I’m grateful to no longer regret my past.

When I was little, I never once wished that my grown-up life would be defined by depression and addiction. Nevertheless, I can sit here today and say that although my life has indeed been afflicted by both of those things, I do not regret my past. Mostly, I have chosen to adopt this way of thinking, because if I allowed myself to wade through the waves of regret, the water would mercilessly crash over me until I became submerged in the depths of useless thinking. While I recognize the futility of regretful thoughts, I also recognize that not regretting is very different than not acknowledging. For me, despite my resistance to it, acknowledging the hurt around who I once was became the key that opened the door to healing. Initially, it didn’t feel like healing. In fact, at first, it felt like quite the opposite. In the beginning, the disgust and shame I felt when I looked closely at myself was like rubbing salt into an open wound. The pain made me want to squeeze my eyes shut until the discomfort just faded away. There were many days where I couldn’t look at all. On those days, I chose to cover my face, incapable (or unwilling) to look at what I had done and who I had become. I wanted to run from the truth that was knocking on my door. The truth that offered up two choices: acknowledge and change or stay exactly where you are - in the familiar confines of your self-constructed, hopeless prison. And so, eventually, I would muster up the courage to pick up my magnifying glass once again and look a little closer at why I had made the decisions I had and how I could use that wreckage of my past to forge a new beginning. This persistence played a crucial role in my ability to adopt new ways of thinking and new ways of being. The process was incredibly uncomfortable, but I was taught by many who preceded me on the broad highway of recovery that this type of reflection, no matter how harsh and unpleasant, would eventually lead to liberation from the stifling and paralyzing feelings of guilt, shame, and regret that, at one time, reigned over most of my life. And so, I persisted. I would like to be able to claim that I boldly faced the person I once was and energetically set forth on a path toward a brighter tomorrow. For me, that was not the case. Although each step I took toward healing was supported with the idea of courageous action, in reality those paces were fraught with fear and insecurity. I was constantly wondering when it was all going to fall apart and what I was going to do when the obsession came again. I was terrified of how the world was going to respond to this new version of myself and I was even more terrified of how I was going to soberly respond to it. Nonetheless, as unsure as each step felt, I continued on in my uncertainty until bit by bit the voice of recovery within me started to grow louder than the voice of addiction. I began to notice that the addict voice in my head was constantly whispering lies to me telling me that it needed attention or the obsession was going to come roaring back with a ferocity that would surely bring destruction to everything I was working for. At first, hearing those whispers was terrifying. I was convinced they would be my constant companions for the rest of my life. But soon, the ideas and concepts I was learning from others traveling alongside me began to replace those destructive whispers in my head and some new ways of thinking started to take hold within me. I began to trust the idea that I was responsible for the effort, and I could leave the outcome in the hands of God. I began to trust that if I went to bed sober then I would certainly wake up sober; I just needed to do it for one day. I began to believe that if stayed on the path I was on for long enough, maybe, just maybe, I would never have to battle the merciless obsession again. I began to hope that even if my addict voice never went away entirely, perhaps I could, at the very least, control the volume and begin to be a part of the world instead of apart from it. And that’s what I did. The more I practiced ignoring the voice of my addiction, the more power I gave to the voice of my recovery. Where in the beginning I was uncertain and fearful with every step I took, soon each footfall was cradled in safe and undeniable certainty that no matter what life put before me, drugs and alcohol were no longer part of my solution. I became certain that if I took each of my thoughts to God and asked Him to reveal the next right decision then I would surely walk myself into a life filled with harmony and stability. And that was my experience as it has been for so many before me. Step by step I walked myself out of a life of doubt and fear and into a life of trust, peace, and hope. I suppose walking the dusty road of uncertainty is something everyone must do at one point in their lives. For me, the interesting thing I recognize as I look back on my own experience of stumbling along that dusty path, is that the stumbling was the very thing that ended up giving me what I needed to eventually grab hold of balance and equanimity. The strength that is one of my most defining characteristics today could not have reached its full potential were it not for the fear that trailed me for so long. The love that finally blossomed in my heart and in my relationships would not be treasured if not for the insecurity that once kept me rooted in isolation and loneliness. The freedom I have been blessed to know would not have been recognized were it not for the limiting restraints I once clung to. It seems, contrary to my initial contempt at the road I knew lay before me, that the work in getting and staying sober has been the very thing that enabled me to emerge as the person I am today- a person I respect, value, and (dare I say) like. So, it seems, I have come full circle. I am a woman who has recovered from a hopeless state of mind and body. I no longer regret my past, nor do I wish to shut the door on it because upon looking through my rearview mirror, I realize that overcoming my trials as the girl I once was, has given me everything I need to be the woman I am today.

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I am grateful for the ordinary, reliable rhythm of my life.