Year Two: The Depression Cocoon

“Do you mind if others drink around you?"

It was a simple and innocent question, but it suddenly made me hyperaware of the environment around me: the stale smell of spilled beer, the voices that amplified with each sip, the feeling of being frozen amid a room of chaos. The feeling of wanting to throw a temper tantrum - how it wasn’t "fair" that everyone around me "got to" drink, that they could wake up with a hangover but laugh it off, that they could make plans to get drinks later without obsessively trying to control it. And how I still harbored resentment towards myself, towards wanting to be the “chill girl” that didn’t mind if my drug of choice was being consumed freely around me, that my past life taunted me, even if I had to grit my teeth and awkwardly stand by the snack table.

And with that moment of pure surrender to my feelings, I looked at my friend with tired eyes:

“It’s really hard sometimes, even now."

Today marks two years of sobriety.

I wish that I could tell you that it got easier and bubblier. I wish I could tell you that I’m currently thriving and have a book/movie deal on the way. However, with the current pandemic and the realization that we are in uncharted territory with how to take care of ourselves, I’ve been feeling more like a depressed caterpillar wrapped up in a weighted blanket cocoon rather than a sober butterfly.

I wrote in a post earlier that sobriety wasn’t the full answer for me. It cleared the murky waters to see what could be done. It was the catalyst that humbled me and forced me to look at my crap, to assess my relationships, the sifter that took my life and sorted out which self sabotaging behaviors I still relied on (turns out codependency doesn’t go magically away, darn.)

With year two, I didn’t necessarily learn anything new on how to GET sober - rather, I learned that sobriety was only the foundation that took drunken antics and unnecessary anxiety out of the equation so that I could really get down to business with my healing. Let’s explore the top three lessons that this year brought:

1. You can’t control what people say about you or think about you, but you can control your boundaries.

Boundaries - the word of the year. When you grow up as a people pleaser whose worst nightmare is stepping on toes, saying things like, “I don’t have time to talk right now, can we reschedule?” or “I won’t tolerate being treated like that” is honestly petrifying. However, I learned something that blew my mind: people pleasing, even with good intentions, is still a form of manipulation. When we attempt to enmesh ourselves into how others perceive us, when we try to control our image, we are attempting to take away other people’s agency of living their own worldview. Crazy, right? Does this mean that we should say “screw it” to all common decency and live “Lord of the Flies” style? Of course not. But when your entire worth is based in whether or not you can change somebody, it’s time to take a step back and reevaluate what you expect out of a relationship.

2. Acceptance is not equal to “giving up."

Raise your hand if you’re incredibly stubborn and you’ve been conditioned to believe that words like “acceptance” and “surrender” are synonymous with being weak. Ok, now that all of our hands are raised, how did it work out when you tried to will yourself through an addictive habit or attempt to “do better next time?” Same, friend, same. Just because something is familiar doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the best option. This applied to my drinking, to trying to win over people again and again, to obsessing over not-so-great Instagram comments. To me, at least, the traditional concept of giving up comes from a place of defeat - acceptance comes from a place of empowering yourself enough to walk away from something that has betrayed you over and over. Will we always know the difference? Nobody knows for sure - but it’s a start in shifting perspective.

3. You can do the work while still acknowledging that it sucks sometimes.

I think sobriety sometimes has this dogmatic unspoken rule that if you complain about anything, it automatically implies that you don’t take it seriously or that you’re regressing. And it scares some people because they feel like if they’re frustrated, they’re weak or not “there” yet. It buys into the whole dismissive positivity concept that has become popular lately - that if you only acknowledge “positive vibes” and invalidate/minimize less sexy feelings, the latter feelings will magically disappear. It’s where phrases like “Just think positive!” or “Look on the bright side!” come in, and we’re left wondering if we’re broken because we aren’t living on that cute little pink cloud with La Croix and a #soberissexy shirt. It wasn’t until I spoke up to both myself and to others, saying “Hey, I’m actually having a tough time right now being surrounded by drunk people” or “Hey, maybe joking about drinking gin at 10am all the time is kind of problematic" that I started to troubleshoot and find what worked for me. That’s the whole point of recovery - feeling everything to the point where we can move through it.

I honestly don’t think that I grew more cynical or negative during my second year, I just got real. 2020 has been a sh*tshow, and there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that. Being sober, for my personal experience, allows me to sift through that and meet it at face value. I’m still in my depression cocoon, but at least I know that my addiction won’t sabotage whether or not I make it out. And that’s positive enough for me today.

With Love,

Rachel