Gratitude, Grief, Addiction, and Love

Welcome back to the blog, I’m glad you’re here. As I’m sitting down to write this, my heart is aching with grief and regret, but when I write things tend to unfold into lessons of gratitude and love. It’s an honor to get to share this with you, I hope you’re able to take from it what you need and leave the rest.

I didn’t expect bringing my dreams to life to come with so much heartache.

I’ve come to this place following a deeper reason why- living in love and honoring my gifts when it comes to vulnerability and honesty and kindness. I can’t help but lean in- I wouldn’t want to help that. But… following your heart takes an awful lot of courage. It involves risking more logical securities and sometimes throwing practically to the wind (more often than not, if we’re being honest).

So as I sit here in my dream come true, with my soft heart somehow still as open as the day I first found it… I’m gently surprised at the amount of grief pressing in on me. Coronavirus lead to social distancing, which was kinda my normal state anyway. I’m a good little hermit, I like to be alone, I love to read and write and meditate and do yoga and spend time in silence and listen to beautiful music. That’s a dream all on its own.

But… I haven’t seen my mom or my grandpa or my kid siblings in six months and this virus means my visit next month is cancelled. My first visit home since the move to this little edge of the world, now post-poned for an uncertain amount of time. I think the uncertainty is what makes it nag at me instead of being easy to shake off. I love where I am, but I’m homesick for my brothers’ laughter and my sisters’ hugs and my mom’s relentless sarcasm and deviled eggs. I’m aching to see my grandpa’s smile in his bright blue eyes again and to feel all my loved ones safe in my arms again for a second.

I’m even missing the city lights and sounds- something I never expected.

It’s all different now.

I came to the coast in September, 23 and married (though my husband didn’t come with me), with three little dogs and a cat all in one RV. Now… I’m 24, mid-divorce. My RV is gone, my dogs are gone, my cat is gone. I can’t see the friends I’ve made here because of the virus- and the added risk for me with cystic fibrosis…

Last night, I got sucked into a spiral of thinking about the addicts in my life.
Unwelcome nightmares crept in after years of silence.

I love so very many addicts- and I forget sometimes how much that can hurt. It’s so important, no matter who you love, to keep your own needs met. To know yourself, love yourself, and fill your own cup. The actions and behaviors of others aren’t my fault or yours, but it’s easy to become a victim and an enabler when you’re not taking personal responsibility for your own life. I’ve never tried to change anyone, but I’m an expert at changing my own thoughts and behaviors.

It’s nobody’s job to fix someone or punish or heal or protect someone from their own behaviors- except maybe a parent for their child. But what I’ve learned about addiction in the years I’ve spent loving the person, seeing the person beyond the disease, is that addiction isn’t solved by ceasing use or using less. Punishing an addict, pushing them away, hating them, feeling like a victim to their choices- none of that solves it either. Addiction is solved when a whole new life is created- when the focus is on fullness and gratitude and love. In my own way, I’ve been an addict too.

I’m not out to make light of the seriousness of substance abuse and the power of that addiction, but it’s true that emotions and mindsets are equally addictive in their own right- especially if you’ve lived your whole life surrounded by addict behaviors. Attachment and dependency too. But here’s what I’ve learned from my extensive and all-too-intimate experience with addiction:

Addiction doesn’t just stop because you stop using.
Addiction ends when the life it knew is gone.

It doesn’t stop because you can go without it periodically. That’s not how it works. Because at that point, it still rules you. When it calls, you’re going to pick up. Maybe not on the first ring, maybe not after the first 3 calls, but give it twenty minutes- a little less daylight, a little more of your reason not to fading away, and you’ll be back in the arms of that addiction until daylight, an addict all over again.

Addiction ends when the person facing it heals their heart and fills it with true self-love and gratitude.
Spiritual love, awe at the universe and the bigness and smallness and vast beauty and depth of life.

What else could be stronger?

When you create a life so full, so captivating and precious to you that it’s easier to preserve, honor, and live that reality than to turn back to the old one, that’s when you’re no longer an addict.

And maybe that’s why moderation doesn’t work for so many- because if you still want to share your life with the thing that has stolen so much from you, what message does that send to your life as a whole? To a higher power, it looks like you want to play with fire.- and when you play with fire, you get burned. Maybe not the first time, maybe not every time, but sometimes. You get burned. And for the disease of addiction, that’s a risk worth taking- every. single. time.

If you think making your wildest dreams come true takes courage, try leaving behind a life of tormented addiction for a new one you’ve only just created.

I can tell you first hand which is harder, but you wouldn’t believe me if I did.

So, just for today, I’m choosing to focus on the gratitude.

To let go of the wounds of the past, the nightmares that suffocated and shook me awake last night. The regret at the love left behind, an angel with fur who knew better than any love how to hold my heart. I’m letting go of the old stories, the aching and longing, the wishing I could help when the solution is (and is meant to stay) out of my hands.

I’m choosing to feel this heavenly couch beneath me, the fire in front of me, the birds singing outside the window. The clouds of clothing I’m wrapped up in and the breakfast calling my name from the other room.

Addiction and grief held me last night, but I’m up. That’s enough.

“Like a sunflower, I’m learning to face the light. Always.”

There’s honoring your feelings, and then there’s addiction to sadness and devastation. Chaos. Aching, longing. Pointing fingers at past traumas, broken love, and tragic circumstance.

I’ve more-than honored these feelings, feeding them all of me until there was nothing left to give. When it comes to that addiction, I’m ready to move on. I’d rather dance in the ocean and shiver in the coastal rain than play with fire any day.

Today, my prayer is for serenity.

The prayer healing addicts
~ and those who truly love them~
know by heart.

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…

The courage to change the things I can…

And the wisdom to know the distance.

Help me to love with a love that is more than love
when I don’t know where to start.