Tell your story. You are unique. God says you are unique, so don’t forget it!
BUT, if we use drugs, somehow we lose that uniqueness. We lose our story. Nameless. Faceless. Loveless. Unable to love or to be loved. We forget our passion, our skills, and our desires. We make our money out of desperation, not out of uniqueness.
We aren’t unique in pain, but instead, we worshipped the drugs. Not hurting. Not feeling. Always looking for that next hit of euphoria. Living in constant desperation. Losing that connection with God, or maybe never having a connection with Him in the first place. Doing everything we do for the wrong reasons. Living in a numbing void, not even hearing the sound of the birds outside. Nothing else matters except the next drink or drug. Or maybe nothing at all matters. Pain so deep it seemed there is no hope of finding a solution.
But then for whatever reason we enter recovery. And for most of us, it takes some time to feel good. Our body chemicals take time to recover. The trauma won’t leave our heads, and it seems for a while, that we’ll never feel good again. Our sponsor, our friend, our therapist – others tell us that yes, it will get better. That dealing with our feelings and working the steps really will help. And, hesitantly at first, we choose to believe. Choose to believe there is better in store, that maybe others are right, and there is a light at the end of the tunnel – and no, it is not an oncoming train. We trust these others that care for us enough that we choose to believe there is a better future, to suspend our disbelief, to dare to believe that maybe our future can be different from our past.
At first, like a blind man, we hesitantly move forward. Oh, a few of us are brave and charge ahead, but I was never one of them. Or maybe I was. Guess it depends on your perspective, but I was scared to death, and that was all I knew. Sometimes I felt the journey would kill me, but I kept it up because I knew not taking the journey would definitely kill me. And this way promised a way out of hell.
Eventually, we begin to tell our story, first in a disorganized manner, because most of us have a disorganized or ambivalent or insecure attachment style. We tell our story, at first in bits and pieces, almost daring others to love us. Others listen. Others tell their story. Eventually, we begin to realize that we can be secure, that we are loved and cared for. We decide to risk to saying a bit more. Our story changes and our story becomes more understandable. The more we tell our story the more we begin to understand our story as well. And we begin to realize that we had omitted parts of our story, parts that we were too scared to admit had happened. Parts that we didn’t think anyone could love us if they knew. Parts of our story that kept us from loving ourselves.
Much to our own surprise, others looked at that story, stared deeply into the face that we just dared to finally unveil, and said, “I was there too”. It is as if we have taken our mask off and shown someone the deep pain – the scars – etched deep on our face that we think they will never go away- and the people that matter to us touch the scar and tell us how beautiful it is becoming. And we learn that we can take the masks off and be more than we had ever been before.
The passion to draw, to paint, to be with others instead of hiding, the passion for selling, writing, music – it all comes roaring back. And sometimes, the changes seem so great that we feel like we are a surfer on the biggest wave of all. And we think about going back into our hole again. Usually, not by using drugs, but by withdrawing from the world. Losing our independence and going back to doing what others say we should do. Hiding in the lies that are almost the truth – and not bothering to correct them.
And eventually we begin to love the wave. To surf on it higher than we ever have before. To dare to go forward, to do what we are made to do, to be the person God has made us to be. And sticking my neck out and being who God made me to be- it makes me smile. There’s a huge smile on my face, just thinking of all the things God has done and is continuing to do. The people I am going to meet, the connection I make with others, the love – trust me, it’s so totally worth it.
My name is Sally and I am a recovery coaching, mother, PhD student, teacher, yet more than any of these I love, I smile, and I be. Recovery not feeling so godo right now? Ready to give up? Thinking about if recovery is for you? Let’s talk. Email at firstname.lastname@example.org and we will setup a time to talk. There really is hope and I can’t wait to see the changes God makes in you!