How Much Should I Struggle?
Photograph ©2006 David Bivins
Getting sober was the most difficult thing I think I’ve ever done. Staying sober has been easy in comparison. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t struggle more with it. Why don’t I have urges? Why am I not triggered by the same things that used to push me to the corner bodega for three six-packs? I have some ideas.
I still have urges, but I think I’ve rerouted the signals in my brain so they’re pointing at the shit I still struggle with: urges to consume carbs and urges to spend money. The carbs are difficult. I developed a strong affinity for ice cream when I quit smoking a long time ago, and it’s still with me. I am not a nutritionist, but sometimes I wonder if I operate at a carb deficit for a lot of the day and then make up for it with a pint of ice cream more often than I’d like. Maybe half the time I’m able to tell myself “you really don’t need it.” I also don’t have the self-control to only have a “serving” of ice cream. Pint or bust.
The urge to spend money is probably really complex and I’m actually hoping to find a therapist soon to help me with that. So I’m not going to go into the “why,” but I will tell you that any guardrails I had against spending were completely absent when I was drinking. Sobriety has allowed some of those guardrails to resurface and I’m much more responsible about this than I used to be. Talking about triggers: I’m very susceptible to well-crafted marketing messages, and I think that’s why I’ve always been good at marketing and advertising. Even being “the man behind the curtain” didn’t protect me from the other people behind their own curtains. Limited edition? A new synthesizer few others have? An invitation from a boutique artist from whom I’ve purchased before? Take my money!
I’m also aware that spending money makes me feel good, and that feeling isn’t unlike the first long gulp of a favorite beer. Cue the mood-boosting brain chemicals… and the almost-immediate crash when I feel empty and stupid. Thankfully spending money on groceries works, too, and is necessary, and I don’t feel yucky later. I’m not the type to come home from the grocery store with a lot of useless shit that we’re not going to use. I reserve that mode for larger-ticket items in the photography and music production realms.
What about the triggers that used to spur my drinking? They’re still there but I’m just better at working with them. I took a long time off working full-time, and now I’m in a job that is remarkably fulfilling. My stress levels at my former job were so high that I was talking with my doctor about anti-anxiety medication. Quitting drinking helped a lot, but a slow anxiety crept in about not working. Now that’s all sorted out and I can cross that stress off the list.
Here’s a big one. Recently a coaching client asked me if I thought they were an alcoholic. I was frankly taken aback by the question, because my own recovery journey didn’t require that I label myself as anything. Of course I had asked the question about myself many times in the years before I quit, but I used my crafty brain to argue myself out of it plenty of times or at least just avoid the question altogether. Anyway, my answer was something like “do you want to be an alcoholic?” I do think that for some people, labeling this thing can be useful. Tracing intergenerational trauma, doing the steps, etc. can all be parts of one’s recovery. But I didn’t take that path, and I didn’t like the idea of labeling myself. Part of it was that I was trying to remove my own labels of being an “IPA guy” or “bourbon guy.” Now that I think about it, a lot of my stress at work had to do with labels, too (note to self for future therapy sessions). For me, not carrying that label has also meant not feeling like this lack of drinking is something I have to live with–a negative rather than the positive of “I’m a healthy human being.”
I also think that we like to label things. It’s easy to use pronouns, skin colors, political affiliations, DSM names, etc. as shortcuts for compartmentalizing assumptions we have about people, for better or worse (I think usually worse). I remember someone saying “your sister’s an alcoholic” in a disdainful way and how that word just brought so many thoughts crashing into me, few of them sympathetic. My compassion for and understanding of people living with addiction wasn’t… mature(?) at that point, and it took my own recovery journey and subsequent training in alcohol and opioid addiction coaching to get there. (Even “addiction” in context can be harmful, but at some point I end up using it as shorthand.)
So back to the point: I don’t have to struggle with this. It’s OK; I don’t have to feel guilty about it. I struggle with enough. I suffer plenty. I’ve just crossed one thing off the list. And in the process I’ve learned how to help others, I hope.
I love you,
David
