SOTD: Why
"Some things are better left unsaid//But they still turn me inside out"
When does the constant fixation of thought end? When will I get through a day without having a panic attack over you? Why can't I just make this all stop?
Those are the questions I keep asking myself. It's insane how much of my day you occupy. Even more insane to think you probably never think of me at all.
It's desperate. And pathetic. And nauseating.
Why can't I control this?
SOTD: Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind
"Did you ever have to make up your mind?//Pick up on one and leave the other one behind//It's not often easy, and not often kind//Did you ever have to make up your mind?"
I am so completely lost. There are two paths (maybe three) ahead of me and I have no idea which one I should take. Everyone thinks Walt Whitman's "The Road Less Traveled" is about taking the harder path, but what made all the difference was simply choosing a path and walking it. There's no right or wrong way -- just the fact that you have to move forward.
With that in mind, I have to decide if I am going to become a real teacher, or if I'm going to start a new adventure. I had a falling out with one of my professors last year over a research project we were doing together. She was a dream mentor until she wasn't and because of the anxiety and stress associated with that project, I don't feel great about putting myself in a position where she gets the final word on what kind of teacher I will be -- or if I can be a teacher at all.
A couple of months ago, I interviewed for my dream job -- advocate for children and youth who've experienced domestic violence. I actually made it all the way through the interview process and didn't get the job because they hired from within their organization. But yesterday another opportunity with this group became available and shortly after I reached out to the director, I received a message that they were still very interested in working with me and I will interview for a third time for a job as a sexual assault advocate next week.
I live in a small town where it is difficult to find decent employment with livable wages. Most people in my community make less than $35k a year. Teachers starting salary isn't even above that amount. I'm literally typing this from a middle school classroom where I am being paid $65 for the day -- not even a minimum wage salary. Following the pandemic, education is one area of employment that has been exposed for the many, many ways it abuses it's employees. Teachers are not paid in a way that recognizes the work required just to become a teacher, let alone the many hours outside the regular school day that are required to keep up with all the responsibilities and expectations. Then, if your students don't test well, you're held accountable. It's an awful lot and not nearly as rewarding as one might expect.
If I am lucky enough to be offered a job with the women's center, I would have to walk away from all the work I've put in to becoming a teacher. Just one semester short of getting my masters and license. And honestly, I think it would be worth it. The work might be just as hard. As a sexual assault survivor, I will have to deal with this painful topic daily. I would have to sit with others in their pain and try to be as supportive as possible. I've been helping a friend get through an unrelated grief and it has been more challenging than I could've anticipated. There are definitely days I cannot give as much as she needs. There are days I don't want to deal with it at all. If I accept the job of sexual assault advocate, it will not matter what I feel or can handle on any given day -- that will be my job.
I have to make some choices. They aren't easy. I suppose I should wait until I actually have an offer to consider, but I'm a planner. I like to imagine every possible scenario and then plan accordingly. Unfortunately, it rarely provides anything positive and usually, the more I think about it, the more anxiety I create. But I have choices. So I will definitely overthink until I can't overthink anymore.
SOTD: invisible string
"And isn't it just so pretty to think//All along there was some//invisible string//tying you to me?
In my 39th year of life I reconnected with three friends from high school. We weren't exactly friends back then. Some of our circles overlapped, but really, we didn't become great friends until just before the pandemic hit. If I'm being transparent, in high school I had friends, but I wouldn't say I was popular. The other girls were absolutely popular. Two were cheerleaders and the other was student council -- and did I mention they are all gorgeous?! If you had told me in 1999 that these three women would change my life with their friendship, I wouldn't have believed you.
We call ourselves The Tribe because we each bring something unique to our group and when things get real, we support each other unconditionally. There's no such thing as a perfect friendship, but our Tribe is pretty close. Our anchor is Tami. She's the hostess, the therapist, and the one who keeps us glued together. Next is Misty. She's the mom of the group (because she's raising two badass young ladies); but she's also the most zen -- always available for a mental health break, and genuinely quick witted. Sarah is our third member. She was the last to join our Tribe in March of 2020, and honestly, until she joined us we weren't a complete Tribe. Sarah is the life of the party. She can talk about anything under the sun but she's happiest when she's in control of the music. And finally, there's me. I'd like to think I'm the voice of reason within our group, but honestly, I'm not sure. I bring tequila, truffle pizza, and goat cheese. I'm known for remembering obscure details and conversations, and saying anything that comes to mind.
At least once a week we have informal Tribe meetings through a group text chain. It's never planned, but usually one of us sends a mini novel about something going on in their life and we all chat about it. The conversations that we spontaneously have before 8am would blow your mind. Our monthly(ish) in-person gatherings are one of the few things I've had to look forward to lately. During the pandemic, each of us took extreme precautions to protect people we love. In doing so, we made it safe to include each other in our individual pandemic bubbles, enough so that we felt safe continuing our gatherings regularly. When the four of us gather, it truly is one of my happiest places. I'm always sore from laughing the next day. And even if it's only for a few hours, when we are all there, it feels like I have real sisters -- something I've wanted my entire life.
We talk about EVERYTHING. Nothing is too embarrassing, taboo, or off limits. Which is actually really great because there are so many things we all struggle through; most we don't talk about because it's something we are ashamed of or have a fear of judgement from others. But not us! Oh no. We actually plan the difficult conversations in our daily group text. There are also no expectations from the other Tribe members. We always look forward to seeing each other -- some meetings are wild and fun, others are chill and laid back. Tami has a gazebo patio at her house and it has become our official home base. The hammock swing chair is also officially "my spot." Over the last six months each one of us has gone through life changing challenges. What I love about my Tribe is how we all step up in times of trouble. No matter what is going on, if one of us needs another, we are there. Last fall when I had a nervous breakdown all three took time to connect with me one-on-one. I have never felt insignificant among them.
I also trust them completely -- which is another difficult trait to acquire so late in life. But with this trust comes difficult conversations that I wouldn't normally share with anyone. Having the freedom to share because I trust them completely has allowed me to discover things about myself that might've stayed buried. And the weight of relief from being able to talk about all of it is so nice.
They don't know this yet, but I have this idea for a novel that is loosely inspired by our lives and friendship. We share a common thread of being educators. We also share a common thread of going to the same high school in the late 90s. Telling our stories over multiple timelines, set in the school we grew up in...it practically writes itself.
My Tribe is my sanity. I don't know how I'd survive without any of them.
SOTD: Tonight, Tonight
"It's been a really, really messed up week..."
After an afternoon of day drinking with one of my favorite humans, I embarked on my journey home. (Yes, I had a drink or two, no I was not drunk...) I was doing my regular scroll through Sirius XM stations to find something worthy of my commute, when I landed on a Pop Rock preset playing The Smashing Pumpkins song referenced as the SOTD. I was overcome with a memory that bears a word of caution...
In my earlier years I let guys dictate too much of who I was. A prime example was this guy Jason G. that I dated the summer of 2006. He was a nice enough guy. Great on paper. Not too aggressive, which I personally appreciated. But I was a smoker then, and I was deeply ashamed. I was able to dodge it until the night he wanted to take me to an Fiona Apple concert in early August. When I should have been enjoying the concert, I was instead on a mission to smoke a single cigarette -- in secret. This was a behavior I would continue through half a dozen other guys in the years to come. In fact, I literally let it end one of the best relationships I've ever had.
I can't explain the deep shame that I carried. If you've known me since the pandemic, you already know that I broke my four year hiatus and I am once again a regular smoker. I don't care if you judge me. I know it's bad. I refuse to apologize for doing something, as an adult, that I chose to do. I wish I had that kind of fortitude fifteen years ago.
So here it is, DO NOT CHANGE WHO YOU ARE FOR ANYONE.
If they don't like who you are, they are not your people. If they do, then you can probably work through small stuff like this. The bottom line is, be yourself. Those who matter won't mind, and those who do, don't matter.
Short and sweet.
xo - A
SOTD: Chandelier
“Understanding the difference between healthy striving and perfectionism is critical to laying down the shield and picking up your life. Research shows that perfectionism hampers success. In fact, it's often the path to depression, anxiety, addiction, and life paralysis.”
― The Gifts of Imperfection
Some facts about addiction in America:
· Almost 21 million Americans have at least one addiction, yet only 10% of them receive treatment.
· Drug overdose deaths have more than tripled since 1990.
· From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 Americans died from overdosing on a drug.
· Alcohol and drug addiction cost the U.S. economy over $600 billion every year.
· In 2017, 34.2 million Americans committed DUI, 21.4 million under the influence of alcohol and 12.8 million under the influence of drugs.
· About 20% of Americans who have depression or an anxiety disorder also have a substance use disorder.
· More than 90% of people who have an addiction started to drink alcohol or use drugs before they were 18 years old.
· Americans between the ages of 18 and 25 are most likely to use addictive drugs.
Over the last six months, two people I know and care about lost their battles with addiction. One was my favorite Aunt, the other, the husband of one of my closest friends. One was completely unexpected, the other, the result of years of struggling that took too great a toll on her body. What I've learned in the time since these losses is that addiction is a real problem that we aren't talking about enough.
Don't get me wrong, I have several friends who are recovered addicts and they are beacons of light on social media when it comes to being open and supportive of others who might be going through the same struggles they are overcoming, but in general, addiction is thought of as something that makes one less than -- less than deserving of second chances, less than willing to help themselves, and perhaps the worst of all, less than the value of a non-addict. But the truth is, addicts are just like any of us. Hell, based on the last two years, I'd guess someone reading this is struggling with issues of addiction that none of us know anything of.
One of my favorite writers is Brene Brown. She's a professor and researcher in the areas of shame and vulnerability. Her thoughts on shame have been stuck in my head for months. She believes that our behaviors are a response to how we experience destructive thoughts. And for many who struggle with addiction, shame is the superior underlining emotion, followed closely by guilt. Guilt is just as powerful, but its influence is positive, while shame is destructive. Shame erodes our courage and fuels disengagement. It is this disengagement that fosters the conditions that make it much harder for an addict to overcome their vice. But there is hope, she says that if we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive. It's simply a matter of being vulnerable enough to open the darkest corners of our lives.
There are so many people in my life who can no longer tell their own story. And it's heartbreaking. I cannot tell their stories for them, but I can tell you about the addict I love.
My brother and I have never really been close. Not even as kids. I'm four years older, and he always got in my way. If I'm being completely honest, most days, I'd rather be an only child. Or at least that is how I've felt the last 36 years. But in the last month, I've made an effort to connect with him. He has struggled with addiction for many years. About two years ago he was in rehab for an addiction to prescription medication (and later, harder drugs) following a brief battle with brain cancer. While riding in my car a few days ago, he shared with me that his first experience with drugs was at our grandparent's farm, at the age of 11, our uncle introduced him to pot. He told me they grew it on the property and would smoke it right off the plant. He confessed that he started stealing cigarettes from our mom when he was 12, and by the age of 15, there wasn't a drug he hadn't tried.
I used to think he was worthless. I gave up on him a long time ago. But what I've learned is that addiction is a disease, and like most illnesses, it doesn't change just because you act a certain way, or decide that you aren't going to do something anymore. It is a daily battle to control the urge to give in. He is a father of three. He is a working member of society. He is far more forgiving and zen like than I could ever hope to be. And he is an addict.
I sometimes wonder if it weren't for the influence of our uncle, if he would've ended up on this journey. If he had never tried weed at the age of 11, would he have ended up an addict anyway? I'm not sure there is an answer to that question, but it seems logical that people are wired for certain vices. Why can I drink whenever I want, but my friend in AA can't have a single drink because if she does, it would open the floodgates and upend her life? Are some people just wired for addiction? I think the research seems to think so.
For my Aunt, the pills and drinking were a way to numb decades of pain. The pain of loss, the pain of disappointment, and the pain of not being in control. The only difference between us is that she did all of her coping in private, often starting before breakfast. Years and years of being a functioning alcoholic and using narcotics daily eventually took their toll on her body and when she contracted Covid, she didn't stand a chance. We lost her a few days before my 40th birthday. Because of Covid, I couldn't even go to her funeral and share her loss with my family members. Instead, we shared tears and stories over Zoom and FaceTime.
With my friend's husband, it was an overdose. They were separated and he was in recovery. There were no indications that he was struggling again, and unfortunately, he took something that he didn't know was basically pure Fentanyl. His addiction began after an injury he sustained while trying to help an elderly man who was being mugged. It started with opioids that were intended to help with the pain from his life threatening stab wounds, and like most people who get addicted to opioids, eventually, the pills weren't enough. There's a cruel irony in knowing that had he not stepped in to help that man, not only would he be alive today, but every thing would be completely different. I didn't know him very well. In fact, I only met him twice and spent just a few hours with him each time, but from our conversations, I know he was a smart, loving, and driven man. He carried a lot of guilt and shame about his addiction. He didn't say that, but I could tell by the way he talked about his recovery that it was both something he was proud of, but also deeply ashamed that it had affected so many people in his life in such a negative way.
I think about his situation, and I think about all the addicts who have been in a pressure cooker for the last 14 months as the pandemic continues to rage. I wonder how many people who struggle with addiction have found staying clean nearly impossible during these times of isolation. I also think about the epidemic of deadly street drugs -- especially the issues with synthetic Fentanyl. Our leaders are letting us down by not addressing this problem and at least trying to come up with any approach to reign it in. A few weeks ago, two teenagers in a neighboring town died after smoking pot that was laced with deadly Fentanyl. I have no problem with marijuana. In fact, I think it could be a solution to many other drug problems, as well as an appropriate form of relief for common mental health issues ranging from anxiety to PTSD. But before I heard about those teenage boys, I never once worried about the possibility that weed could be deadly. And to be honest, I'd really love to live in a world were I didn't.
We've got to take the stigma of addiction out of our collective societal group thinking. Until we stop treating addicts like they are worthless junkies, and actually show them empathy, we can't begin to properly support them. Until we stop penalizing addicts with lost employment opportunities and limitations to education, we can't say that we believe in second chances. Before we can say "Love the Addict, Hate the Addiction," we have to universally understand that addiction is a disease for which there is no cure. We have a responsibility to care for all members of society and I think we are at our best when we lead with kindness and understanding. If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, there are so many people who would love to help, but you have to ask. If you need help, please reach out to SAMHSA (substance abuse and mental health services association) at 1-800-662-HELP.
I'm hopeful about the future with my brother. In many ways, I feel like the success of our future relationships will depend on his willingness to give me a second chance. Which is kind of funny since I am the one who used to believe he didn't deserve any more chances. But the truth is, if you have the opportunity to give someone a second, third, or... millionth chance -- DO IT! Your act of empathy and support could be the one that changes everything. You don't want to be that person who wakes up wondering if there was more that they could've done. Trust me.
