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.

Sometimes the scariest thing is acknowledging just how much power we do have, and what actions we can actually take. Because then, we’d have no reason not to do it.

Death was impersonal to Lady. Sickness was also impersonal to her. She lived like she had chosen it, without complaint, only an unflappable conviction that hers was the best life. We watched her slow throughout the years. She watched us do the same. In the last year of Lady’s life, there was a sense of peace about her that radiated throughout the household. A sense of acceptance, of something resembling laziness, but maybe really just a savoring of each second, the wisdom of knowing that to rush is a fool’s errand.

Self-hatred, destructive thoughts, insecurity, blame, doubt, all the cards we keep shuffling over and over from hand to hand as if this pain is meant to be carried. It’s not. Allow your fingers to release its grip on this collection of hurt. Our beautiful, intricate hands and bodies were meant to create, to touch, to heal and discover and move like nothing else on earth. They are not meant for this game of self-destruction; rather, the work and art of reinvention, and resurrection.

When we sit in silence we can feel the vibrations of everyone going through the same thing. Reminders that we are not alone is everywhere. The human experience hasn’t changed. We still struggle in the same ways in our minds, in our hearts. Suffering is universal. It is the one language we can all understand. We don’t need to believe this, we simply know it.

My attachment to anxiety is what I always thought was my “drive”. It was the motivation behind most of my actions. My anxiety of other people suffering drove the codependent tendencies in me. My anxiety of not being perfect drove me to never allow rest, or silence in my life. And the only way to detach from anxiety, I’ve learned, is to allow it.

Things present themselves and your view is no longer blurred, the sound is no longer dulled, the blows are no longer soft. And alcohol is very good at postponing things we actually should have dealt with years ago. So here I am, dealing with years of back taxes in emotional management.

Who would I be without these things that had always offered me comfort, no matter how short-lived? The answer is who I’ve always been, before I was told not to be. And if we are to share the love that we’ve always craved, we have to start with coming back to ourselves. The only home that ever mattered.

When I love someone, I value them so much, I absorb their words and opinions too much. Words become ideas. Ideas become our reality. It’s a scary thing when something so easily put out into the world can venture and change so much of our internal world. And once it’s in there, it’s so hard to get out.

Fear is restrictive. Love is expansive. And what that means is, to love someone well, is to provide a really big space, a giant football field-sized space, for them to learn and grow.

Sometimes, thoughts can creep up on you. Like me on my sister. Here’s what you can do with them.

She asked us what Lady’s favorite things were. The answer was simple, and not too far from my own: Noah and food.

Where would we be without them?

Luckily for us, both are inescapable!