Things I ask myself now in these moments of self-judgment: You always know in your heart when something isn’t working. What story are you telling yourself that it needs to be this way? Which part of you are you not willing to set free because of what it might threaten? What are you willing to lose by hanging onto it? 

I’m still a firm believer in that the people we meet and talk to are all messengers. Whether they inspire us or trigger us, everyone is a mirror.

I almost started writing this with, “My first Christmas away from home.” But it didn’t sound true.

Because I do feel at home.

There’s a home inside all of us that never goes away. It’s the place we go back to that feels safe. It’s the place we go to when we’re relaxed. When we’re quiet. When we’re still.

Asking is simple, but as was apparent in this case, and the many before it, not easy.

We’ve been conditioned to feel like we should already know. That there’s some shame with asking. Asking for help. Which is what asking about needs is.

When Brian first came to me, he had just left treatment for fentanyl and meth addiction. Left to pick up the pieces and what felt like starting his life all over again, he wasn’t sure where he stood, what he had left to look forward to, or how to deal with his debilitating anxiety and depression.

He joined my 12-week coaching program, and this is his account of what he experienced.

The size of my ego has never matched the size of me, little me, just another drop in the vast ocean of the universe.

Maybe at one time this would have scared me. Frustrated me. To try so hard only to find very little of what we do makes a huge difference in the grand scheme of things. But now, it offers me another deep breath, another sigh of relief. How freeing it is to be inconsequential. To not ponder the purpose of today, but simply the beauty and pleasure of existence. 

I think what I’ve learned is that endings are never quite endings. More like “to be continued.” Because there’s no finality to change.

We’re all given a limited number of breaths on this earth. None of us know what that number is.

From as far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be in love.

I became a lot more curious about what was really bothering me about not just this situation, but all situations in life that provoked a reaction in me. Every itch that demanded to be scratched.

I thought that repeating the same thing every day would have gotten boring and crazy-making, but it was the opposite. As I walked the same trail for the third time on the eighth day, I realized nothing is boring if you’re paying attention.

When Ryan came to me, he was grappling with the profound loss of his mother, feeling overwhelmed by his demanding job, and facing behavioral issues with his daughter. These combined stresses had led to poor health, unhealthy eating habits, and daily drinking as a coping mechanism.

Abstinence alone keeps the focus on the outside - simply looking at if there’s been use of the substance or not. It causes us to label things as absolutes - “good” vs “bad,” “success” vs “failure.” Rather than thinking we’re failing because we still crave something, or feeling shame and guilt because we “gave in”, sobriety recognizes the progress that we’re making in a journey that requires our presence every day, leading to something that can last a lifetime.  

We can repeat the same things over and over as a way to move closer to ourselves, or the opposite - further away. Every day you get to decide the habits you’ll practice for the tomorrow that you want. Discipline isn’t about control or punishment. It is an act of love to remind us we have choice. And that it’s not only our right, but our responsibility to choose.

The words we say to ourselves matter. The words we say out loud matter. Every time we say we’re going to do something, and we do it, we teach ourselves we are trustworthy. Every time we start to say something damaging, hurtful or unkind to ourselves, and instead choose something softer, more understanding, and more loving, we show ourselves that we’re able to take care of not just what’s outside of us, but inside of us too.

The thing I learned was that true intimacy isn’t an “easy” thing to achieve. In the stark light of morning, any feigned closeness is always revealed to be a harsh, distant divide. Feeling raw and vulnerable again, we retreat back into ourselves to hide - quiet, tired, and perhaps lonelier than if we’d never pretended in the first place. 

As I learned last week, care needs to be a consistent effort. This is how we create long-term, lasting energy for ourselves. How we learn to not try harder, but softer. A slow drip of kindness towards ourselves so that a full breakdown becomes something not only avoidable, but unnecessary in order for us to give ourselves permission to pause, reflect and rest.

I even noticed how my judgment of the weather was something I’d created in the mind. Walking rain or shine, I realized it was never that bad once I was outside, which then helped me see this is applicable to really most things in life. The dread I create for myself is most often much worse than the actual thing itself.

And that’s why I attributed my sobriety to yoga. Because it was mostly while I was doing yoga that I would feel peace. I thought I had to go to yoga to find peace.

But now 18 months into sobriety, and 4.5 years clean, I’m learning something crucial, about myself, and perhaps a truth I’d been missing.

Peace isn’t found, it’s felt.

And at first, nothing seems to be happening. The soil stays, unmoved. There is no sign of progress. Some days there’s rain, helping you to water the seeds, as cold, and wet, and unpleasant as it may seem at times. And some days there’s sun, bringing forth hope and light for better days to come. And some days it’s overcast, neither here nor there, but even on those days, if we look carefully, it’s not that hard to see that magic is still unfolding.