S.o.S.

How Sober Support Saved Me

I wish I could say that I remember my first few weeks of sobriety well. But then again, I think that is true about most of the hardest times of our lives. Our brains are built to shield us from those moments of despair and suffering. Luckily, I did journal throughout and have some recollection of my thoughts during the first few months. I know it was difficult. I know I was a mess. I know I lost myself before I started to find myself. So, to the best of my ability, I will walk you through my first few months of recovery in the hopes that my story will help you on your journey.

Wicked Withdraws

Ok, I say wicked withdrawals, but I have to be honest, my initial withdrawal symptoms were minimal. When I made the decision to get sober, I was terrified. I had made the call to get help, and help is what I got! I was so blessed to have found intensive online support so I could continue to function in my everyday life. Without that, I am not sure where I would have ended up.

With that disclaimer out of the way, my withdrawal was more gradual than the brick wall I was expecting to hit. My addiction was wrapped in ritual and routine. As those two lifelines disappeared and I started to rebuild new ones, I began to lose my grip (what little grip I had on myself to begin with). My emotions were ALL over the place! One minute I was fine, the next I was a wreck. I was so blessed to have the built-in support and treatment to guide me through the jagged path of recovery with the many twists and turns along the way.

Withdrawal for me was less physical than others. My symptoms, like I said, were more emotional. I was, for the first time, really dealing with my reality. I was forced to sit with my emotions-good, bad and ugly. I was forced to human unaided. And that was extremely foreign to me. I was so angry all of the time. That anger then turned to sadness and pure exhaustion. I was grieving. I was grieving the loss of my old self. I was grieving for my inner child now that I was facing the trauma head on without my liquid floaties. This grief brought tears… so many tears. I was alarmed by how much crying a human could do in a short period of time.

As my body and mind began the healing process, my emotions were depleted and on overdrive at the same time. At times, I envied those who were in rehab facilities far away from the everyday responsibilities and pressures. They could focus on the healing and recovery where I was forced to do both. That was my view for a while. I was in my “it’s not fair” phase. It’s not fair that I have to do life AND figure my shit out at the same time. It’s not fair that I have all this shit to figure out in the first place. It’s not fair.

That is true. It is not fair. It is not fair that we have to deal with our demons and do life, but what is the alternative? Yes, at points a good ol’ cushy rehab sounded quite divine, but that's not my reality. I had to accept that fact. I had to accept my reality as it already was. When I finally was able to accept that this shit was mine to own and deal with, I began my recovery journey. Until then, I was fighting it like an eight year old at bedtime. Just a little more time…just one more bedtime story!!! Please!!!

Sober Support saved me

During the first few months of my recovery, I learned to open my heart to complete strangers. Until I ventured into recovery, I called myself an introvert. I described myself as full of social anxiety. I often felt uncomfortable around others, but ultimately, I was uncomfortable around me. I used alcohol to mask this discomfort consistently. Any social outing, I would “pre-game” to numb my senses a little. Just enough so I wasn’t so overwhelmed with it all. The small talk, the loudness of people talking, the nuances between groups of people. Navigating all of it was deeply draining to me, and I used alcohol to cope with all the feels.

Then, all of a sudden, I found myself fully opening up to people I had never even met in person. I was spilling my guts and baring my soul to people who were on my computer screen, but somehow some way, they totally and completely understood me. They got it. They got me. The safety that I felt was new and real. I could be raw (which is a good thing because that is how I was feeling constantly). All of a sudden, I began to enjoy connecting with others. I guess all of the pleasantries go out of the window when you finally admit you have a problem. No need for small talk when the reality of addiction is smacking you squarely in the face. When you surround yourself with people who understand you on a deeper level without having to use words yourself, it comes more naturally to open up.

Through my recovery and treatment, I found solace in human connection and support. For the first time, I found a group of humans who understood the literal pain of “just saying no.” I found individuals who collectively understood the perceived illusion of joy that came from the third drink. They understood the sheer panic of realizing you are out of wine at someone else’s house with no way of replenishing the glass. They did not laugh at me when I said one of the many reasons I drank was to dance in public. They didn’t laugh because they too had dancing on their lengthy lists of reasons they drank.

This kind of support saved my life. It was not the technical terms I learned during treatment. It wasn’t the videos we watched about how addictive substances change the inner workings and structure of the brain. It wasn’t even the “work” I did through the treatment program. Although all of those things were and are valuable and an integral part of my recovery, I do not believe those things saved me. They enhanced my recovery. They may have even sped up the process. But those things did not save me.

The sober support saved me. The unquestioning, unconditional, and undeniable support I received from an incredible group of people who shared in the suffering of addiction saved me. It was on the days that I just did not want to log in and talk to anyone, that I found I had the most to share. It was on the days that I thought I had so much to say, but ended up listening and soaking in others’ triumphs and hard times. Experiencing the humanity of it all saved me. It was walking into an AA meeting for the first time, full of shame and fear, and being welcomed with warm open arms. It was a kind human at that meeting who shared her story of living under a bridge wanting to die and then having 6 months of sobriety under her. She was now feeling strong and alive again. It was watching other group members ``graduate” from the program because they had found their light again or even for the first time in their lives.

As an addict/alcoholic/drinker/whatever term you use to describe yourself before recovery, I have found that we collectively have loneliness in common. Whether we fear being alone to the extreme or we feel a need to be alone to hide, loneliness consumes us on the regular. We used alcohol or other substances to fill this void, but through sober support, we can build real and true relationships. Something we have never truly experienced while in active addiction. I had not truly experienced at least. Connection is key. Connection is critical. Connection is lifesaving.

You are not alone

Even if you do not have the ability to get into a treatment program or go away to rehab, you can still find support everywhere! Sober support is so easily accessible now. Online support groups, in-person meetings, books, podcasts, Ted Talks, music, Facebook, Instagram, AA….you name it, there is support out there! The best part is that you can remain as anonymous as you would like. However, I can tell you from experience that anonymity is not the answer these days. I am not saying that AA is wrong. I think AA is great if it works for you! However, I do not see the need for the anonymous side of things any longer. There is no shame in this game! We are all here for the same thing. We want a better life. We want to find joy. We want to be there for our children and loved ones. We want to be productive. We strive to show up in life fully. How is that shameful? Why should we hide that??? The answer, I have found, is that we need not hide.

Let’s recover out loud

I am writing this post on the day that I am coming out on my personal social media. I am a little scared. I am a little nervous. I am a lot excited. As with all great actions in life, fear plays a role. That is fine. It can play a role, but it is not the lead for this chapter in my life. I am going to recover out loud for those who still struggle in silence. I needed those who were dealing with the same suffering and loneliness to be open and honest about their struggles. I needed those who found their place in recovery to talk me through my most vulnerable and darkest times. I needed to see their light to know I could find my own. So now that I can, I will do the same for others. As author, Brene Brown, puts it in her book The Power of Vulnerability...

“When we dare to drop the armor that protects us from feeling vulnerable, we open ourselves to the experiences that bring purpose and meaning to our lives.”

I am by no means out of the woods of addiction. I am proudly 6 months sober. I have worked hard for these 6 months. I count my days to remind me that each day matters. I cannot take a day off from recovery. I do not get that choice in the life I plan to live. This is still so much of a struggle at times. I am just beginning my recovery journey. I still have so much to learn, but what I know now is that I also have so much to offer. So do you!

AA says “it works if you work it.” To me, sober support works if I work it. I have to be open and ready to share my positives and my negatives. I have to be ready to receive the feedback from others that I may or may not agree with or even like. I have to accept support and lean into it fully. I have to be vulnerable.

And with that, we will be ok. We will survive and we will thrive.

I love you. I am proud of you. You are doing an amazing job!