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Connection Requires Community

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“The virtuous soul that is alone is like a lone burning coal; it will grow colder rather than hotter”.   —St. John of the Cross 

We all know that technology is a double-edged sword. It creates wonderful opportunities to contact individuals around the world while adding a myriad of distractions that make that communication difficult. While sitting in a restaurant eating and talking with family, the golf team from the University of Illinois came in, sat down and ordered their dinner. While waiting for dinner, all twelve golfers silently were absorbed on their devices checking their social media or playing games. There was absolutely no conversation going on between them. Community requires connection. Undivided attention in conversation is rare these days for many of us. 

People need connection. It doesn’t come without purposeful intervention during conversation. It allows us to find meaningfulness in the common places of daily living. Without it the likelihood of discovering our personal brilliance dims. The lack of connection creates suffering in the community as it becomes more cold and calculated. 

In order for community to foster personal brilliance there must be curiosity which includes a desire to understand and learn about others’ thoughts, attitudes, and feelings in the context of relationship. Without it, we become like a pinball between bumpers, reacting to what is around us and missing the journey inward that leads to brilliance. 

Several years ago, a woman lost a son in a single vehicle accident on his way to work. Her son had inspired many to live and dream big, face fears, and appreciate nature. He loved the outdoors and planned to one day live in his favorite state, Colorado, and become a teacher. 

Some years after his death, the mom was visiting her oldest son who lived in Colorado Springs. She brought a picture of her deceased son with her on the trip. While there, she visited the Garden of the Gods with the beautiful towering sandstone formations. During her hike through the garden, she met a young man who was climbing, and she told him the story of her beloved deceased son. She asked if the climber would be willing to take her son’s picture and wedge it under the highest rock that he scaled. 

The young man respectfully suggested he take the picture with him and snap a photo of her son with him and his friends as they scaled each peak in Colorado. Each time after taking a photo, they would send it to her. Humbled by the gesture, this mother instantly felt connected to this young man she just met. Moments earlier, he was an isolated stranger. Now he was someone who helped her deeply connect to her lost loved one. 

In an ordinary moment of grief and through the brilliance of two strangers, a beautiful moment of healing was created. This is how it is with community. We discover and cultivate connection, which brings us deeper into our heart, where the brilliance of healing lies. 

Connection helps us to understand the meaning of living. Mother Teresa once spoke “being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat.” Feeling forgotten and invisible is devastating. When you drive to work, worship, or play, do you notice the street people in your community? Not knowing what to do with misfortune, many look away from the homeless, choosing to deal with discomfort by distancing themselves from it. What about the person at the grocery store who shuffles by with a blank stare on his face? Do you think of him as invisible? 

Folks warehoused in nursing homes across our country feel disenfranchised and forgotten. At this level of living, it really doesn’t matter what possessions you once owned, who you have known, or really anything else. Being unloved, uncared for, and forgotten is the greatest poverty among the living. A fragmented, disenfranchised world distorts and undermines our potential for cultivating our brilliance in everyday places of living. Isolation deadens connection like a cell phone when it’s out of range. Community and commonality are important ingredients when fostering individual brilliance. 

I have led approximately 300+ intense weekend workshops with men who are in recovery from sex addiction. Each session numbers about fifteen men who have seriously committed to stop acting out. Most have been successful in doing so. Still, these men seek to emotionally grow themselves so that they experience more than sobriety. Their hope is to repair broken relationships and cultivate healthy relational intimacy with themselves and their committed partner. 

These weekends have become a cocoon, a safe space to expose ugly intent, immature response, and emotional adolescence. Providing a container to express overwhelming sadness (usually via anger) with total acceptance is usually transformative and life changing for these men. Creating a space for someone to be livid and angry at another person who is present in respectful ways has been immensely helpful, even when they wanted to physically fight each other. 

During one workshop, one guy told a story about something that happened at work. Another guy accused him of not acting like a man. Both men stared and postured, suggesting they were ready to clobber each other. Once the machoism and bluster settled, each realized that they would likely need to leave if they came to blows. Or they could kiss and make up. Thank God they chose the latter. Before the weekend was over, both learned to accept each other’s differences, actually becoming closer because of the way they handled the altercation. 

We create community to connect. It involves the courageous choice to be real and vulnerable. Within the context of groups, I have experienced men sharing their deepest pain with blood curdling cries of remorse, loss, and loneliness. Group therapy that becomes community is based on the mutuality of common shared brokenness. When people compete and compare themselves to others who have shared, the mutuality evaporates and group effectiveness no longer exists. 

A safe and trusting community breeds safe emotional and physical touch. Here, vulnerability and trust is serendipitously expressed through our grief, joy, and challenge. When there is relational safety in community, anything and everything can be explored, sifted and sorted through. Pain becomes the fellowship’s touchstone and signpost indicating imbalance in life. Community provides a sound studio to listen to pain’s message. Common shared brokenness is its draw, not common likeness or interest. Becoming emotionally naked by sharing our deepest feelings and secrets is commonplace and expected. It’s a space where we can fit and be accepted as we are. It is a sanctuary where we learn how we can wear our own skin well. It’s a space to accept our own acceptance while staring at imperfection. It is a place to grow ourselves into adult maturity and discover inner brilliance.

How I Caught Alcoholism

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It takes a lot for some people to realize that addiction and alcoholism are the same thing: A sleazy date finally taught me what even a wise counselor could not.

When I got to rehab in the spring of 2000, I was sure of exactly two things: that my life needed to change, and that I was in no way an alcoholic so I didn’t need to quit drinking.

Mental IllnessBut I knew how crafty and manipulative those rehab and AA types were. I knew that they were out to convince me that I was an alcoholic even though, at that point, I didn’t even like drinking.

A sober friend had taken me to a few AA meetings a year or so earlier, where her friend calmly explained that my distinction—that I was an addict and not an alcoholic—made not one bit of difference to her.

“They’re the same,” the girl said, while sighing in what I perceived to be a sanctimonious way. And boy did I argue her down—trotting out every example, defense point and anecdote I could. With more notice, I’d probably have prepared flow charts.

I was fairly certain I’d won that argument, too. I got the official word on that a few days later: The friend who’d been taking me to meetings stalled when I asked if I could go with her again—explaining that I made this girl uncomfortable. “She said you remind her too much of what she was like when she was still ‘in her disease,’” she explained. “You can’t come to meetings with us anymore.” Shortly thereafter, that friend drifted away from me.

You’d better believe that I used this as ammunition against AA and meetings and sobriety for a good while.

When things got undeniably worse, I made a deal with myself: I’d go to rehab, but wouldn’t subject myself to any of that AA stuff. AA was where they told perfectly nice drug addicts that they were also alcoholic. AA was where my incredibly logical arguments—how I didn’t drink that much and about how drinking didn’t ever motivate me to do drugs—were ignored.

I immediately recognized the enthusiasm of a sleazy guy who’s just received information that leads him to believe he will be getting laid that evening.

So when my counselor at rehab asked me if I was an alcoholic, I was prepared: “Nope. I’m a straight-up drug addict. Cocaine. And pills, too—but those aren’t for fun, they’re just to sleep or calm down or whatever.” I uncrossed my arms, sure that he would be swayed by my honesty.

“Uh huh,” he said, nodding. Now, I really liked this man. This was a man who, though I was as terrified and overwrought as ever, made me feel safe and comfortable. He was so kind and gentle, and he was the first person I’d ever heard talking about recovery in a way that didn’t make it sound awful. So when he posed his next question, I was only willing to take it into consideration because I liked him so much: “Given that you’re not an alcoholic, why don’t you take some time off of drinking?”

“Sure,” I replied. I didn’t tell him that I’d quit drinking once before and had made it 10 days—10 stressful, horrific days where I’d talked incessantly to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn’t about how I was “x” number of days off drinking. Ten days during which I’d taken plenty of painkillers and hypnotics. But things were different now. I was in rehab. I could make it longer than 10 days—and without the pills.

“Great,” he said. “How about you take off…I don’t know—a year?”

I looked at him evenly, trying to figure out if he was kidding. Who in God’s name took a year off of drinking? This thought, if I’d had the ability to absorb one, might have given me a clue about my situation. But I said nothing.

Then he asked: “Are you willing to believe that addiction and alcoholism might be the same thing?”

I thought about that. And because I liked him so much—just for him—I nodded, slowly: “I’m willing to believe that they might be the same thing.”

So the next six months progressed, with me fully admitting that I’d been a drug addict who took so much Ambien at night that I sometimes found myself driving around the next day not knowing where I was going or really who I was. An addict who stayed up for days at a time doing fat lines of cocaine by myself. I shared these stories with the people I met in rehab and then, when the rehab started taking us to AA meetings, with the people there.

I never went to NA or CA for the simple reason that I was so out of it and confused that I just went where I was taken—and the rehab took us to an AA meeting, where I met people who told me to go to another. About half the stories I heard in AA were about drinking and the other half about drugs; nobody seemed too concerned when people like me identified as addicts, not alcoholics, or talked about drugs, not alcohol. I was fine with this mash-up of addicts and alcoholics as well, since the whole time I was telling myself that I was willing to believe that addiction and alcoholism might be the same thing. In many ways, I thought I’d even convinced myself.

Then a friend from rehab relapsed, on cocaine. I grilled him for the details: Had he had a horrible time? Was it true that a head full of recovery and a body full of drugs was a terrible combination? Did he hate himself and want to die?

Nope, he told me with a smile. The night had been amazing.

Soon after that, I ran into a guy I’d dated years earlier, a guy who’d been sober for a long time. I told him I was now sober, too. He shrugged and said he wasn’t anymore: “That whole thing was bullshit.”

Somehow, these two conversations fused in my mind, and the thought occurred to me a day or two later that alcoholism and addiction were very much not the same thing—that even though I was going to AA meetings, and liking and relating to what I heard, all those people must be crazy. Because how could addiction and alcoholism be the same thing when they were two entirely different words?

I chose not to call my sponsor with this thought. I instead chose to call the guy I had a date with that night. When I got to his house, where we were planning to have a drink before going to dinner, I introduced the topic: “Remember how I told you I don’t drink because I have a drinking problem? Turns out I don’t have a problem, so I actually do drink now. Do you have any wine?”

This guy nodded like he couldn’t believe his luck, and I immediately recognized the enthusiasm of a sleazy guy who’s just received information that leads him to believe he will be getting laid that evening. But what did I care? He was just going to be my evening’s drinking buddy and he could think whatever he felt like.

He poured me a glass of wine and I took first a sip—and then a gulp. I remember feeling mystified that this innocent little beverage, this thing that tasted and felt so benign, had caused such endless discussion. My partner in crime seemed to feel similarly. “I can’t believe you thought you had a drinking problem,” he said. “You’re not drinking alcoholically at all.” We did a “Cheers” to that happy thought.

One glass led to us finishing a bottle, so he opened another, and at some point, like in some Fitzgerald novel, the dinner plans were forgotten and I was lying down, a little woozy, and he was sitting next to me, saying that he didn’t feel bad about giving me alcohol but he did feel bad about the drugs.

“The drugs?” I asked, popping up. He held out a handful of ecstasy pills. “I can’t do that—drugs were my problem” was a sentence I attempted to get out of my mouth. But I think I only said “I can’t” before popping the first pill in my mouth. Once I’d done it, it seemed silly to not go all out, so I took another. And when I couldn’t even feel that one, he suggested a third. By the end of the evening, I’d had two bottles of wine and four-and-a-half hits of X, and it turned out that being high and drunk and aware of a different way to live felt awful—like the volume on a horror movie turned up. Perhaps that’s what made it easier for me to escape the sleazy guy without giving him so much as a kiss.

Horrified and chagrined, I went back to a meeting the next day, where I explained what had happened and declared myself a newcomer. I announced that I finally understood what everyone had been saying about how alcohol was a clear gateway to drugs, which I’d never known before because I’d always done drugs all the time, without needing alcohol to ease the transition or give me the idea.

It was a good year or so later before I saw the situation a little more clearly—when I saw, specifically, that I’d always drunk alcoholically. From my very first drink, I’d been doing things I didn’t intend to do and drinking to get drunk. I’d just been surrounded by so many people who were doing the same, and my vision of my life had been so small, that it hadn’t registered. This became even more obvious when I started going to parties again, and discovered that not everyone who arrived ran straight up to the bar to start doing shots before looking around for the best bathroom to do coke. That was just what people like me had done.

A year or so after that, I saw what a good thing it had been that my experiment in alcoholism versus addiction had only lasted one night. I’m even more grateful for that today. I still know both the guy from my rehab who relapsed and the guy I’d dated who had been sober but decided that the “whole thing” was “bullshit”: They both still go to meetings where, for the past 15 years or so, one or the other is always a newcomer again.

I’m not any different to them, really. We’re all three addicts—or, if you will, alcoholics. The main difference, as I see it, is that the night I decided to experiment, I happened to have access to enough supplies to overdo it in a massive way—and I happened to do it with such a sleazy guy that I simply couldn’t avoid admitting that there was a serious problem with my behavior.

If only sleazy guys could always be put to such good use.

Does Drug or Alcohol Rehab Work?

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There are plenty of successful recovery stories that testify that drug and centers can work well for many addicts. However, this success really hinges on matching the right kind of treatment with the specifics of the addiction and the addict’s personality. Not every treatment for addiction is the same, just as not every addict is the same. In fact, there’s no official way to measure the success of a rehab program. It all depends on how the addict defines success. If the goal is just to reduce consumption, then this might be easier to achieve than addressing some of the underlying issues that might prevent someone from entering recovery completely.

Some people who abuse drugs or alcohol do manage to quit on their own. However, one might argue that if an addict can decide on his or her own to change their behavior, then maybe their dependence wasn’t to the level of addiction. This is where rehabilitation centers come in. Some addicts have such bad withdrawal symptoms vomiting, physical shakes that resemble seizures—that they need around-the clock medical care. This type of care is known as in-patient or residential care, depending on how long the addict stays in the facility. In-patient services are usually shorter, about a month, while residential programs tend to be longer. An alternative treatment plan would be an outpatient program that relies on counseling and mentoring.

Rehab Programs

RehabMany in-patient and residential programs are very costly. However, this might make an addict take them more seriously. If you know that you are committing a large sum of money to your health, you tend to value the process more. Also, you can weigh the cost of rehabilitation against the cost of fines and lawyer fees resulting from addictive behaviours. You might get into jail when caught in the possession of illegal narcotics.

And then, of course, there’s the old adage “you get what you pay for.” Rehab programs are often staffed by knowledgeable medical staff with graduate degrees in their fields. The national boards often evaluated the centers. However, a treatment plan is only as good as the commitment a patient makes to it. If an addict does not truly want to recover, then it won’t happen. Mere completion of program doesn’t indicate success, as patients can revert back to their old habits after finishing the treatment. So much of recovery from addiction has to happen through changes in the outlook of the person suffering from addiction.

Bear in mind that a relapse isn’t an indication that treatment hasn’t been successful. Neither is it a judgment about the personal failing of the addict. In fact, it’s merely just a pretty normal step in the process of recovery. Addicts often relapse few times before they realize the severity of addiction and the need to avoid from mood-altering substances. In many ways, the most important “work” rehabs  accomplish is to introduce addicts to the basic tenets of 12-step programs, healthy routines and habits, and what it takes to achieve long-term sobriety.

 

Recovery Contest Winner #8: The Way Therapy Opened Me Up

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In honor of Recovery Month, we asked you to send us your stories about the impact community, nutrition or environment has had on your life since you put down substances and picked up life. Winners are not only receiving copies of our book, The Miracle Morning for Addiction Recovery, but are also being published here on the site.

This week we have Karen G.

Community definitely played and continues to play the most important part of getting to celebrate six years staying on the alcohol recovery road.

It started with my medical community—particularly the physician’s assistant who stayed with me for hours as I totally broke down and admitted I needed help. She got me through the worst—making many calls, scheduling office visits, checking on me and acting as my therapist those first few weeks.

Swallowing my pride and ego, I went to a therapist to finally address my inner pain. It took four different therapists until I found the right one for me. She listened to me, gave me encouragement and kindness when needed, and tough love and honesty when I needed that too.

Over one-and-a-half years, she guided me, going backwards through my life until I thoroughly got through each painful incident. Surprised, I realized hidden in my subconscious was the day I was born, teased by my family because I made dad miss his favorite TV show, Gunsmoke. I unknowingly added my own words to the teasing of not being lovable, but an inconvenience.

She helped me face the pain within not only from others, but from myself and my own self-defeatist words I told my inner victim mind. Getting through that was one of the hardest, most painful things I’ve ever done. I’m so grateful I faced it, or I’d still be in that pain. It was cleansing—crying deeply in therapy and at home. I learned then that we need to release ALL the pain, or it still owns you.

I now have those memories but without the pain attached.

I’ve learned, when I start to feel like a victim, to stop and tell myself that those words don’t have a place in my life any longer and can’t stay. I let myself feel the pain, anger and sadness but then it doesn’t get to move in and take up residence any longer.

I’ve been going to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me in the top 10% of extreme generalized anxiety clients; I’ve also been diagnosed with ADHD and prescribed a low dose of medication, which has helped me immensely.

Recovery has included a six-week beginning yoga workshop a few months after I stopped drinking, which led me to a different community of individuals I saw as “interesting” before. That started my journey experiencing different styles of yoga and meditation classes, going to two different healers, learning breath techniques and opening a whole new area of inner growth and tools to help me.

Finally, attending motivational self-help events and sharing with others during group exercises helped me realize I wasn’t alone in my painful experiences. I have become great friends with many who are my community now. Podcasts, Facebook Lives, other social media events and trainings also help to keep me on my new road of sobriety.

It’s not always easy not drinking, but I get to enjoy truly living again and creating new meaningful memories with my daughter, husband and so many others I’m so grateful for.

I Thought Sobriety Was Enough. I Was Wrong.

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As a seasoned drinker and a drug user, it was always “something and something.” Tequila AND cocaine. Vodka AND Vicodin. Beer AND weed. Losing my keys AND my wallet. Making out with you AND yelling at you. Even when I got sober I knew I was an alcoholic AND an addict. But for a long, long time—even sober—there felt like there was another AND but I didn’t know what it was. What I did know is that I still felt rattled, haunted and disturbed even though I had stopped using and drinking.

Programs of recovery were pretty specific—they could help me stop drinking and using drugs but for deeper, non-addiction related stuff, I should probably see somebody and I should do it sooner as opposed to later. That somebody, for me, was a therapist. But out of stubbornness, self-sufficiency or good old fashioned laziness, I put off seeing a therapist for a long, long time. “I’ll think about it tomorrow,” as my entitlement role model Scarlett O’Hara once said, became my motto. But for me tomorrow didn’t come until I had nearly nine years of sobriety.

A few weeks ago, my therapist told me, “People should go into couples therapy before there’s a problem. Same with regular therapy.” Six months into working together, now he tells me. But what brought me into his office was an urgency that I really needed it. Two decades of steady drug use and drinking were able to numb out the feelings and events of growing up in an alcoholic home.

They also did the trick in erasing several violent and explosive moments from my past. But when that coping mechanism was gone, I was left feeling shattered and I didn’t know why. Turns out, what I was experiencing was the lingering effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. While it took several years to kick back in, once it did, PTSD wreaked havoc on my emotions. Depressed, in emotional pain and feeling hopeless, I Googled my ass off until I found a therapist. I will admit, his initial appeal was that his office was located juts a few blocks from my house. This probably isn’t the ideal strategy in picking a therapist. I mean there’s a Thai place really close my house and I would never eat there because it isn’t very good, despite being convenient. Nevertheless after talking to him on the phone, I decided to go for it. A therapist friend of mine advised me to give a few therapists a shot and not feel obligated to anyone unless we clicked. Lucky for me after just one session, we did.

During my first visit, we talked about my stressful new job working with other addicts as a peer support specialist. We talked my marriage. We talked about my recovery from drugs and alcohol. But mainly we talked about the AND. We hopped right in and talked about trauma approximately 30 minutes into our hour together. Upon his prompts, I unpacked a lot of baggage in a short amount of time. Tears streamed down my face. There was no question that I needed to be there and towards the end of our session there was also no question that he could help me. Which was fantastic because all of this was too much for me to handle on my own.  More of a guide to a place of clarity and less of a life coach and drill sergeant, my therapist, which I could officially call him after one visit, like we were going steady or something, kept it simple. He asked what happened. He asked about my family. He asked about my husband. He asked about my job but he did all of it in a way that felt conversational. I’ve never once felt attacked or judged. But uncomfortable? UH yeah lots of that.

My therapist has a way, as I’m sure a lot of them do, of cutting right through all the gnarly things I don’t want to say out loud and then he makes me do precisely that. I’ve even said out loud, “I hate this conversation” and “All of this is making me really uncomfortable.” Which he is receptive to but then he does something awful: he asks me why I’m uncomfortable and sometimes even makes me sit in it. How dare he? Doesn’t he know I don’t sit in emotions or talk about them? I cover them up with booze and drugs until they vanish. The problem is he does know all of this and so he pushes me to tell the truth. The bastard. But the more he does, the more something even more incredible than that happens: he forces me to look at how strong I am, how much I’ve grown, how creative I am, how resilient I am. He honors that and he makes me honor that too.

It’s remarkable how well all of this works with being in recovery too. Not sober himself but with years of working with addicts himself, he’s always open to learn more and we joke that I’m making him “woke” to all things sobriety. He’ll ask about things he doesn’t know which is amazing and we become two people exchanging, not guy with fancy degree and crazy person. He’s heard enough about my program of recovery that he now asks how it’s going. He also encourages me to do the work I need to stay sober and will gently push me in that direction if I get stalled out, as I have before. In turn, I’ve told him about meetings, the 12 steps, having a sponsor and even referred sober friends to him. Mainly, there are two layers of relief I get having both a therapist and a program of recovery. They work beautifully in tandem with one another. For support that’s more specific to day to day living and my PTSD, my therapist is my guy and for all my sobriety needs, my recovery support system does the rest.

A few months into working with my therapist, I noted how much better I felt being in therapy. The things that haunted me and freaked me out were less terrifying. I was grateful to finally have both.

Surprised, he asked, “Wait. Do most of you sober people do this without a therapist too?!”

I replied, “A lot of us do, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it. That sounds really hard,” he said.

Now nearly a year later, I can’t believe I did it for so long either because it was.

How I Kicked the Smokes Out of My Sobriety

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Nine months into recovery, I ditched my two packs a day via a dinner intervention, Nicotine Anonymous and a short-lived crush. The revelations that followed were every bit as blinding as when I got sober.

AddictIn early recovery, cigarettes felt as essential to me as breathing. They gave me something to do on my way to meetings, something to do on my way home from meetings and something to do during the smoke breaks during meetings. They gave me a way to bond with all the new people I encountered who scared me in ways I didn’t know how to talk about. They gave me something to do with my hands and mouth. They gave me a way to feel like I still had an edge. It’s no stretch to say that many addicts smoke.

Studies about this topic sometimes report rates as high as 90%. Less known, it seems, are the studies that show that addicts who quit smoking when they first clean up have better chances of staying sober. I’ve only come upon these recently. If someone had mentioned them to me when I was a newcomer, I would have recoiled in horror.

In retrospect, it’s clear why cigarettes seemed the ideal early sobriety tool for me: They made me feel like I was doing something that was bringing me closer to people—while actually bringing me further away, because we were only bonding over a shared desire to take ourselves out of the moment. Because I didn’t know who I was yet, having 20 little buddies in my Camel Lights pack made me feel less alone.

“My cravings were so bad that I took to shoving every bit of sugar I could find in my mouth and chewing on pencils and sucking on hard candies and anything else I could think of.”

Then, when I was nine months sober, I met an older woman who’d been sober, it seemed, forever. She and I were at dinner with a few other sober friends after a meeting. As was routine for me, I went outside several times during the meal to smoke. And one of the times I returned, this woman started—in the most direct and yet gentle way imaginable—to confront me about it.

People had of course raised the topic with me before, but there was something different about her approach. She said things that made a lot of sense—that every time I inhaled on a cigarette, I was telling myself that I hated myself, and that getting sober but still smoking was like switching seats on the Titanic.

“Honey,” she told me, leaning forward on the table, “You’re putting a smoke screen between you and your Higher Power.” It was just the kind of sentiment I would have mocked pre-sobriety, but which made a lot of sense to the person I was becoming. At the end of dinner, she offered to meet me at a Nicotine Anonymous meeting the following evening. “Maybe,” I said, surprising myself.

She added that a sober guy I’d told her I had a crush on would probably be there.

“Okay,” I heard myself respond. “I’ll go.”

I really didn’t intend to quit. I smoked on the way home from dinner, and the next morning and the next day at work. But sometime around 3 pm that day, it occurred to me that it was possible I could really do this—quit. I decided to try not to smoke before the meeting and I made it those few hours.

I don’t remember much about that first Nicotine Anonymous meeting, aside from learning the word “smober”—something that people who don’t want to get mocked should probably never utter. (As a friend of mine says, “I already know I’m not cool; I don’t have to start saying the word smober to prove it.”)

The most significant aspect of that meeting for me—because I still didn’t really believe I was going to quit—was that my crush was there. He and I went for coffee afterwards, where he told me that he’d had sex with his cousin. I got sort of instantly over my crush.

But I didn’t smoke that night. And once I’d made it through, I felt like I could try to make it through the next day and the day after. Amazingly, I haven’t smoked since. That was on July 19, 2000.

This isn’t to say that it was easy. Quitting cigarettes was, for the first month, arguably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My cravings were so bad that I took to shoving every bit of sugar I could find in my mouth and chewing on pencils and sucking on hard candies and anything else I could think of until it had passed. I would clutch the sides of chairs and tables and think about the things I heard in Nicotine Anonymous meetings—like that the craving would pass in five minutes, whether I smoked or not. I have no idea if that was true but it certainly helped at the time.

My withdrawal was debilitating. I remember walking into a Coffee Bean one of those mornings, attempting to buy a breakfast item of some sort and coming out clutching an egg salad sandwich, feeling like I’d lost control of my mind, my desires and my ability to form words.

I remember not getting picked to share during a Nicotine Anonymous meeting and feeling quite justified in going up to the speaker who hadn’t called on me afterwards and telling her how angry I was about this. The progress I’d made in the nine months since getting sober came to an abrupt halt; I acted out far more and paused far less.

But after a few more months, I realized something shocking: It just wasn’t that bad. I felt so much better being able to breath, my clothes didn’t stink and life just got easier. And there was something incredibly liberating about stepping into reality.

For me to know what cigarettes could do to me and still continue to smoke meant believing, on a certain level, that the rules didn’t apply to me—a delusion I’d operated under much of my life. Stripping that layer of denial away—admitting that smokes would kill me just as they would kill others—gave me a new taste of humility. I rediscovered—even more than I had when getting sober—that I wasn’t special, that I was just like everyone else.

By the time I’d reached the six-month mark, instead of craving cigarettes, I actually felt repulsed by smoking and amazed that I’d done it for as long as I had—13 years in all. My desire to do this thing that I’d needed to do constantly—up to two packs a day at times—was gone. I wasn’t resisting the temptation anymore; there was no temptation to resist.

Most of the sober people I know have eventually come to feel similarly. My friend Damien, who has over a decade of sobriety and quit smoking at eight-and-a-half years, even enjoyed the withdrawal. “It was like getting high,” he says. “The furious rush of my body screaming for nicotine was great. And it made me feel invincible—like, ‘Fuck. If I can do this, I can do anything.’ It just made everything rawer—anger, lust, sugar cravings, the smell of food and my clothing, hugging people. Also I had epic Technicolor dreams.”

While I don’t remember having any brightly colored dreams, I did get similar feelings of invincibility when I quit. But my most important realization probably came when I was sharing in a meeting about how I didn’t think I’d be able to do certain things that scared me—such as driving to interview someone who intimidated me, or talking to certain family members on the phone—without smoking. It was only after I shared that I realized that I was the one who’d decided that these things were so terrifying, and that if I’d been the one to give them the power to scare me, I could also take it away. Sucking down a cigarette didn’t prevent fear; I’d just been pretending that it did.

Still, in early sobriety, when I could barely do my laundry, let alone talk to near-strangers for hours without having something to medicate my extreme lack of self and inability to be in the moment, I don’t think I could have handled that. My friend Danny, who got sober in New York four years ago, feels similarly. Though he says he was never really addicted to cigarettes, he nevertheless smoked “a lot” during his first 90 days. “I think it actually helped me get sober,” he admits. “I made some close friends outside meetings that way.”

Other people I know are still, in long-term sobriety—and living in LA, where these days smokers are regarded with the sort of skepticism normally reserved for serial killers—fighting the nicotine battle. As my friend Mark says, “I’m truly powerless over nicotine. I’m a slave. And I’d rather kick dope 10 times over than cold turkey nicotine once.”

But peer pressure can work when it comes to positive as well as negative life choices: I’ve seen one person in a certain sober clique get sober, then watched the rest of the group follow, one by one. Sooner or later it seems, whether it’s in their first or 14th year, nearly all the sober people I’ve known seem to quit. It seems that once people get real-life supportive buddies, they have much less need of the 20 that come in a pack.

What are the Side Effects of Alcohol Withdrawal?

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The Side Effects When You Stop Drinking

Alcohol withdrawal is, at best, uncomfortable and, at worst, life-threatening. While symptoms vary from person to person, it really depends on a number of factors, including how much you’ve been drinking and for how long you’ve been drinking that amount of alcohol. Withdrawal symptoms typically begin a couple of worse after your last drink and can persist up to a couple of weeks, depending on the severity of the drinking problem.

Man suffering from sick stomach and vomitingSymptoms run the gamut from mild anxiety and general shakiness to a horrifying condition called delirium tremens (also known as “the DTs”). DTs, which cause everything from confusion to hallucinations, actually kill 1-5% of the alcoholics who suffer through them. And while the DTs clearly don’t affect everyone, it’s important to understand that alcohol withdrawal symptoms oftentimes get worse before they get better. Things can seem stable and then, out of the blue, they suddenly take a turn for the worse. For that reason, many experts suggest getting immediate medical attention, even if the symptoms are fairly mild at the outset. What starts off as mild anxiety might rapidly degenerate into convulsions. If you’ve experienced alcohol withdrawal before, it’s doubly important to seek medical attention. Other complications can occur if you have a history of heart disease, lung disease or seizures, too.

Alcohol Withdrawal Symptoms

Most minor alcohol withdrawal symptoms occur within 12 hours after you stop drinking when blood alcohol level starts to decrease. During this time, expect to experience shaky hands, mild anxiety, a racing heartbeat, vomiting, a persistent headache, and insomnia. Between 12-24 hours after the last drink, some people experience visual/auditory hallucinations, though they typically end within 48-hour period. Despite how unnerving alcoholic hallucinosis can be, it’s fairly common—especially for people who have drank persistently for long periods of time. Unlike the DTs, people with alcoholic hallucinosis are conscious of the fact that the hallucinations aren’t real.

DTs, on the other hand, begin 48 – 72 hours after the last drink and involve serious life-threatening side effects imaginable. Withdrawal seizures are primary risk in DTs and patients who’ve gone through detox in the past are especially susceptible to. Other DT risk factors include acute illness, abnormal liver function, and older age. What’s worse is that DTs take their time, with symptoms peaking over the course of five days. During this time, DT sufferers will experience severe anxiety, confusion, sweating, high blood pressure, visual hallucinations, fevers, and uncontrollable shaking. The one way to survive DTs is the constant medical supervision, with professionals can guide you safely to long-term sobriety.

Bio

After nearly two decades of drinking and destroying just about every relationship in my life, I decided to get help. I didn’t know what to expect (and in some ways, I still don’t), but getting sober has been the most rewarding, fulfilling decision I’ve ever made. In the years since I entered treatment, secured an AA sponsor, and forged friendships in sobriety that rival all the others in my life, I feel like a completely different person. It’s as if I woke up in another person’s life. I’m a married father of three young children who lives in Columbus, Ohio, along with a bossy cat named Dr. No.

Most of my recovery has been spent writing about my experiences, and I’ve been fortunate to have my work picked up by The Fix, AfterParty Magazine, The Literary Review, and The Live Oak Review, among others. I want to help others find meaningful, lasting sobriety in any way that I can, which is part of the reason I’m so committed to Genius Recovery. More than that, though, I sincerely believe in the vision, aims and purpose of Genius Recovery. I’m as passionate about recovery as I am about discovering levels to my life that I didn’t know existed. After all, addiction recovery is about hope as much as it is about possibility. Through my writing, I hope to guide others to discover what’s possible for them, too.

– Paul

How to Stop Drinking Alcohol with Home Remedies

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Home Remedies for Alcohol Withdrawal

Most addiction experts, researchers and medical professionals contend that the safest way to stop drinking alcohol is to seek medical attention. In fact, depending on the severity of one’s drinking problem, medical assistance might be the only way to avoid a wide range of debilitating, if not deadly side effects. Still, some people might remain uncertain or fearful about getting outside medical help. Sometimes, finding a rehab or detox center simply isn’t in the cards for them. Although detoxing at home is risky, it’s certainly not impossible. Research shows that most alcoholics try home remedies several times in their drinking careers, though they’re rarely ever successful. It’s important to know that detoxing at home means you’re away from professionals. They may not be able to provide the immediate attention you need or adjust your medication right away.

It’s important to know that detoxing at home means you’re away from professionals. They may not be able to provide the immediate attention you need or adjust your medication right away. It’s important to know that detoxing at home means you’re away from professionals. They may not be able to provide the immediate attention you need or adjust your medication right away.

3 Things To Do Before Beginning the Self-detox at Home

First, you will need to get rid of alcohol from your home. Be sure to look everywhere, too. Alcoholics will sometimes hide bottles and forget that they did, which causes unfortunate surprises down the road. Remove every last bottle in your house before starting to self detox with home remedies. Your home needs to be a safe, secure environment, completely free of temptation when your cravings kick in.

Next, you’ll need to clear your schedule for a specific period of time. If you want to successfully detox, take extended time off from work and responsibilities to focus on your upcoming recovery. Determine the period of time you will need—generally related to the severity of your drinking problem.

Finally, be sure you’re not detoxing at home alone. You should enlist a friend or family member to be there with you, in order to keep you safe and secure through the process. If your withdrawal symptoms get too severe or out of control, they can take you to get medical attention.

Natural Home Remedies

There are also a wide variety of natural home remedies to help accelerate the process of getting sober at home. One of the most effective remedies for getting one’s alcohol addiction under control are grapes. Whenever the urge strikes, drink a glass of grape juice or pop a few grapes in your mouth. They’re rich in potassium and actively work to stimulate the kidneys, not to mention work to clean your liver free from toxins. Physical exercise is also key in breaking the cycle of addiction and alcoholism. Many studies reveal that physical exercise actually serves an even greater purpose for heavy drinkers: it helps prevent brain damage and a loss of cognitive function, according to a 2013 study published in the journal Alcoholism: Clinical & Experimental Research.

Everything from stress, mood, depression, cravings and sleep are regulated by physical exercise, which is why getting outside for a brisk walk, bike ride, or a swim is crucial to your recovery. Also, many people swear by other home remedies to stop drinking alcohol. It includes laxative herbs, which help detoxify the body which also offsets cravings for sugar and alcohol. Cayenne regulates your appetite, balances out your digestion and smoothens anxiety. Cayenne provides an added “kick” to relieve the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. Consumed raw, celery has a sobering effect and ends alcohol and sugar cravings on its own. Finally, Vitamin B is widely regarded as a substitute for alcohol, as it does everything from improve the quality of sleep to prevent withdrawal symptoms.

Is Alcoholism Genetic or Hereditary?

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Is Alcoholism Genetic?

Many signs point to “yes,” but most scientists agree there isn’t a definitive answer when it comes to the connection between alcoholism and genetics. In fact, there is no one single gene that is directly responsible for alcoholism. The medical term for alcoholism is “Alcohol use disorder” (AUD). DNA determines everything from our hair color to our personality traits. It is important to understand, however, that there is a big difference between genetic diseases and hereditary diseases. Changes in genes (mutations, for example) cause medical problems while some medical problems are hereditary, which means they’re caused by problems with genes and passed on from parents.

Common Factors that Cause Alcoholism

Alcoholism GeneticGenetics are only half of the underlying reasons for alcohol use disorder. Environment accounts for the other half: social situations, peer pressure, and relationships all play significant factors in alcoholism. Still, there’s no denying that genetics play a chief role in it all. There are countless genes in a person’s DNA that might increase the risk for developing an AUD. But it’s not as simple as finding a gene that “flips” alcohol on like a light switch. Identifying these genes is like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. Each is responsible in its own small way for playing a larger role. And studies confirm this, showing that certain combinations of genes can result in alcoholism.

Ways to Avoid Alcoholism

No matter which way you look at the role genetics play in alcoholism, the children of alcoholics face an uphill battle. Research studies show that these children have 50% chance of suffering from alcoholism than kids who don’t have alcoholic parents. Which says less about alcoholism, per se, as it does the insidious biology behind addiction. Genetics don’t reveal who will and who won’t be alcoholics and addicts. Instead, we need to look at genetics as a roadmap of risks. Meaning, it’s about likelihoods and tendencies more than definites and absolutes. Genetics give us a window into what lies ahead when it comes to alcoholism and addiction, but it doesn’t condemn anyone to addiction in all the same ways it doesn’t promise salvation.

By understanding the underlying elements and factors of your genetic makeup, you can better navigate your own personal minefield and make smarter, more proactive decisions with that information. In order to avoid alcoholism, you can enjoy healthier friendships, build stronger family bonds, get relationship counseling, self-regulate your stress, and better understand all the symptoms of addiction before they begin.

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