The Longest Journey

“The longest journey you will ever take is the 18 inches from your head to your heart.” —Andrew Bennett

Yesterday I wrote a little about the spiritual principles supporting recovery. In that little essay, I also wrote that none of them can be practiced perfectly.

Entry into recovery is a traumatic event. Often, to the people outside of us, the traumatic event is what precipitates the necessity for recovery - the overdose, or the suicide attempt, the drunk driving arrest. However, those events are simply the culmination of the way we've been living for the past however long it's been. Entry into recovery is often an awakening, and the awakening is the traumatic event. Waking up in the morning for me has been traumatic much of my life - in sleep, I am usually somewhere else. I'm often warm and comfy, not experiencing physical pain, and usually experiencing a nice dream that I do not wish to leave. Then BAM! I rudely awaken to the new day, with all of it's physical and emotional discomfort. (The way I'm transitioning from sleep to wakefulness is changing, but that's a different post). Entry into recovery is a lot like that - like someone throwing cold water into my face, zapping me back to the grim reality of my life. 

In recovery, be it from addiction or from mental health conditions, we are asked to do things which at first we don't necessarily believe in. "Take this medicine - it will help you." "Go to this support group - it will help you." My thoughts tell me, "This won't do any good," but I try it anyway, because I'm at the point of desperation. I will grab onto anything offered in hopes that I'll begin to feel better. 

And this is where the journey from the head to the heart begins - it is the point where I leave the known world of my own thinking into the unknown world in the search for a better life experience. If my mind is open, I notice things. Little differences. For instance, around 3 years ago I went to my very first mental health peer support group meeting. My thinking was that it would be a bunch of depressed people sitting around talking about their depressing lives. That's the image I carried of mental health support groups for years and years. So, against my better judgment, I attended that first meeting, and a few things happened there - I noticed that there were people there that were happy and friendly and welcoming (those three things are not signs of depressive behavior). As the meeting got going, I felt a glimmer of connection with others as they shared their stories. I didn't feel so alone in my condition. And when I left, I had a little more hope than when I came in.

Doubt! Maybe doubt can be considered a spiritual principle. In that first peer support group meeting, I shed a little bit of doubt on my own thinking, my own preconceived notions. My own assumptions were incorrect, or, at the very least, not 100% correct. As I continued to go to these support group meetings, I began to get better. I began to hear ideas about recovery that I hadn't heard before. I began to share my experience, strength, and hope, and it was well received. My analytical brain was confounded - it could not figure out what was going on. It couldn't see what was happening. Yet, bit by bit, I continued to get better. There must be something here that I can't see that's very, very healing - and I became ok with that. I became ok with not having to have all the answers. So there were a couple more steps on the journey from the head to the heart.

I think the challenge in this journey from head to heart is that each step I take takes me further away from something I love - my own thinking, and my own interpretation of life. It's really all that I have. I've lost everything in life, except life itself, a few times. I've had my freedom taken from me. But nobody can pry from me my own thoughts, perceptions, and beliefs. If I guard them well enough, nobody can touch them. I have to willingly give up my way of thinking in order to lose it, and that's a scary thought, because, I think (and there's the rub) that my own thinking is what makes me me! "I think, therefore I am." (René Descartes) Who am I without my thinking? What am I? 

I'm going to interject here because I just thought of something again that I remind myself of from time to time. All of the 'problems' I have today are a result of recovery. I would not have them if I were not in recovery. So, they're really not problems at all, they are challenges, or opportunities. But I never forget this: Right now, all of my challenges and opportunities are things to look forward to - an exciting adventure; if I pour alcohol onto them, they are transformed into insurmountable problems, 'permanent' failures. That is the nature of my relationship with alcohol - it turns anything positive into something very, very negative. It pays to always keep this in mind on my journey of discovery, because sometimes the brain (not me, but the brain) thinks, "I'm a lot better now. Maybe I can drink or use again successfully." A good thing for me to remember is that the overwhelming evidence in my life (and the lives of others I know) is that alcohol and living well do not mix. My brain still latches on to the very brief time in my life when alcohol seemed to be my solution; it forgets all the times it almost killed me. This is a good reminder for me that my brain is not always looking out for my best interests. It also points to another very important fact to be aware of on my journey from the head to the heart: I am not my brain.

And therein lies one of the mysteries, if not the mystery, of life for me. If I am not my brain, if I am not my thinking, then who or what am I? And this is not a question that logical brain can wrap itself around.

For now, this question is satisfied best by the statement, "We are spiritual beings having a human experience." And this is what this blog is all about, isn't it? Isn't the whole journey about reconciling that dichotomy? 

So, for today, this is the deal, I think: This whole journey is about remembering who I really am while having this human experience, and I remember who I really am by endeavoring to put into practice the aforementioned spiritual principles into my daily human existence. And the really fun thing is that each day is a new beginning! Meaning if I think I have it down pat today, tomorrow is going to show me something different! On this journey I get glimpses of who I really am. It's like those blurry shots of Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest. So I'm chasing that vision, while at the same time knowing that in this lifetime I will never catch it. I will not completely know who I really am until I leave this human experience, but every experience I have in this existence can bring me closer to knowing. And trying to leave this existence early is cheating and will not be tolerated! My vision hopefully gets clear enough to want to stay engaged in this journey. It was touch and go for a while, but it feels like today that I'm really beginning to enjoy the experience. For that, I am supremely grateful.

I wish all of you (my two readers) all the best on your journey.

Namasté,

Ken

Individualized Recovery

As a Certified Peer Specialist, I am grateful that we use SAMHSA's definition of recovery as a guide. As a person in recovery, I'm glad it's there - I needed validation that the things I am doing to stay sane and sober are ok. When I was first exposed to recovery at the tender age of 21, I was, pretty much, a nothing. I was whatever I thought you thought I should be. I was very good at it, which was not a good thing for my own recovery - when I did the things I was told to do to get better, I did them well (sometimes over-the-top well) in order to please others in recovery. Because these things I was told to do worked for others, I was unaware that there might be other things I could be doing. Also, because I was unable to be honest about what I really thought and how I really felt, nobody could tell me that what I was doing for my recovery might not be all that I needed. So I would do what I was told to do, and fail. And I repeated this process at least 15 times in a 32 year period.  It's been a long road to get on the road to finding me.

These are the things that I've experienced that I believe are necessary for recovery from both alcoholism/addiction and mental health conditions:

• A desire to recover (yes, not everybody who is sick desires recovery).
• Honesty -  with oneself and others.
• Acceptance that one has a condition which is currently controlling their lives in an undesirable way.
• Surrender to the fact that the person experiencing the condition(s) does not have the wherewithal alone to change, which brings about a sense of
• Humility - the person having the condition begins to understand that, powerful and knowledgeable as they are, they don't have all the answers.
• Open-mindedness to hear and listen to ideas about how to get better that may seem strange or make no sense.
• Hope for recovery, which most often comes from others in recovery.
• Trust or faith  in the process of recovery (which may include faith in a higher power, faith in a mentor, or simply faith in the process).
• Courage to face all the unpleasant-at-first things a person has to face in order to recover.
• Willingness to do things for recovery that the person might not like or might not believe will work.
• Connection or community with like-minded, supportive individuals.
• Purpose - the person in recovery develops a sense of purpose out of necessity - often, addiction and mental health conditions drain any sense of purpose from our lives. Often this purpose involves being of service to others, especially those afflicted with the same condition.
• Perseverance is required because recovery doesn't take place in a day, a week, or a month, and the process isn't a straight line up. There are often pitfalls and relapses, and recovery takes consistent and almost constant effort.
• A sense of safety - in their living environment, in the people in their lives, and, sometimes, safety from one's own actions.

These principles of recovery all 3 things in common:

• They are interconnected;
• Nobody can be perfect at practicing these principles;
• They are spiritual. 

A couple examples of interconnectedness: the desire to recover usually brings about some willingness, which has an element of courage and helps to give hope. Surrender leads to humility which will eventually require acceptance of what is.

And, because we are dynamic beings, and because we are either growing or dead, the depth to which we practice these principles is infinite. For instance, one may be committing a huge act of honesty when s/he finally admits that they are addicted to a substance; however, when one goes further, s/he finds honesty in telling other truths about themselves, which causes them to take a more honest look at their behavior and patterns in their lives, which brings about even more honesty. 

And how are these recovery principles spiritual? One, because the practice of these principles all require us to go against what our egos tell us is best, and two, the practice of these principles will lead the person in recovery to see that the earth does not revolve around him or her, that they are not alone (at least in having this condition), and that there is something taking place (recovery) that is bigger than him or her. Eventually, a person feels an authentic connection to others or even the Universe that wasn't there before. The person in recovery begins to feel a sense of belonging - first to their recovery community, then maybe to the rest of humanity, and possibly to the Universe. Usually it goes in this order.

Here is where individualized recovery comes in, and I will share my experience: I am a unique individual. Although I have more in common with the rest of the human race than I ever thought possible, there are certain things about me that are unique to me. One is my perspective. If a friend and I view a sunset, it is likely that we won't both have the same exact reaction to the same sunset. If I'm driving west and my friend is my passenger, the sunset may irritate me while enthralling her. Or, if we're standing at the shore of an ocean, our own past experience and how we're feeling in the moment will color our perception of this event. 

My experience of life is not exactly like anyone else's experience of life. Again there are many similarities, but there are things that also make our experience unique. Even siblings growing up in the same family can have a different experience of their parents. My own experience is that my experience with my parents is vastly different than my brother's and sister's experience with the same two people. Why? Lots of factors - my own illness, my parents' ages when my siblings were born as opposed to when I was born, and whatever issues my parents went through themselves, just to name a few.

My own illnesses brought me into experiences which aren't shared by everyone on the planet, and these experiences have colored my view of myself, of humanity, of life, and of God in a manner unique to me. Additionally, having co-occurring conditions seems to make recovery more challenging, so, seeing others recovering while I wasn't brought me a lot of shame, which I had to eventually deal with in order to recover. When I was in jail, I would often get the label 'smart' or 'intelligent', which was a non sequitir to me - if I'm so smart, what am I doing in jail? And that comment alone added to my shame.

I have my own likes and dislikes, which change over time, and my own beliefs that came from the culture and family in which I was raised. I become aware in recovery how this affects my recovery. 

SAMHSA's view is that recovery is individualized as well as person-driven. Given all that I've mentioned that makes me unique, this makes sense to me. This means that as a person in recovery, I need to be (or learn to be) sensitive to these things within myself so I can let my care providers and others to whom I'm connected in recovery know what has shaped my life. As a peer specialist, I need to understand that whomever I'm working with is unique, too, and to get to know that person as much as I can so that I can serve them as well as I possibly can. It really is a lot of work, but it's good work - for me, much of the richness of life comes from getting to know me and others who inhabit this planet with me.

My whole point in writing this: To remind myself, and possibly to inform others, that the recovery path is not a one-size fits all type of deal. If we truly want others to recover from mental illness and addiction, we have to make connections to we can learn as much as possible about what will aid recovery. Unfortunately, we seem geared in western society toward quick fixes and a take-a-pill approach that may seem to work in the short run, but can be damaging in the long run. However, I believe that the more we persist in looking for long-term solutions, the more knowledgeable and effective we'll become at healing our dis-ease. There is a solution, and it is in each one of us.

Namasté, 

Ken

So What's the Point?

Some years ago, an idea or a thought came to me that seemed to be the Truth, at least to my head, and it was this: What if when we pass on from this life, we're asked only one question, and it is this: "Did you appreciate the life you were given?"

I think this question came to me at that time because, no, I really didn't appreciate the life I was given. For the most part, I thought it sucked, and I didn't see the point of it all. I was unable to see all the good around me and in me. I was unable to appreciate anything, even the seemingly good things in my life.

To appreciate really means to add value to or to give value to something. I think that I'm just beginning to appreciate my life now. I'm beginning to recognize the value of my life. Where I first started noticing it was when I felt that others valued my life more than I did. When I began to accept that, I noticed that I began to value the lives of others more than I had previously. And now I find myself valuing my life for itself.

Much, if not all, of what I value about my life revolves around my connection with others. I do stuff today that uplifts others. I shine light. I'm of real service. I let the healing stuff of the Universe work in me and through me, and I'm not ashamed to express that. I know what happens when I open up and let It flow. 

And I get this feeling inside like I've never experienced before - a feeling of wholeness and belonging and love and warmth. It's what I've wanted my entire life, and always looked for outside of myself, and never found. When I began looking inside, and sharing what I found in there, I began to be fulfilled. And I began to appreciate what I've been given in this life - the good, the bad, the ugly - it's all good. And I began to love myself not for what I've done, but for who I am - a beloved Child of the Universe, filled with all the goodness of the Universe. And I appreciate all the Universe creates in and through me today. 

So what's the point? To understand this journey I'm on just a little better, and to know deep down that, even after all the pain and heartache and disappointments, that it is worth it. There is great Joy to be found when I get past the fear and begin to mine the Soul to find out what's really there. And today I appreciate my life. I still think lots of stuff, but I no longer regret being born. I am grateful. I am grateful, and I feel privileged to be on this journey.

Namasté,

Ken

Recovery from Depression

Regarding my Facebook post about being in recovery for 3 years, a couple people asked me what I did to recover from depression. I know the answers a woven through this blog of mine, but I answered one person pretty concisely, and I was surprised at how involved recovery has been. Here are the steps I took/am taking to stay in recovery from depression:

1. Accept that I have a mental illness that I have no clue how to recover from.
2. Stop drinking.
3. Pray.
4. Begin trusting others to guide me.
5. Begin treatment.
6. Begin taking prescribed medication.
7. Improve my diet and try to alleviate possible nutritional deficiencies with supplements.
8. Begin going to mental health support groups (along with alcoholism recovery support groups).
9. Enter into therapy and learn CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy). Apply these lessons to my life daily (hourly or second-by-second).
10. Develop a support network.
11. Be of service to others.
12. Share my story.
13. Drain the shame.
14. Take risks.
15. Exercise my body.
16. Do the things I love.
17. Learn to love myself, trust God, and trust others.
18. Reach out to those I don't even know.

Now, there's a few problems with this list. First of all, it's my list. I had to go out and discover what I need to to. Another person will have a different list, depending upon what that other person discovers they need to do. The second problem is that if you had given me this list 3 years ago, I would have done one of two things: I would have crumpled it up and thrown it away and given up, or I would've tried to do everything on the list in a week's time, failed, and given up. The third problem with this list is it's dynamic. I don't necessarily do all of those things every day, and I might add or subtract something tomorrow. The fourth problem I see is that it really leaves out a lot of stuff - stuff like getting out of bed when I don't want to get out of bed; talking to someone about feeling suicidal rather than toughing through it; accepting the good in my life, even if I feel I'm not up to it (that might fall under taking risks); plus, a lot more.

Probably a better answer to the question of "How do I or a loved one recover from depression" is: seek out every resource you can, choose what works best for you, and stick with it.

We live in a society of followers - we follow what the government says is good for us, what the pharmaceutical companies tell us is good for us, what doctors who have never recovered from anything tell us is good for us. I've had to put on the explorer hat and coat and find out for myself. There's a lot of good information and other stuff out there, but I had to seek it rather than waiting for it to come to me. I had to become the leader in my own life, and I had to make recovery my quest. It wouldn't have worked for me any other way.

I hope that answers your question!

Namasté,

Ken

The Power of Connection

Today I went to work, and I was blessed to hear an awesome recovery speaker. That's the way things happen for me of late - I suit up and show up and good things happen for me. Anyway, the man sharing his story really touched my heart in so many ways. You know, when we say 'touched my heart,' it's not just a figurative saying, it's literal. I could feel the effects of his sharing in my body, mainly in my chest. I get lots of stuff that goes in and out of my head all day long, but the things that really affect me, that are transformative, I feel. But as I'm listening to this guy, I realize that I'm on the clock - I'm getting paid to sit here and be uplifted. It doesn't get any better than this, and I haven't done anything other than suit up and show up.

Story telling is as old as humanity. People got together at the end of the day and shared their experiences with one another. That's how humans bond and feel connected - we have different experiences, yet we feel the same things - love, joy, fear, doubt, terror, humor, happiness, mystery, etc. 

Early on, I acquired the belief that it was better to live life alone - to not share my experiences or feelings with others. That sounds very lonely, but it's also very safe. Safety trumps connection. For me, however, being a hermit did not get my other needs met, so I learned to create the appearance of connecting with others. Basically, I learned how to act. I've spent much of my life acting as if I liked and trusted people and knew how to get along, when, in reality, I didn't. I trusted no one.

I do regret a little bit that I didn't have bigger cojones - all the times I had opportunities to look someone, someone who was trying to help me, in the eye and be honest and say to them, "You know what? I don't trust you. You know why? Because you're a human being, and human beings suck. If I put any trust whatsoever in you, you will hurt me, and that's not going to happen." I was way, way, way too nice and polite for my own damn good. In my own defense, I thought I was protecting myself, because to me, the threat was real. I was living the way I believed I had to live to survive.

So I managed to go through life acting as if I had friendships and relationships without ever really letting my guard down and letting people in. And every couple of years I would have a meltdown and become despondent and suicidal, surprising the people around me because I was such a good actor.

Five years ago, I understood that I would never be able to stay sober until I became authentic - until I let my guard down, allowed others to know the real me, and be vulnerable. That's a pretty tall undertaking for someone who didn't even know himself, and was pretty sure that himself wasn't someone anyone would want to be around anyway. I never liked me, why would anybody else? So I worked on knocking down the walls. I had one more relapse before I got to the point where I realized the job was too big for me alone.

I want to take a paragraph to interject about God and spirituality. Most of my life I've sought God, or Spirit, or Source, and, as I've mentioned in previous posts, I've got a pretty good radar for the Truth.  Somewhere inside I knew a relationship with God would 'fix' me. I thought if I could seal that relationship with God, I wouldn't have to worry about my relationship with others. My logic was a little fuzzy, now that I look at it, but I wanted the security and safety of having God in my life without the ickiness of having to get involved with the rest of His children. Some people may be able to do this; however, it doesn't seem to be my path.

So this last relapse, a little over 3 years ago, did it for me. Alcohol and depression had stripped me bare. It took me back to being the helpless, vulnerable 5 year old boy who was very afraid of living and had no idea what to do about it. I was exactly where I needed to be, and I surrendered - I stopped trying to cover up. I stopped trying to be the person who knew what he was doing. I just stopped. 

Perhaps the greatest blessing of my life is that I've always had great people in my life. Wherever I've been, from church to prison, from Ivory Towers to Skid Row, I've met the most giving, wise, compassionate, loving people a person could ever desire to meet. I've recognized this fact for a long time, but I failed to accept the gifts the Universe kept shoving in front of me - until 3 years ago. I began to say 'yes' to the kindness and compassion of those around me. I began to say 'yes' to the gifts that were laid at my feet - tentatively at first, sort of like an abused, starving dog will tentatively accept food from a kind stranger. After a bit of accepting the kindness and help from the good people in my life, I began to feel more secure. I began to feel safe. And I began to get better. I began to believe that I am a valuable person who is deserving of life and who has something to offer to others. And I discovered that that person was there all along, buried under a mountain of hurt and shit and shame. And I let others help me dig him out and clean him up. 

I've still got lots of healing to experience - I expect it to take the rest of my life. But along the way, I can help others find their way to healing. And I know that I can do that by fostering a connection with others. That's still very challenging for me. I don't get out of bed in the morning and say, "Oh wonderful! Another day of connection with the sick and injured of the world!" But I do know what is mine to do, and I willingly do it because I know I am supported in this endeavor by the Universe. I feel enough safety and security today to go out and share what I've been given.

Connection to others is what I rely upon to stay sober and sane today. Simply put, I couldn't connect with others because I was afraid and I could not trust. 

Connection is dropping the shields and letting another human being that I know what it's like to feel lost and alone, and to let that other person know that they're not as alone as they think they are, and that they are safe. It's about showing someone that it's ok and it's safe to be vulnerable, and that true Love doesn't hurt, it heals. And when I drop my shields and give my Love away, I get more Love back and I heal a little more. It's really a pretty good deal. 

Namasté

Ken

Prayer: An Inside Job

Prayer is an important part of my recovery, and an important part of recovery for a lot of people. I have learned that prayer doesn't change God's mind, it changes mine. Prayer is really about endeavoring to align my will with God's will for me. 

I don't write much about prayer - believe it or not, it's a little too personal for me to write much about publicly. Prayer comes from the deepest part of me, and the way I pray and the content of my prayers is unique to me. I know a lot of prayers from different faith traditions, and I'll usually run with one set of prayers for awhile, and then move on to another set, and so forth. Sometimes I really get into the Psalms from the Hebrew Bible, and then I'll ignore them for awhile.  I pray for others' highest good, and it aligns my thinking into looking for their highest good. For instance, say there is someone I know whom I don't hold in very high regard; if I pray for that person's highest good, it causes me to look for it in them, and that can help bring it out. If I don't, then that person just remains a schmuck in my mind, and I can't do anything for them.

One of my favorite prayers, and one I've recently been practicing lately, is the Prayer of St. Francis (of Assisi). It has special meaning for me because he had PTSD (my opinion). St. Francis, before he was a saint, fought in the Crusades. In the Crusades, he had some experiences that deeply affected him. When he returned from the Crusades, he went crazy and nearly killed himself. This is when he had a religious or spiritual experience that caused him to live the life of a monk. The Franciscan Order of the Catholic Church came out of his practices and his band of followers. His story is really interesting. Following is the prayer that is attributed to him:

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace - 
that where there is hatred, I may sow love;
that where there is injury, I may sow pardon [forgiveness];
that where there is doubt, I may sow faith;
that where there is despair, I may sow hope;
that where there is darkness, I may shine light;
that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.

Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be comforted, as to comfort; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love;
For it is in self-forgetting that one finds, it is in forgiving that one is forgiven, and it is by dying to self that one awakens to eternal life. Amen

This is a wonderful prayer with which to start the day, because it prepares my mind to be a selfless healer, and it tells me what I need to be about today. But for the past couple of days I've prayed it and started crying, because I realized that I could also turn it inward. I can apply this prayer to those things which I still harbor inside that are injurious to me - remnants of shame and self-hatred, despair, doubt about who I Am, darkness, and sadness. I can use this prayer to help heal myself. 

I've been in recovery nearly three years, and it has just been the past couple of months that I've started to really enjoy living. In this post, "Why Even Bother?", which was written a little less than a year ago, I wrote about surviving without having an automatic joy for life and living. It's not that I've been unhappy this whole time and just been faking it; it is that I've had to put in a fair amount of conscious, consistent effort to stay at a level where I can function comfortably. So, I've been chugging along comfortably, but lately, I've noticed a feeling deeper inside where I'm really starting to like living for the sake of living. I feel like I could have a day where I accomplished absolutely nothing, was of service to no one, and be perfectly ok with that - to just take some time to just be here now. It's a nice change; it's nice to be just for the sake of being. It's nice to feel like being here, without necessarily having to do something to make living tolerable. Being alive is starting to feel...natural. Wow!

Motivation brings more motivation, and success breeds success. Feeling better, healthier, makes it easier to do the things that make me feel healthy. I feel my world expanding, my consciousness expanding, and I'm getting eager for more. And prayer is a big part of that. 

One person once told me, after I had been praying for them, "Your prayers are powerful." I don't think they meant my prayers; I think they meant prayers are powerful. I've known that prayer can be a powerful thing. When I was a young boy, I swallowed 3 pennies. Boy, did that hurt! I couldn't tell anyone, of course, so I prayed and asked God to relieve me of the pain, and it instantly left. I've had other occasions where prayer has been very effective, and I know it's been effective in the lives of others. But something inside - doubt, perhaps? - has caused me from time to time to stop praying, or stop believing in prayer. 

Now I'm getting excited because this recent shift is telling me that I can do more and be more than I've ever been and done before. My faith tradition tells me that I already have every quality of my Creator inside of me - it would be impossible for me to not have it (or you or anyone else) - and that my job is to do whatever needs to be done to let everything go that is not me, that is not allowing the Light within to shine brightly. And St. Francis' prayer really seems to fit that purpose, if I turn it inward. It would be a lovely thing if I had all the faith in the Universe to believe without seeing, but I don't - sometimes I need to see. That's ok today - all I need to know today is that I am loved and supported, whether I'm feeling it or not.

So, like a teenage boy with a new car, I'm eager to take this new level of faith out on the road and see what She'll do. I'll keep you posted!

Namasté,

Ken

The Strengths of Recovery

I'm a grateful person, and the more grateful I am, the more I find for which to be grateful.

It's important for me to recognize the blessings I have today, and it's important to me to share them with others. I get to share at support groups, Stories of Hope, working one on one with others, and through this blog. Here are some of the things for which I am grateful:

• Challenges (formerly problems) - I wouldn't have any of the 'problems' I have today if I weren't in recovery. I'd be dead.
• A growing self-respect and self-esteem
• A career and 2 great jobs
• An increased appreciation for life
• Real peace of mind
• Faith
• Hope
• An increased sense of security and safety
• Great people in my life
• The ability to recognize my gifts and share them
• Courage
• An increasing awareness of who I am
• A feeling of belonging
• I'm comfortable in my own skin
• Courage to be me
• Honesty
• Decreased shame
• Zero guilt
• Self-confidence
• Purpose
• Good health
• Confidence and courage to face life without fear
• Resilience
• I'm useful
• I have an appreciation for others and an ability to know people at more than a superficial level

If I were asked to write down my gifts and strengths and the good things in my life 3 years ago, I would not have been able to come up with one thing. I wasn't even grateful to be alive. Even during the times when I was sober it was hard to come up with things that I truly felt good about.

To be very honest, recovery hasn't given me these things - I've had them all along. Alcoholism and depression covered them up. What recovery has given me is the ability to recognize my strengths and to develop them and use them to serve others while at the same time create a great life. This is why I don't walk around with a lot of shame (I'd love to say that I have zero shame, but I'm not there yet) - I am becoming the person I was born to be. There is great joy in that.

My spiritual beliefs support the idea that each and every one of us is a great person. The people with whom I identify best are others who have walked the path of addiction or mental illness, so those are the people who I direct my energies to the most. I support others in becoming the people they were meant to be. I assist others in discovering and developing their strengths. Some people come into recovery thinking their lives are over; I get to be there when they discover that their lives have just begun.

I'm really glad I didn't miss out on this.

Namasté,

Ken