Dear Readers & Listeners,
Thanks for stopping in today to give me your attention; I know there are a million other things deserving of your time. I hope that you’ve been taking good care of yourself since I last wrote. It has been a while. Follow this link to listen instead.
Spring has sprung here in the southern hemisphere, and very welcome it is too after what has felt like a long, cold winter in comparison to the long, hot summer that went before it. I love springtime. It’s when I feel most alive. Thankfully it’s helped to pull me back out of a dark spell that I’ve gone through this year. Honestly, this year has been hard.
An end, the end
Lots has happened since I last wrote. My youngest child became an adult! Matilda turned 18 earlier this month and with that came the realisation that my job as a carer and stay-at-home mum is coming to an end, like all good things must. The other big thing that has happened is that I typed the words ‘The End’ to the first draft of my 82,000-word novel. I am letting it stew for a while before I tackle draft two which will be challenging to say the least.
Five years since my first blog!
Today marks five years since I published my first blog, Coming Out. Those five years have flown by. If it weren’t for the many more wrinkles lining my face and the fact that both my kids are now licensed to drive a car unsupervised, I wouldn’t believe that so much time has actually passed. I’m taking the opportunity to reflect on where those years have taken me. By the time I had written Coming Out, I already had close to five months of sober living under my belt, and I can remember clearly the feelings of freedom and joy that drove me forward from there. I thought I had nailed it. I thought that the only way was up after having hit rock-bottom. And I suppose it was in a way, until it wasn’t. I was hopeful and excited about a future without the crippling compulsive behaviours that I’d lived with since I was a teenager. I threw myself at life and welcomed in the opportunity of transformation that a sober life offered me. I committed to a life of writing, and I studied for a Diploma of Counselling while continuing to be the primary carer for my kids who were 12 and 14 at the time. I had some articles published in The Irish Times, I did some radio shows, and on a couple of occasions, I stood in front of live audiences and told stories for Barefaced Stories here in Perth. The latter was knee-trembling, heart-stopping stuff that I never dreamed I would ever dare to do. But I did it all with the enthusiasm and energy of a person who felt she had been given a second chance at life.
the hard shell
The space in between all of that was where the hard work of facing myself happened. I did this with the support of both counselling and group therapy to help me understand how I had let my compulsive behaviour drag me into the pit of despair that I had ended up in at the beginning of 2019. Over the next few years, I slowly picked away at the hard shell that I had encased myself in. I discovered the truth about the destructive relationship I’d had with myself from a young age. I learnt that my compulsive behaviour was driven by a need to comfort the part of me that felt alone, unloved, unworthy and disconnected from the world. From the outside looking in, it appeared that I had it all. I’d had an incredible career in London, then I married a tall, dark handsome man who gave me two beautiful children, I had the fancy house, a decent car, money for holidays yet I was as miserable as the child crying at their own birthday party. I was riddled with guilt for feeling that way. Certain family members would tell me to cop myself on, that I didn’t know how good I had it and couldn’t I just be grateful and positive. That compounded the feelings of worthlessness. I felt judged. I felt stupid. The wine took the edge off those feelings. It helped me through it at the time. But it didn’t change anything in the long run. I just stayed right where I was, stuck in a joyless place.
turned myself into a victim
As I’ve shared before, counselling gave me a brand-new perspective on life. It was the first time that I’d ever felt heard and not judged after I’d share the innermost darkest things that plagued me. I felt lighter for having my experience of life validated by a compassionate counsellor. It gave me the space to learn and to heal. In that safe space I felt comfortable exploring the parts of me that were despairing. I saw how I had spent a lifetime craving something that lay completely out of my control. I had craved the unconditional love and close bond of a mother who I had spent a lifetime in battle with. I had turned myself into a victim because I felt broken without it. I fled Ireland at the tender age of 18 and made a pledge to myself never to rely on anyone ever. I ran but I couldn’t hide from myself. So, I drank and smoked myself into oblivion. I became a lost cause to myself. I buried my shame deep within, thinking it would just rot away to nothing, but it doesn’t work like that. Whatever we bury within festers until we find the courage to face it. It was a scary process, admitting to myself and my counsellor how I’d messed up, but it had to be done if I wanted to change. And change I did. I found my ability to feel joy naturally without the need to artificially alter the state of my mind with substances. I learnt to forgive myself and others. I started to love myself for the first time in my life. I woke up to the wonders of my life and cultivated a deep gratitude for those wonders: the beautiful people and the gift of nature. I worked hard to accept the things I can’t change, particularly the way others see me. That is hard. I’ve reached a place in life where how I see myself in relation to others is like a fine balancing act. I acknowledge that we need each other; we thrive on connection. I have learnt that how we behave is often reflected back to us in the eyes of those we connect with. But at the same time, what others think of us is none of our business. What is our business is what we think of ourselves. It is an inside job.
being sober is not the panacea
The point is that after five years and five months sober, I can now reveal to you that being sober is not the panacea. Life does not get easier. Suffering is a part of life just as joy is. What does get easier though is the ability to access our inner strength to empower us to deal with life’s challenges in a life-affirming way. Reaching for a toxic substance is not life-affirming and only puts on hold the inevitable need to face our challenges. We live on a curved planet so that when we run from our problems, eventually we end up colliding with them. Then what?
I am more resilient than I thought
I have finally accepted the diagnosis from my doctor that I am suffering with complex trauma. When I see all the things that I’ve endured written down in black and white, it makes me realise that I am more resilient than I thought. I am ready to face it all now and continue to heal. For a while I believed that it was too late for that, but springtime has given me the boost I needed to help me out of the darkness towards the light.
quest
On a final note, I was listening to an interview from years back with the brilliant and, sadly, late Irish writer, Edna O’Brien. When asked about why she became a writer she said, ‘Writing is caused by some unknown or unnameable conflict or disturbance within one. That includes turmoil, but it also includes quest. There is a quest for something. I am both glad that I have this urgency within me, to make out of nothing some little thing.’ May she rest in peace.
I remain committed to my own quest. I hope my writing helps you to make sense of things. Thanks for being here. Love, Gill x
