I want to say in advance that I am writing this not as a call for sympathy or a cry for admiration, but rather I write this as an illustration of the lack of self compassion that fells many an addict and plagues many of us in this world, wether addict or not.
As Frank began training for his Tri-Athlon, the kids would often go with him to run, or walk or bike or swim. They were his mini-cheering section and they really enjoyed it. Dermot is an athletic little guy and grew to love this time with his dad. He pulled me aside once in the kitchen to say that he really loved exercising with his dad and then said, "Mama, wouldn't it be great if we all exercised together as a family?"
I've mentioned that that one sentence uttered by my favorite Dermot that ever there was using his big green eyes as imploring exclamation marks spurred me on to wunning.
Someone recent asked me what wunning was and I replied that it is alternating running and walking so that I don't die, which is as accurate a definition as I could come up with. We started wunning as a family on Saturday mornings when it wasn't raining, going two miles which I did in about half an hour. I starting wunning on Sundays with a friend when we could. That was all I managed with my crazy schedule at the moment, but it was more than I had been doing.
I signed myself up for the Rothman 8k during the Philadelphia marathon weekend and Frank decided to do so as well, then his sister decided to do so and then the kids wanted to do the fun run. So we all met yesterday morning and I was nervous. I am not in shape, I am overweight and I have only been exercising on the weekends so I knew I wasn't going to finish the 8k in any record breaking time, but here we went.
We did the 4.97 miles in about an hour and 22 minutes. Erin stayed and chatted with us before she had to leave to go home and Frank and I lingered to wait for the kids' race and I burst into tears. Frank is used to my crying as I am and always have been a pulsing raw nerve of emotion. He asked me what was wrong and I heard myself saying, "I wanted this to be more inspiring! I wanted to run more than walk and I feel like I only ran about 10-15 percent of the time and walked the rest." He was a little flummoxed by this and said, "Did you want it to be more inspiring for you or for other people?" I thought for a moment and I wanted it to be more inspiring for me. I wanted a Rocky Balboa moment and I was mad at myself for not doing better, not training harder, not doing more, not being faster, not being thinner, not being more athletic, not being this, not being that.
I stood there beating myself up and Frank said, "You need to be kinder to yourself." And he was right, but I was being visited by The Demons of negative self-talk that have swooped in to torture me throughout my life. I have long been plagued by this kind of internal dialogue and it is a common thing among people in general but it is present in addicts and alcoholics almost to a man. I can look at someone else and marvel at their accomplishments, revel in their successes and tell them in all honesty the impressive things they have done. I can do this for all of you, but I find it very difficult to do so for myself.
I saw my therapist after the 8k and he was horrified when I told him about The Demons who were visiting me yesterday and he asked me this question, "would you talk to Dermot and Wren this way?" And of course the answer is an absolute NO. In fact about an hour after my race, I was an enthusiast cheerleader who basked in the excitement of their accomplishment. I posted a string of blow-by- blow proud comments and details. I was so happy they raced together, being each others' support system along the way. But my own race? The one where I crossed the finish line with two such supporters was a failure in my head.
Now, this abhorrent string of self flagellation is much quieter these days than in days past, but yesterday proved to me that The Demons are poised to strike at any moment. They lay in wait to swoop in when I least expect it. My sponsor's husband likens this to Satan talking to you. Once I was able to look past the overt religious bent of this comment, I understood and could appreciate it. The Demons, the devil, satan, it doesn't matter what you call them, these are all monsters and the things they utter are all lies.
The worst thing of it all is that when they are there they lay the groundwork for the sweet beckonings of the red dragon of addiction. It will come in, perch on my shoulder and whisper about the seductive pull of welcome oblivion that only can be found in drugs and alcohol. Like a lover, it offers to quell the voices of The Demons and take me to places I have never been before. I know now these are all lies, because these are places I have been before and there is nothing sweet about the oblivion they offer, but what if there comes a time that I forget this? That is the crux of recovery.
As addicts and alcoholics, we have to remind ourselves daily of where we were and where we are now. We have to be vigilant and right our wrongs as they come along so we can rest easy at night and build walls of protection against The Demons and the red dragon of addiction. We are not good at self-assessment. It does not come naturally to us, but with practice, it can be done.
So this morning I wake up and assess the day yesterday. I can recognize today that a year ago I would never have even thought of exercising. I would never have done something this healthy by my self or with my family. I would not have signed up for a race, I would not have run at all. I would not have accomplished what I accomplished yesterday no matter how it looked and felt. I am learning to nurture myself as I nurture my kids and though the process is slow and imperfect, it is a process that is underway and that is more than I had ever before envisioned. So, in short, "Yay me,"
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