They say there are 3 responses when threatened – to fight, flight or freeze. For the last 12ish years, when I was still drinking, I was in constant “flight” mode. Drinking was an escape from pretty much everything – overwhelming work, strained relationships, cable news, civil unrest, jeans that no longer fit. Anything that made me the slightest bit uncomfortable was an excuse to drink, and for a long time, that instinct to run served ME well. I didn’t feel much, and that was a success in my book.
(I emphasize the fact that it served ME well, but it sure didn’t serve anyone else well… not my family or friends, my coworkers, the community, and, especially not Steve.)
When people ask me why I drank, I like to say – “Because I was born without sunglasses.” You know when you walk outside on a bright sunny day? You can see fine, but it’s a little painful? You can’t fully open your eyes and take everything in? So you grab a pair of shades, and, ahhhhhh, instant relief! You can now open your eyes wide and soak in your surroundings. Sure things are a little bit muted, but you can go about your day and do what you need to do.
For me, life in general is the brightest, most radiant SoCal day without sunglasses. It is dazzling and beautiful, but also slightly painful and always uncomfortable. And alcohol? Alcohol was my Oakley’s. I put those suckers on, and I was ready to DO THIS THING.
When I got sober, I lost my favorite pair of sunglasses. Actually, I lost all the sunglasses that ever existed in the world – even the cheap gas-station kind. No more instant relief. And there are days that I am squinting hard.
Being sober in 2020 is a trip… but not the fun kind. This year is like the sun is f*cking magnesium exploding across the sky 24 hours a day. There is little relief for anyone, but for an alcoholic like me, it can be relentless. I miss my sunglasses. I miss them, and I am jealous of yours. But I know yours won’t fit me and will just make things worse and I’m not going to steal them or anything, but I am still going to miss them.
So now that I have to *feel* everything, my response to impending peril has changed… I can’t fly, so now – I freeze. I freeze and think and close my eyes and pray my brain calculates some sort of escape route or musters up the courage to confront whatever monster is in my way.
With all the curveballs thrown this year, the death of RBG was one that took me out. Upon hearing the news of her death, I just froze. I logged onto my socials, and I saw so many of my friends gearing up into fighting form – Donate to these races! Pack the court! Call these senators!
Man, I was so impressed. So inspired. But I was also paralyzed with fear. And, if I’m being honest, I have been since that early fall Friday night.
Part of Recovery is reckoning who you actually are with who you think you should be. And I am not a fighter. I am not Daenerys with her dragons. I am not John Snow with his fancy wolf sword. I am probably Vayrus – quiet, listening to the birds, scheming, while wrapped in something warm and being very, very pale.
But I don’t know? Vayrus was kind of a badass in his own way. He made it all the way to season 8, and, well, I guess he did end up being burned alive… but even sunglasses wouldn’t have saved him at that point… so?…Three (apple cider) cheers to The Spider!
To those wild, warrior women I see out there. Thank you for being you and fighting and posting actions and marching to the front lines. I see you and applaud you and support you. I will bake you all the bread you can eat and whisper sweet nothings in your ear and give you a respite in the woods when you need a break.
To those who might be frozen, I think we’re OK. We’re just doing our best to survive. Let’s give ourselves some grace and cover. Our kind will be needed soon… the worriers, the thinkers, the deep, achy feelers. The time is coming where we will need to convert our unmuted, glaring experiences of pain into patient, radical, unwavering compassion and love. I believe that is what we’re currently in the process of doing and it is important, critical work. So take your time, and I’m going to try to do the same.
thebustache 