The first time I walked into a recovery space, a red-lipped, redheaded Brit welcomed me and invited me to sit down in one of the light blue theatre seats. Behind her, on the edge of the stage, sat Jon B's doppelganger holding a microphone. The atmosphere felt very chill and very warm, and I remember feeling surprised by the nerves calming in my body.
My decision to stop drinking and doing drugs was fresh and fragile. I didn't know anyone in the room, which freed me from smiling, saying hi, or asking people how they were doing. My best tactic for avoiding healing has always been to give my time and energy to fuss over others. Coming out of denial requires us to focus on how we're doing.
After announcements, the two leaders began to free flow a well of wisdom. I can't remember the words, but I remember coming back every Monday, searching for a new normal, hungry for the truth about humanity, and desperate to shore up my soul.
The first month of sobriety is a haze of angst and relief. There's an itch you can't scratch with the same people and places, and there's an exhale in letting them go. I stopped returning texts (which was not the same kind of problem in 2002) and answering phone calls. I slept a lot. Said no a lot. Walked a lot. Wrote a lot. Worked a lot.
I let the gap between my old life and the life I wanted grow.
And grow it did until sobriety became a way of life. Not just in substance abuse, but I found freedom from an eating disorder, dysfunctional relationships, performance, and perfectionism. Recovery is a lifelong journey, and over the years, I've found myself in the familiar traps of people-pleasing and role-playing. Telling myself the truth and trusting the truth to others breaks that silence and shame and usually leads me to change. When I feel myself start to hunker down, reflect on reality, and grow more and more private, I know that change is coming.
I love what Sarah Bessey wrote in her book Out of Sorts:
"I know now that the Spirit is trying to birth something in my life when I find myself craving silence and darkness, when I find myself editing my circle down to just the trusted few whom I know will midwife me through this birth. It's nothing to fear; it's the time of transition."
In a not-so "Ashley goes to the club every night of her life, drinks, does drugs, and struggles in her apartment in Hollywood way," the last four years have mirrored those first few years of recovery. It's as ugly as the first time but with no coping mechanisms. At least I could smoke cigarettes and eat cake in 2002, for God's sake, but because of my health, my entire life is now a fast. (The last man standing is my cup of coffee in the mornings. And if the archangel Gabriel appeared to ask me to stop drinking that, I'm pretty sure I'd tell him exactly where he could shove his unsolicited advice.) Editing my circle down, changing directions, and letting that gap grow again between old me and the woman (and mother) I want to become.
There is nothing to take the edge off and maybe that’s the hardest thing about this transition. So here I am, sleeping, walking, writing, working, saying no. It feels like I’m walking down a hallway closing doors. Paring back options and shutting out everything that is not essential, I prepare a cocoon gracious enough for metamorphosis.
Midlife is a time of transition, and change naturally creates distance between who you were and who you are becoming.
Side Rant: Why y'all didn't tell me I'd need four different bra sizes after every pregnancy? Did no one want to warn me about fatigue, joint pain, and hormones after 40? Is there a reason we are suddenly allergic to everything? Pray tell, why is 200 ounces of water still not enough to feel hydrated? Somay'all have a social life, but we over here taking our nightly magnesium, watching Vanderpump Rules on a heating pad. Can Deborah Cox tell us how we got here?
As I wrote last week, my free fall into motherhood and midlife nearly cost me my sobriety, sanity, and myself, not because of these beautiful babies but because I didn't stop anything else. I remember fantasizing about a regular rhythm, a “normal” job, a small life. What would it feel like not to feel so responsible for anyone outside my immediate circle? To care for just my family for a while? To be part of a community but not lead it? Most people have their family and close friends and their one job! How do they do it? How can I do it? I wasn't sure, but…
I started walking down the hallway, closing doors.
No.
I can't.
I want to say yes, but I have to say no.
I love this, but I can't do it anymore.
This used to work for me, but now it's hurting me.
I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm unwell with so much responsibility.
I'm a mother to three littles, and I think I'll regret traveling and working like this someday.
My energy and needs have changed, and I can only make minimal personal commitments outside work and family. I hate to miss it, and I hope you have a great time!
Thank you for reaching out! I love helping people like this, but I can't work for free. I'm happy to share my rates with you if you'd like a partner on this project.
No is necessary to change.Which is hard for recovering people pleasers, caretakers, workaholics, and know-it-all's. Our value and significance often come from how much we can do for others.
A lesson I keep learning is that the sum total of my value is not in how I serve and show up for people. Although relationships take work, love, not labor, should be the centerpiece of our personal connections.
You are worth so much more than you realize. Your limitations do not make you weak or insignificant. It’s okay to need a change. It’s okay to stop doing a few things. It’s okay to create a little distance from the extras.
A few questions to ask if you sense a time of transition:
If there were no consequences or repercussions, what would you immediately give up?
If there were no limits on your resources or time, what would you immediately start?
What do you need to learn in order to be successful during this time in your life? (More on that next week!)
It is possible to change even when life is challenging. You’re not stuck, even when it feels that way. Like Anne Lamott writes, “bird by bird.” One decision, one step, one day at a time.
You are so precious to the people in your life, to the good Lord, and to me. I’m thankful you’re here and I’d love to hear from you about the distance you’re creating and the changes you’re making (or being forced to make… bless.)
Love,
Ashley
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I really love this, and needed this so much! I often feel like your in my head lol! I am in this transition myself. I feel like I'm in this cocoon season, and I'm really questioning a lot of things, the people around me, and my responsibilities. I've been making therapy a priority and saying not to a lot of other things that usually take my attention. Because I have said no to other things, I feel like It's gotten quiet around me because I'm at home these days with my 4 yr old, I have all these dreams that I want to accomplish but I've realized that I'm overwhelmed, and don't have the capacity in this season of my life. So I've had to put all these dreams aside for now and focus on my healing, my daughters, my marriage, and building a circle of friends that I can have authentic relationships with. Change is hard for me but I know it's necessary. I can tell God is transforming. I feel it, its uncomfortable, and I have to solely depend on Him because this season is uncomfortable. I'm giving room to all these feelings/emotions I've tried to hush! Allowing them to be heard. Acknowledging them, processing them, and finding myself in all of this. Anywho thanks for letting me share what's going on in my head. lol. I'm glad I'm not alone. Love you! Keep writing! It's inspiring me to write!
So many thoughts! First, magnesium supps and a heating pad while watching your favorite shows is delicious and I can't count it. I feel so seen. Secondly, I'm struck by the idea of making room for change rather than pivoting after things have crashed and burned. Your words, "I prepare a cocoon gracious enough for metamorphosis," blessed me so very much. The invitation to be in tune with our season and limitation is so needed, such a gift. It honors ourselves and others. Also, thank you for the responses you've given when it's time to say "no." As you mentioned, we must be reminded we aren't measured by what we can do for others and these gracious responses honor our own lives and the life we are attempting to build. A thousand thank yous. I love every bit of this series. It's nourishing.