In jail

Last night I was reminded what the earliest days of recovery are like. After the realization of what addiction had done to my life there was the abject fear of losing everything. Life as I knew it needed to change but I had no idea what the changes would look like. Beyond that, the motivation for change seemed connected to a lot of outside influences. I didn't want to lose my marriage. I didn't want to ruin my relationship with my kids. I didn't want to be disgraced publicly by being found to have this awful weakness. Initially, getting into recovery was a way to stop these things from happening. The urge was to solve the immediate problem and stop the immediate pain. There's nothing wrong with that. When an arm gets severed you stop the bleeding first you don't think about what prosthetic you'd like to have fitted on your stump!

This morning I woke up thinking about Glen. Years ago, as a struggling teen, he found himself in jail on Christmas Day. I don't remember the offense, but I do remember my visit with him. He kept asking, "What do I need to do to get out of here?" I kept telling him that was the wrong question, but he just didn't get it. When you're in jail you just want to be out. But, to stay out, you have to understand what got you there in the first place. The question Glen should have been asking was, "What changes have to happen in my life so I never end up here again?"

Once I realized the jail my addiction had put me in my very first reaction was to want out. If that meant attending meetings, so be it. If it meant therapy...okay. If there were books to read, I'd read them. Over time it became clear that just stopping the immediate pain of my situation was insufficient motivation for a lifetime of recovery. Slowly, the realization came that addiction wasn't just about acting out. In fact, that was just the very tip of a very large iceberg. It might sound odd, but I'm thankful for the pain that forced me into recovery. It's not something I'd ever want to repeat, but it was necessary to put me on the right road. But once the intensity of that initial pain subsided the iceberg that needed to be dealt with started to become clear.

Today the struggles are still there. I have much better tools to deal wih the struggles and my motivation is different. I love my wife and children but I'm not doing this for them. I appreciate the respect of the community, but pretending I'm okay when I'm not just to keep it isn't worth it anymore. I'm enjoying a much healthier life from the perspective of someone who has lived a very unhealthy one. I thank God for each new day. I'm learning to ask, "What are the best choices I can make today so that I never end up in jail again?"