike and ride. Sure you go short distances, and maybe you ride intervals at different speeds, but you ride the bike. You don’t ride for a bit, and then push the bike, and then ride again. You get on the bike and you ride it. I’d always figured that starting running meant, well, running.

Dave also suggested that I look into some plans that Jeff Galloway had published. Now, I had no idea who the hell Galloway was, but I figured if Dave said I should look into him, then I should. And of course I found out that he’s a famous Olympian who advocates a walk/run program for people who are starting out. Suddenly, this running thing seemed less like something that I coulnd’t do, and more like something that I maybe I could do. And so I started on the C25K program.

The first run was horrible. And by that I mean the 8 minutes of running that were sprinkled in between 22 other minutes of walking were awful. My knee hurt. My calves hurt. I was winded. I wasn’t dressed appropriately so I was fucking hot. But I did it. And after I did it, I had sense of accomplishment. The next day, I went for a bike ride, and promptly had my hip flexors and hamstrings tighten up like a guitar string tuned an octave too high. I could barely walk was I got out of the car and headed to my customer appointments that day.

I learned that ice, and stretching were my friend. I got new shoes that were properly fitted at a running shop. And I followed the guidance of the app religiously. If it told me to walk, I walked — and if it said to run, I ran. I put a day between each run, and took two days off after three runs. In short, I followed a plan. And soon enough, I found that I could run pretty comfortably for five minutes at a time, and recover quickly as I was walking. And the knee pain disappeared.

Suddenly, I’d started to feel like I was actually running, because I was spending more time on a 30 minute session actually running than walking. And then, yesterday, I opened the app and it said, “your’e gonna run for 20 minutes straight today, but you’re ready for it.” I didn’t believe that. I was sure that I’d collapse. I was sure that my virtual trainer, Constance, was smoking some serious crack.

But then, I did it. I ran for 20 minutes straight, and I felt good doing it. And even better after it was done. I am amazed how far I’ve come in 5 weeks. And I know now that the narrative that I can’t run is a false narrative.

I also know that there are other false narratives that I have told myself that I need to address. But they will have to wait. Just as I learned when I first started my journey in recovery that I couldn’t stop drinking, start exercising, and eat right all at the same time, some things are conquered best one thing at a time.

Posted on by damien 2

It’s Time to Slay the Dragon

This weekend, I’ll be heading up to State College, PA for the first time since I got sober for the annual Blue White weekend. For those of you who aren’t Penn Staters, this is a spring scrimmage football game complete with tailgating and about 100 thousand other Penn State fans. It’s also one of the last big weekends for Seniors who are getting ready to take their finals and graduate.

When I was an undergrad the Blue White weekend was always a great time. We’d get up early, head to the stadium, party like rock stars, and maybe go to the game. Actually, strike that, I don’t think I ever went into the Blue White game when I was an undergrad.

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a bit nervous about making this trip. I’ll be in the town where I learned to drink. I’ll be in the town that has my favorite bar, Zeno’s Pub. Even though I haven’t been to Zeno’s in years I can still smell the place.

I have avoided going back to school since I got sober. At first it was out of necessity. I got sober in the fall of 2015 during football season. I remember sitting down to watch the first game on television the weekend after I went to my first meeting. I lasted about five minutes before turning off the tube. The game was so triggering. I had never watched a game without drinking.

But with time the necessity of avoiding State College turned in to a fear of State College, even though my sobriety was getting stronger. With time, I was less afraid of going to State College and relapsing, than I was of going to State College and not knowing what to do with myself. The idea of going to State College and not going to the bars just didn’t seem feasible.

I’ve come a long way, though. I’ve been to weddings of fraternity brothers. I’ve been to lots of company events and happy hours. I’ve been around booze and not had a problem. Hell, I’ve even had a bottle of whisky in my house unopened since the day I quit drinking. If I’d wanted to drink, it likely would have happened by now.

The truth is that I really don’t want to drink because I know where that would lead.

So, I’m going to Penn State this weekend. I’m slaying that dragon. I’ll be putting that fear behind me. I know it won’t be the same as it was before. I know that there may be times when I feel like I’m missing out on something. But I also know that I can do this.

Thankfully, there is a Collegiate Recovery Center at Penn State now. And I plan to attend a meeting on Saturday night with them. I may also hit their sober tailgate. It will be a good way to get connected with my school in a healthy way and I’m looking forward to it.

I know that I’ve come too far and that what I’m really missing out on at this point is spending time with some of my best friends. I didn’t get sober to spend my days living in fear. I didn’t get sober to leave good parts my old life behind with the bad. I got sober so that I can live a rich and fulfilling life. And being connected to my school is part of that.

The featured photo is from a trip to Dublin in 2014 for the Croke Park Classic.  Cleary, this was prior to me getting sober.

Posted on by damien 7

A Tale of Two Weddings

Anxiety. Fear. Agony.

Those are the words that come to mind when I recall the first wedding I attended sober. It was a scant sixteen days after I’d given up the drink. I was still in withdrawal, and probably had no business going to a wedding of a fraternity brother. Still, I was committed to attending and even more committed to not drinking.

I gave myself the out and canceled the Friday night room at the hotel, opting to drive up to the Philly area on Saturday, the day of the wedding, in order to minimize the exposure. As my wife and I drove up I95 my neck and shoulders tightened. I’m sure my pulse quickened. My stomach turned to knots.

When we got to the hotel, many of my fraternity brothers were already well oiled. I felt left out. I ran an errand, and while I was out got a call from a large client about a TAC case that was going sideways with a critical piece of gear in their network. I desperately wanted to drink.

I gritted my teeth. My knuckles turned white. I managed.

Well before the wedding, well before I passed the table of Manhattans that was awaiting the guests after the ceremony, I was in agony with a migraine.

I wish I could say that I had fun, but if I’m honest, while it was nice to see my life long friends, that night was pure hell for me. There are photos of me with smiles, but that was all a front. I always have been good at hiding what’s wrong.

We split early, shortly after cake was served. I’d done my duty, and I was done.

Last night, I attended the wedding of one of my pledge brothers, Dave. I was surrounded by the same group of friends who drank heavily two years ago and many of them were drinking heavily again. But this event was different.

Gone were the feelings of apprehension, anxiety, and fear. I did not feel left out. I did not miss the drinking. I socialized with my life long friends and enjoyed myself.

No migraine, just fun.

I was in the moment, and at peace. We laughed, we sang, and we danced. I smiled genuine smiles and loved every minute of the wedding and reception.

So much has changed in my world in the last 22 months. I’ve learned how to have fun without alcohol. I’ve learned how to have fun in the presence of alcohol while abstaining. I’ve learned how to embrace my sober life.

Many times you’ll hear folks say that being sober isn’t just about putting down the drink or the drug, and there are usually a lofty words that follow about connecting with a higher power or your spiritual condition. And for many people I’m sure these words are genuine.

What I’ve come to realize is that recovery is not about simply abstaining it’s about living a full and rewarding life. If that means that I’ve connected with a higher power, then so be it, but the resistant self in me doesn’t fully accept that. And that’s okay.

I’ve learned that there will be cycles in my recovery. Times when I feel that the spiritual side of things is of the greatest importance and times when I will see it as a less important. There will be times when I resist the program and times when I embrace it. And that’s why people talk about this being a life long journey. That’s why people talk about staying connected to their recovery and their higher power, because we’re never cured — we only get a daily reprieve.

And still, we do heal. That’s the only word I can use to explain the difference between the two experiences. Aside from geography and time, the only significant difference in my experience of these two weddings is the healing of my mind, body, and spirit.

We do recover.

Posted on by damien 8

Living in the Here and Now — Making New Cherished Memories

p1010559-1Yesterday, I was blessed to attend my Aunt Debbie’s wedding at Quiet Water’s Park in Annapolis, MD. It was a beautiful ceremony followed by a very nice reception. We had music, and dancing. I was surrounded by my family as well as my cousin’s family and I caught myself smiling several times.

I can’t say that I didn’t think about drinking at all — I did, how could one not when there was wine and beer available and others were imbibing — but I didn’t want any alcohol. I was at ease with myself and with the event. I was in the present moment, enjoying just that moment for all that it was worth.

That’s a wonderful way to live. Continue reading →

Posted on by damien 3

Reflecting on Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s Helplessly Hoping

Last night, I drifted off to sleep thinking of the song Helplessly Hoping by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The ideas of helplessness, hopelessness, and hope kept swirling around in my head after I received a kind comment from a woman who’s living through the hell of watching her husband struggle with opioid addiction. I thought about how helpless my wife must have felt when I was drinking. There was nothing she could do to help me; she was just as trapped as I was in the cycle, maybe even more than I. Though it may not have seemed viable a the time, she had the choice to remain with me and to hope that I’d someday get it together. She could have left me. Lord knows many people do leave their loved ones when addiction holds them in its grasp.

I thought about how hopeless I felt when I was in the end of my drinking days. Indeed, it was a deep feeling of despair and hopelessness that permeated my existence. Day after day, despite knowing that nothing good would come of it, I found myself drinking. And day after day, I hated what was happening. I couldn’t see a way out. The idea of not drinking felt like abandoning a friend. Albeit a friend who continuously beat the crap out of me, who toyed with my emotions and who took every opportunity to convince me that I needed him.

Mixed in with the feelings of hopelessness, was a healthy dose of helplessness. Continue reading →

Posted on by damien 3

Hell Yeah, I’m Celebrating — Settle Down, Ego

For all the talk in the rooms about smashing the ego, recovery really is all about the self.  I mean, really, it’s all about becoming the best self that you can be.  Recovery encompasses so much more than just not using intoxicants, it’s about learning to love yourself and to accept yourself as you are and helping others to do the same.

With that in mind, I think it’s important to celebrate the good things that happen in our lives in recovery.  I’ve had two really awesome things happen this week that I want to share.  I know I’m tooting my own horn, but I’m trying to do so mindfully.  I don’t mean to brag, just to share some good things that have happened this week.

Sunday night, a post that I have been meaning to write for a long time was published over at Transformation is Real.  I shared part of my experience, certainly some of my strength, and hopefully some hope.  Over the past year, I’ve come to realize that my addiction to alcohol manifest itself after I became a father.  I’ve come to accept that a big part of that has to do with what happened early in my life and how I view the man who became my father.

Here are some excepts of part of the post, I hope they’ll wet your whistle enough to give TIR a view.  There are many wonderful stories written by an amazing group of writers on Dan’s site.

In 2007, my son was born and I thought that my dreams were about to be fulfilled. He was the spitting image of me when I was a baby. He was perfection as far as I was concerned. He was an amazing little package of joy and I was ecstatic to have him in my life. I was on top of the world

All the pressure of being a father, and all the fears that came with it, triggered something in me that I’d never expected. Within eight months of my son’s birth, I’d begun to go off the rails. I began to drink every day.

It was unplanned but especially touching for me that the post went live on 9/11.  Don was a firefighter and he lost many good friends from FDNY on that day.  The attacks hit him very hard and I’m glad that I was able to honor my father on the anniversary of that tragic day.

The response to this post was overwhelming from my friends both in and out of the rooms.  I had the good fortune of seeing my sponsor last night and being able to talk about the post for while with him.

If that wasn’t enough, this very site was listed by my cyber friend Regina Walker as one of her to 12 recovery blogs for the site The Fix.  Now, I knew that she was writing the article, but I didn’t now when it would be published.  It is truly an honor and humbling to be included among the folks listed on her site.  Many of these folks have been in recovery and writing about their experience a lot longer than I have.  All of them are inspirations to me.

There is something really awesome about this online recovery community that I’ve found myself in over the past year.  Even though many of us have never met in real life, there is a deep sense of camaraderie  among the #recoveryposse.  We support each other.  We laugh and we cry (yes, real physical tears at times) for each with each other.  Neither of these two things would have happened if I’d not put my honest truth out there and joined in the discussion on Twitter back in October of 2015.

I’m blessed to receive the support and help that I do from these fine people.

 

Posted on by damien 5