Move Along
Monday afternoon, the song "Move Along" by All-American Rejects came on the radio while I was driving. I listened to this song all the time the year I met my husband. It was catchy and wistful, and it resonated with me.
I believed myself to be incredibly healthy then. I was no longer in an abusive relationship - in fact, I had remained completely single for three years, just nursing my spirit back to health without much outside influence. I had become Christian and forgiven several people in my past for doing some really terrible things. I had even mostly forgiven myself for screwing up my twenties in a royal way. Yes, I drank 16 ounces of liquor a night, but I still made it to work every day. I still spent time in prayer, served at church, and was even pursuing a master's degree.
Somewhere along the way in my life, introspection became a luxury I couldn't afford. There was the moment when I was a teenager trying to cope with the sudden passing of my father, and my mother told me, in all the wisdom of anger and desperation, "It's time to move on. He's gone. He's not coming back." She was exhausted of me needing her to be the same mother I'd grown up with. She couldn't do it without him. She had to grasp at whatever she could just to keep breathing, and she needed me to figure it out on my own.
Something switched in me in that moment. My quest for survival became mine alone, and there was no time to sort out all the scribbled bits inside me. I learned to simply tell myself everything was okay. In moments when everything went white and my racing heart threatened to crush the breath out of my chest, I spoke slowly and deliberately, "You are okay. You are alive. There is a sky above you, you are still breathing, and you are okay." And that's how I kept going.
Not long after that, I discovered my love, alcohol. Boy, did that make it easier to keep moving forward. The year that followed was one of the most traumatic of my life, and I got through it without shedding a single tear.
I guess there isn't a natural point after trauma when we realize it's safe to look back. You just keep moving along the best way you know how.
So, here I am, a big ball of insecurities and unhealthy thought patterns, all paper-mached over with a stand-up husband, three kids, a vibrant church life and, until a few weeks ago, a drinking problem.
I have resolved to embrace sobriety, not just give up alcohol - but now, on this third week, it's difficult to even recall that alcohol was a recent problem for me. It's not that I want to drink, it's just that I'm not sure why I was still drinking years after my life became stable and safe. I don't know what goes into recovery or what I need from it. I'm ready to just move forward in this wonderful life God has nearly drowned me in.
Of course I know that's not going to cut it, but it's a fight to walk in the knowledge that I have work to do. When you spend so much of your life trying to bury something, it can be hard to break through the cement. That's why I have this blog... to record, to sit with my feelings, to work them out. To chip away in the moments when all I want to do is move along.
I believed myself to be incredibly healthy then. I was no longer in an abusive relationship - in fact, I had remained completely single for three years, just nursing my spirit back to health without much outside influence. I had become Christian and forgiven several people in my past for doing some really terrible things. I had even mostly forgiven myself for screwing up my twenties in a royal way. Yes, I drank 16 ounces of liquor a night, but I still made it to work every day. I still spent time in prayer, served at church, and was even pursuing a master's degree.
Somewhere along the way in my life, introspection became a luxury I couldn't afford. There was the moment when I was a teenager trying to cope with the sudden passing of my father, and my mother told me, in all the wisdom of anger and desperation, "It's time to move on. He's gone. He's not coming back." She was exhausted of me needing her to be the same mother I'd grown up with. She couldn't do it without him. She had to grasp at whatever she could just to keep breathing, and she needed me to figure it out on my own.
Something switched in me in that moment. My quest for survival became mine alone, and there was no time to sort out all the scribbled bits inside me. I learned to simply tell myself everything was okay. In moments when everything went white and my racing heart threatened to crush the breath out of my chest, I spoke slowly and deliberately, "You are okay. You are alive. There is a sky above you, you are still breathing, and you are okay." And that's how I kept going.
Not long after that, I discovered my love, alcohol. Boy, did that make it easier to keep moving forward. The year that followed was one of the most traumatic of my life, and I got through it without shedding a single tear.
I guess there isn't a natural point after trauma when we realize it's safe to look back. You just keep moving along the best way you know how.
So, here I am, a big ball of insecurities and unhealthy thought patterns, all paper-mached over with a stand-up husband, three kids, a vibrant church life and, until a few weeks ago, a drinking problem.
I have resolved to embrace sobriety, not just give up alcohol - but now, on this third week, it's difficult to even recall that alcohol was a recent problem for me. It's not that I want to drink, it's just that I'm not sure why I was still drinking years after my life became stable and safe. I don't know what goes into recovery or what I need from it. I'm ready to just move forward in this wonderful life God has nearly drowned me in.
Of course I know that's not going to cut it, but it's a fight to walk in the knowledge that I have work to do. When you spend so much of your life trying to bury something, it can be hard to break through the cement. That's why I have this blog... to record, to sit with my feelings, to work them out. To chip away in the moments when all I want to do is move along.
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