Looking forward, as I set out to actually accomplish some of the many goals I’ve set for myself recently, it’s time to return to Step 3.
Turning my life and my will over to God. It can be the easiest and the hardest part of my day. I want so desperately to let go of all the things, people, and plans that tie me up in knots. I want God to swoop in and tell me that it’s all hunky dory and that he’s got it all covered. But, progress in recovery or not, I still am who I am. I’m hard wired to plan and orchestrate pretty much everything that I do. The control of something as simple as setting my alarm clock, to things as complex as unplanned, hard conversations with the loved ones in my life.
This week, I’ve been fortunate enough to have felt God by my side. I haven’t felt alone or powerless. I’ve felt that there’s a design for me that I just don’t know about, but, I’m not afraid at all. And, for me, that’s the best kind of feeling. The ease of letting go. Accepting that my attempts to organize, plan, execute, and achieve aren’t fruitful. I’m inevitably disappointed when my ideal scenario goes down the tubes. My inner perfectionist, hard at work, is a tiring and annoying voice.
This morning, I decided that whatever the day brings me, is what I’m supposed to get. If it’s bullshit, then so be it. Without a plan, I can just be myself, even if that means I’m slightly stressed and agitated. In therapy, I’m working on not having rigid plans in place for myself. Working on letting go, and just being. And, sometimes, that means I’m lonely and sad. And, well, some days I have to accept that that’s what I’m supposed to be. I don’t need to put systems in place to change those feelings. I don’t need to assign myself defeating tasks to distract me from my pain.
So, before going to my AA meeting, I sat for over an hour in the bath tub, listening to Aimee Mann and crying. And, at first, my inclination was to change everything to get myself out of that zone. But, for some reason, I knew that I was supposed to be going through whatever it was that was fighting to come out of me in that moment. I needed a hot soak, depressing music, and a good cry. And, while the discomfort of that hour was certainly painful, it felt organic and necessary.
When I emerged from my watery wallowing, I felt that sadness lift. I felt all the things that had brought those tears forward into the corners of my eyes, melt away. I’d worked through something. And, I’m still not sure what. I’ve felt and thought all those things before, but, I’ve always run from actually feeling. In my mind, sitting in the tub and crying isn’t actually doing something. And, for me, the doing is always the important thing.
I’m starting to realize that feeling is doing. It’s an action. And, if you run away from feeling, you’ll forget how to do it when it’s really important. If I can’t feel loss, I can’t feel love. And, making that connection, is one of the greatest gifts of sobriety.