Begin in the beginning…

This is the post excerpt.


Ok, so this is clearly under construction, but you’ve got to start somewhere. I feel like I’ve just pushed the sawdust over into the corner and cleared a space between boxes that will need to be unpacked someday just so I can clear my throat and say something. This blog is about recovery, and in my mind the word recovery is always lit up like a theater marquee with those small white lights that circle and flash around the title. Recovery has become a big thing for me since I first entered the realm of 12-step meetings just about exactly 4 years ago today. The word recovery is very powerful, because with that one word, you get a sense of three very different places. Like the word “Healing” it feels like both a noun and a verb to me. It makes it clear that there was a previous state of being, and then something happened. You were wounded or injured or shamed and so you were no longer who you had been. There was a wound or a challenge or an addiction, and you began to hope that there may be a future state where that wound may be healed and the addiction may be managed, but at this specific time, we’re strung out between that painful past and a future where we hope to be free from that pain. Recovery is an action, a choice. If you cut yourself, your body will very likely bring forces to bear automatically to heal that cut, and it will happen without any intention to heal on your part: it just happens. Sadly, recovery isn’t that simple. The people who struggle with addictions or challenging people in their lives are like people with compromised immune systems. We don’t heal automatically. We get cut, and then months or even years and decades later, we notice that we’re still bleeding from the open wound. It didn’t heal. It still hurts. Finding a way to consciously and deliberately heal is hard, you can’t just call out your white cells and motivate them to come to your rescue: it doesn’t work that way. You begin to take steps… stairway-to-heaven-screensaver

It’s hard. It feels all uphill. It feels stupid, to be working so hard at something other people seem to do effortlessly. Also, just the act of beginning to heal your wounds is exhausting and you’re almost certain to already be flat on your back just from living with the wound. It’s not fair. But eventually, something will shift, because;

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Elizabeth Appell.
Recovery is a road, not a finish line. About four years ago, today, I took the first step down that road. I’m still walking. This is the place where I and others can and will publish tales from that road. Welcome.

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