Learning How to Question My Thinking

I like to share about the (mostly) positive experiences that I encounter on my journey. The reason I haven't shared much lately is not that I haven't had positive experiences lately - it's that much of what I've been experiencing has been difficult to put into words. Something happened today, however, that was a real 'aha' moment for me, and I can very clearly see the hand of Spirit working in my life, something for which I have been praying lately. So here we go:

I have been living in sober living in Prescott Valley since February 8, 2020. Part of living here is paying the rent, which requires, in most cases, getting a job and earning money. It sounds fairly simple when I write it down in black and white! However, I found a bunch of obstacles to me gaining employment - lack of my own phone, lack of reliable transportation, lack of decent clothing, etc. But the real obstacle was my thinking, which was heavily influenced by a still-depressed mood. Put very simply, I wasn't feeling working, ya know? I really had trouble expressing what I felt to others, and I was often dishonest when asked how my job search was going. I had a lot of irrational reasons (fears) why I didn't want to venture into the job market. Once my rent bill would have hit $1000, I'd be asked to leave and be on the streets. A few events stayed my sentence of homelessness - I was offered a position by the owners of this house to wave a sign in front of their other business in exchange for rent credit; I filed my tax returns and received a good refund; our pandemic crisis occurred and I received a stimulus check, with which I bought a bicycle.

Somewhere along the line my mood and disposition improved and my fears lessened enough for me to stick a toe into the cold, scary waters of the job market. I had received notice that one of those dollar-discount stores in the area was hiring. I had applied to one of them a couple of months ago, but I don't think I passed their stupid pre-employment screenings about whether or not I'd snitch on errant co-workers. So I applied at another store online, and I thought I was applying at the one that is next door to the supermarket I frequent, because these stores all have 'dollar' in their name. 

Today I got a callback from one of the stores, and I set up an interview for tomorrow. Yay! I got my foot in the door! I called my sponsor and let him know, and I told him the name of the store. He said, "Oh yeah, that's over by Home Depot," I said, "No, I think it's by Safeway." And we left it at that. But, I got to wondering, was I wrong? I looked it up, and, sure enough, I was wrong - I applied to the one next to Home Depot, not the one next to Safeway. I of course let my sponsor know he was correct.

So how does this turn into a spiritual moment? Well, I've heard a couple of things regarding that - one is that anytime we go against our egoic (fear-based) thinking, that's spiritual. The other is that any time an alcoholic questions his own thinking, that's a spiritual experience. I thought about where I'd be tomorrow if I didn't verify my destination - at the wrong store looking confused. Worse, there's a good possibility that I would have used that mistake against myself, and lost any confidence I might have gained lately. Such is the nature of early recovery that we don't get over our own mistakes in sobriety right now as well as we will in the future.

So this is another save - an instance where I did the right thing (checked out my own thinking) and saved myself some trouble. But I can't take full credit! For the past few weeks I have been earnestly working the spiritual part of my recovery program that includes prayer and meditation. Skillful prayer and meditation opens the consciousness - it's that simple. There's a lot of progress when someone in recovery begins living in the solution rather than the problem, and I had been living in the problem - relying on my own thinking the majority of the time. That type of living makes life more difficult than it already is. When I begin practicing openness or openmindedness, and when I start practicing trust and willingness, all sorts of doors start opening up, and I'm grateful for that Truth. 

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths." (Proverbs 3:5-6, NKJV)

Namasté, 

Ken

Keeping My Chin Up (I'm Still Here)

Since my last post, I've stayed sober (and relatively sane), let my Certified Peer Specialist certification lapse, gotten a job in a plastics factory as an inspector, re-connected with my therapist and begun work on discovering those subconscious tidbits that continually trip me up, successfully completed treatment, and moved into sober living.  Other than that, it's been kind of slow.

Today I'm going to write about what's foremost in my mind, which isn't (at this point, anyway) a happy topic. I like to put things nicely, but I don't know how in this instance - so, here it is: there has been a lot of relapse and death around me lately.  First, my roommate from the halfway house moved into sober living - we were going to be roommates there as well - and he relapsed in a big way about the time I was moving into sober living. He's not doing well. Some other people with whom I shared the treatment journey have relapsed as well. Two people I know in recovery have passed recently. I also found out one of my cousins' sons passed away two years ago at age 25. I didn't know him, but it's one of those things that makes me wonder and makes me sad. And I found out today from the person with whom I've been riding to work that their oldest child died some years ago from a heroin overdose. And then today at work, the person I was working with today told me that his sister passed away 2 weeks ago, and my coworker is now raising their niece and nephew, and they found out today that a friend of theirs died by suicide two days ago.

It's sad. I feel sad about all the suffering going on. I also feel a bit dismayed - what the heck is going on? There have been a lot of deaths this past year by suicide and relapse. When I was still sick, in my active addiction and depression, I used this as an excuse to not get better. I was giving up. Now I recognize it as a part of the territory I'm in - I know a lot of people in recovery from addiction and a fair number of people living with mental health conditions. What's happening now is, unfortunately, not all that unusual; I'm simply acutely aware of it right now, 'it' being people suffering and sometimes dying.

My response today was to get a little down in the dumps about it all. Writing about it helps; talking to the right person about it would help, too, except that I don't have phone service again until the day after tomorrow and it's a bit difficult to get hold of the person with whom I'd like to talk. But whatever. My overall response is one of gratitude. I look at each individual that has relapsed and each individual that has passed away and say, "That could have been me." My gratitude is that I am still here to enjoy this life and contribute what I can. 

And then I focus on the living. I've been told, and I believe, that 'Why?' isn't a spiritual question - that when I ask 'Why?', I'm not looking for a reason, I'm looking for an argument. I can't do anything for those that have passed on. I can do little for those who have relapsed until they become ready again to get back into recovery. I can do a lot for the survivors.

I listen, and, when warranted, I share my experience. No, I can't bring your loved one back to life, nor can I make anyone recover. But I can listen and let you share your sadness, hurt, grief, and dismay with me. I can make myself available so your pain might ease for just a bit. I don't like the subjects of grief and loss and relapse anymore than most people; but I am equipped to walk with someone a little bit so that they aren't completely alone in their suffering. I can even give a little hope around the possibility that things will get better, because I've been where their loved one has been and I'm getting better. Recovery is possible so long as we're still breathing.

One thing I know today and pretty much accept is that I can't feel the joy of life if I avoid the suffering. I don't like that fact, but it seems to be true, so I work on accepting it. This means when suffering comes from my own thoughts and actions, I endeavor to embrace it, so I can learn from it and let it go. If I try to escape or avoid it, it just comes at me from a different route. Today I'd rather face stuff head-on. And I don't attempt to avoid the real suffering of others either. I figure that if it comes to me, it must be mine to deal with in some way, through listening, sharing, and prayer. 

Through it all, I'm still here, and I'm in a good place - I'm sane and sober, I've got everything I need materially today, and I have purpose. I can't tell you what next week will look like, but I can say that if I continue to do what's mine in front of me to do, I'll still be doing well.  And I'm grateful today for the journey.

By the way, thank you to Anonymous for the comment on my last post - I really appreciate it! And if anyone else feels like commenting, please do so.

Namasté,

Ken

Trauma Informed (compassionate) Listening

I am a listener. I suppose it is part of my purpose, or maybe my whole purpose. It's not something I've worn proudly; I just know that all my life people have felt compelled to relate things to me. I've often wondered why - it's not like I want to hear the juicy tidbits of your latest drama. I really don't.

But what I've learned over the past couple of years is to listen in a way that is helpful to the person relating. I used to think mostly with the male mind - that is, the problem fixer. Somewhere along the line, I learned that when women are talking about their experience, they don't want a solution, they want to be heard. So I began shutting off the problem fixer, but was still left wondering, "Why am I listening to this?" (besides that this woman is actually talking to me and I'd like to keep it going).

I wasn't understanding that the woman wanted to express how certain events or situations made her feel. I didn't have feelings, so I wasn't relating on any level deeper than the surface. (I had feelings; I had just tamped them down, like a well-worn path in the woods). Eventually, I came to understand that by me not expressing my own feelings, I was making myself sick. I remember being in a recovery meeting many years ago shortly after my mother passed away, and talking about it. Somebody pulled me aside later and said, "You talked about your mother dying the same way you'd talk about your car breaking down." I really did not understand. I didn't understand how talking about what was going on in my life was helpful, unless talking about it gave me a solution. I didn't realize that I didn't need to share the event of my mother passing; I needed to share the sadness and guilt and shame I was feeling surrounding it. When I would lose a job or a relationship, I didn't need to talk about the event, I needed to share my feelings of low self-worth. And shame.

About 5 years ago, I came to understand that if I didn't open up and let the real Ken out, I was not going to recover. I was going to die. Well, one doesn't one morning decide to drop all the facades and people pleasing and approval seeking and Boom! and Voila! Here's the new Ken! It takes practice, it takes courage, it takes the willingness to fall down and get up, and it takes time. But through time, I began to feel again (that part of me is still waking up). I began to see my life as more than just a series of events - I began to see that how I defined myself and felt about myself surrounding those events was shaping my future. Enter CBT, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and I began to question the way I was reacting to life and to myself, and I began to find more productive and constructive ways of thinking.

But what was most important was I began expressing how I felt - about events, about myself, about life - with people whom I trusted. I talked about how I felt. It became ok to feel again. I wasn't wrong or bad anymore for being sad or angry. It was just the way I felt. I began to feel ok with how I felt, because the people who were listening to me were listening without judging, sometimes with the added bonus of listening with understanding.

As I might have mentioned in the previous post (I rarely go back to re-read) the things we have in common with every other human being is that we've all loved, we've all lost, and we've all hurt. No matter how hard we might try, those experiences are inescapable. 

I used to be kind of a hard guy, I think. If you told me something that I didn't understand, or hadn't experienced, I didn't feel too much for you. I wouldn't necessarily show outside that I wasn't getting it, but inside, I knew. Everything was cerebral or intellectual. If it didn't match with my experience, point-to-point, I really couldn't relate. However, when I started becoming open to acknowledging and experiencing my own feelings, I began to understand a lot more when people related there experiences to me. I began to listen differently.

I began to listen for the feelings. For example: I work with a lot of people in early recovery. Now, the casual observer might see someone who drinks too much or uses heroin stop drinking and using, and say, good - they're getting their life back together. That's what it looks like, anyway. What's actually going on is a traumatic event - the person who is addicted to alcohol or drugs is experiencing a major upheaval in their lives. They're giving up something that has become their best friend. It hurts! physically and emotionally. It's scary! It's confusing! There is a lot of guilt and shame involved, and fear for the future. I listen to people as they tell me the losses they've suffered from going into recovery. Recovery is supposed to be a good thing! But folks lose friends, maybe family, sometimes their livelihoods, sometimes their freedom. It is a big experience. So I listen, and because I've been there, I relate very well. By the way, I've also learned that men have a desire to have their feelings heard as well.

And most of all today, I understand the importance of connection. Entering into recovery means losing part or sometimes all of our identity. Our self-identity. Who am I now? What do I do now? Where do I go from here? Having someone who relates to the experience makes the experience a little more ok.

I can hear something today, and, while I might not relate to the specific experience, I can hear the feelings underneath the experience. I understand that loss is loss is loss, whether it's one's driver's license or one's home or one's job or a loved one, and I can listen to the pain and all the other stuff that goes along with that loss, and I don't have to judge whether that pain is justified or not. If someone's feeling it, they're feeling it! I no longer judge whether or not someone's suffering is worthy or not; I recognize the suffering and support the person going through it. By the way, I've also learned that men have a desire to have their feelings heard as well.

It is sometimes painful for me, but then I recognize it's more painful for the person experiencing the feelings. I offer support, encouragement, and hope, and none of it is false. I'm a miracle, and I know lots of other miracles, and today I believe anything is possible. I offer to others the hope of recovery, and the understanding that we're in this together. To me, that's gold. I know what it's like to feel alone and hopeless, to feel used up and worthless. I also know what it's like to turn what once looked like a mountain of crap into something not only worthwhile but beautiful. I have the ability to listen to someone to help them feel not so alone and hopeless, and to maybe help them discover or re-discover who they really are. For someone like me, this is the greatest blessing of my life - to be a positive agent in someone's life. I've learned to listen not only with my ears, but with my heart.

Namasté,

Ken