Real quick: I’m recovering from knee surgery this week (torn meniscus, just like Joel Embiid) so I might be a little loopier writing-wise this week. Let’s explore the space!
March is my birthday month and I’m turning a big round number and I’ve been told things tend to heal slower at this age. But despite my lameness I plan to maintain a mirthful disposition. And to celebrate my aliveness and your aliveness, there’s a 20% discount on all annual memberships for the month of March. Your subscriptions and donations help keep TSB free for those who need it most.
Real quick: I'm recovering from knee surgery this week (torn meniscus, just like Joel Embiid), so I might be a little loopier writing-wise this week. Let's explore the space!
March is my birthday month, and I'm turning a big round number; I've been told things tend to heal slower at this age. But despite my lameness, I plan to maintain a mirthful disposition. And to celebrate my aliveness and your aliveness, there's a 20% discount on all annual memberships for the rest of the month. Your subscriptions and donations help keep TSB free for those who need it most.
Alright, let's get to the Check-Ins.
Below, a cavalcade of brave and wonderful contributors let us peer into their lives.
Usual formatting rules apply: All the writers shall and will remain Anonymous but are credited collectively as "The Small Bow Family Orchestra."
The ***** separates individual entries, as do pull quotes. Some of the shorter entries will be one big pull quote. (There is one this month.)
And, of course, TSB looks amazing because Edith Zimmerman drew all of it.
Thanks for your continued support of The Small Bow. I wanna grow old with you. — AJD1
by The Small Bow Family Orchestra
I want to say I don't drink anymore without feeling like I've just thrown a wet blanket on top of a co-worker's head.
I will hit 1,000 days of continuous sobriety in exactly four days. Comma club, baby!
I want to talk about it. Specifically, I want to write about it, but that seems big, scary, and permanent. I think I could settle on talking about it. Or, at least not awkwardly laughing and shaking my head when someone inevitably asks me if I am pregnant again when they see me and my diet coke at a happy hour.
I want to be able to declare I'm sober like it's something profound and meaningful. I want to say I don't drink anymore without feeling like I've just thrown a wet blanket on top of a co-worker's head.
But every time I go to say something about it in public, my throat closes up. My family doesn't even know I am in recovery. Why am I so weird about this? I am not sure. Maybe it is because I am self-aware enough to know that 1,000 days is not a promise of permanence, and I have a (probably unwarranted and very self-aggrandizing) fear that if I throw this out into the open and declare that I am sober, there are no take backs and everyone will hate me if I stumble. Or maybe it's because I am self-aware enough to know that my sobriety is a toddler, and others have more insightful observations on the topic. Or maybe it is because I am painfully aware that I am a 32-year-old mother up for partner at a law firm at the end of the year, and it will absolutely be held against me if the wrong person sees an Instagram post or overhears a conversation they shouldn't hear.
Comma club, baby! For now, I will celebrate it like a whispered prayer over a slice of cake from Publix's sale rack. It's just safer that way.
*****
There's always a list in my head of what I could be doing better/more/less, but I'm not living there right now.
I feel content right now, which is extremely scary and hard to discuss.
I'm a first-time foster parent — two "special needs" kids (7 & 9). Every day has felt like a crisis for the last 10 months since they moved in. My recovery suffered, and everything felt really chaotic internally. Even though externally, there is/has been a lot of structure and routine, it's felt super unmanageable.
Since January started (and all the holiday insanity ended), I've felt hopeful, capable, and generally content.
I'm getting to many (Zoom) meetings, keeping in touch with 3 recovery partners, and joining a year-long weekly step group. I feel like I'm doing enough. I feel hopeful.
There's always a list in my head of what I could be doing better/more/less, but I'm not living there right now.
My life still feels surreal and disorienting at times, and I worry about my 15-year-old and then worry that I'm not worrying enough...but I also have some acceptance, and I'm finally starting to really understand that I'm not her higher power, my influence is limited, and I don't necessarily know best or have the ability to predict/control outcomes.
*****
I'm over 70 years old . . . shouldn't I have life at least halfway figured out by now?
I've been in codependency recovery for so long that I don't even remember when I started anymore. Coming from full-blown addiction on both sides of my heritage, I should probably be in recovery for many more addictions besides being addicted to people, but so far, I've avoided that (or maybe, just as likely, avoided admitting that I have other problems I have to look at more closely).
The biggest problem I have is believing in myself and forgiving myself for not being perfect in recovery and life. I think I'm doing great, then I think I'm nothing but a big phony who only pretends to know what they're doing. The truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing from day to day, and I feel shame, discouragement, and frustration because of that. And if I feel embarrassed because of some mistake I've made, it sends me into a self-critical spiral that I have to struggle to get out of. I'm over 70 years old . . . shouldn't I have life at least halfway figured out by now?
I don't understand how I can feel peaceful, grateful, discouraged, and hopeless about myself so often at the same time! I feel like I've let down friends and family, so they have learned to leave me out of their lives ~ but I also know that's my critical self trying to crush my precious created self. I need to learn to forgive myself for not being perfect and not having how to live life "rightly" all figured out.
The Small Bow helps me put life a little more in perspective, knowing I'm not the only one confused and conflicted, even though I'm aware of all the tools available to me through recovery. I am trying to live in the moment instead of the past or future. Thanks for being here; I am grateful to be alive and still trying, and you help with that.
*****
Why do I have to go through this battle constantly? What do I have to atone for?
I have a small card posted on my kitchen cabinet. It says, “I am battle-tested.”I wrote that down a few years ago, before I got sober, during one specific depressive episode. Even amid calls to the crisis hotline and tears coming from nowhere, this small part of me still wanted to remind the rest that this is simply a battle, a storm I’m currently weathering. I have experience with these storms, and I’ll survive. I’m forever grateful to that small part for speaking up. So, I wrote her words down and kept them at eye level in my kitchen.
Sometimes, I read those words with resentment. Why do I have to go through this battle constantly? What do I have to atone for?
Sometimes, I see those words and feel this sense of confidence and strength; this energy is almost like a war cry from somewhere I can’t see. I am powerful.
Sometimes, I glance at those words and almost tear them down. It’s just patronizing. I’m exhausted. I’ve already proven I can withstand this battle (and all the previous battles), so why does it keep going? I do all the things; exercise, get outside, talk to a therapist, eat healthy, participate in my community, and now I’m sober. I’m checking all the boxes for living a happy life, so why am I still unhappy?
Sure, I’m “battle-tested.” I’ve moved through the center of the storm repeatedly. I’ve survived its damage…so far. But that comes at a cost.
*****
I’m still scared to vacation without drugs and drinking.
Writing to you from the beach on a tiny island where I’m vacationing alone. Just got here after a morning of meditation, exercise and coffee. There have been times on this vacation when I’ve been drunk off happiness. I get a moment of panic that I’m buzzed and then remember I haven’t actually had alcohol—I’m just LIVING. Can you imagine that?
I’m still scared to vacation without drugs and drinking. I never know how I’ll fill my time. The uncomfortable anxiety of not having a schedule or responsibilities to keep me on the straight and narrow haunts me. But I’m doing it. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m actually using a vacation to relax and refuel my body instead of adding wear and tear to it by consuming poison for several consecutive days. I think back to all the other times on the beach I’ve embarrassed myself, stumbled off, or passed out on it, and I feel woeful regret. But I’m not there anymore. I’m here, and it feels good and real.
*****
Overall I feel good, but my darkest and most challenging moments are when I don't feel seen.
Initially, I missed the alcohol, and now, about 2.5 years into sobriety, I realize how much I still miss the attention. I felt funnier and more clever, and even the negative attention was still attention. I feel good, but my darkest and most challenging moments are when I don't feel seen. Times when it seems others aren't interested or don't care about what's going on in my life. Things are good overall, but this is the demon of the month. Stay strong, my friends, and we do recover.
*****
They are annoying, especially interrupting me mid-sentence and being weird with my pets.
February brought two back-to-back Al-Anon field trips (when loved ones or alcoholics visit you or you visit them), and I survived with my well-being mostly intact. My parents visited first, and it was overall a positive and sweet time, especially as I observed myself not getting annoyed by them as much (and gosh, they are annoying, interrupting me mid-sentence and being weird with my pets) as well as working to connect and accept them as they are. Progress!
The next visitors were my brother-in-law (my partner's brother) and his family. I hadn't seen my sister-in-law since 2018, and we had big blowups in the last 4 years. Some of it was me: awkwardly calling her out on her use of not white skin tone emojis in the family text chat (when we have a Black sister-in-law and I felt weirded out that my white sister-in-law was using emojis not in her skin tone), and generally not being honest about how her triangulation with her husband and my partner was impacting me. (She was worried about her husband's drinking and would take to calling my partner to ask for help, which would set off him to drink and downstream impacts on our lives. Yikes.)
This strife ultimately reached a blowup point. My sister-in-law texted, "It seems like you don't like me, and I don't want to spend my energy on this relationship" in 2021. At the time, it was intense, but I appreciate that now she has set a boundary in that space.
Cut to recently, I was dreading the visit and resenting the obligation of needing to see each other. I was trying to anchor myself to the positivity that my son would get to spend time with his cousins, whom he does not see regularly. I had an anxiety attack in the hours before they were supposed to come over, and it was unmooring, awful, and deeply depleting. I did manage to use my tools of rest and self-care, plus asking for help to get to a place where I could show up and not feel nauseous and overwhelmed. My partner was excellent at supporting me to take breaks during their visit ("Hey, maybe you should go take the dog for a walk, Hey, can you pick up dinner," etc.), and I did not engage in too much conversation with my sister-in-law. This was hard for me since I was hosting and felt like I had to talk with them, but I was respecting a boundary I set for myself with my sponsor in deciding that I did not want to be friends with her either. I focused on being respectful and kind but not giving myself away in that process.
Oh, and I celebrated 10 years of sobriety in late February. I like and love myself more with each passing year and am so grateful to mark time here.
*****
All of him is growing all the time.
This morning, I was in the grocery store and imagined falling to my knees and weeping at the beauty of Aretha Franklin singing "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman," which was playing over the loudspeaker. I didn't actually fall to my knees, but again, I imagined it. When I returned to the car, I noticed my older son's sneakers on the floor in front of his seat. He got a new pair yesterday and, I guess, just decided to leave the old ones where they were. His feet are growing all the time. All of him is growing all the time. I passed six months sober this week, and I'm finally seeing it.
*****
Today is my 60th day of sobriety. I am working the program, praying, and not drinking. I truly feel like the obsession has been lifted. There is much work left to do, but I believe I never have to feel that shame and misery again. Praise God.
*****
A sunny run later miles from a Starbucks or Target, and a power in my life that wants the kernel of good to grow in my life.
If I’m not aligned with my program and God’s will, then I’m off to the races. My sponsor asks: “Where do you find God in your day?” because if I’m not asking myself that, then I can obsess about my drugs of choice to get along in the world—food, money, people—I’m always in the process of doing the next right thing and asking myself “is this helpful?” to myself and to others.
Been in the program for over twenty years, and still, some days, are Big Book back to basics and stopping my obsession to over—overeat, overspend, over-control, over-over—and obsess about gratitude and the beautiful small moments of life that the universe has given me: the beautiful ranch I live on, the solid tree of a man I live with, two 80-something parents, his 80-something parents, a sunny run later miles from a Starbucks or Target, and a power in my life that wants the kernel of good to grow in my life.
*****
Use your mouth to save your ass.
Just over 2 years sober, and I feel like I am truly the lucky one in my non-sober family (I never would have imagined that). Life will have its ups and downs for everyone, but I get to talk to others about it and process it outwardly without fear of judgment. It had been a long time since I shared in a meeting, and I finally did a week or so ago. It blew my life wide open, and the good kept finding its way in again. It was a great reminder. What's that saying? Use your mouth to save your ass?
*****
I still might go out to the trash tonight to find that fucking onion, wash the dog shit off of it, and put it back in the yard so my life can get back to normal.
Last fall, someone dropped an onion in my front yard. I wondered where it came from, but I didn’t really care, and soon enough, it was covered in snow. After a big thaw last week, the onion reappeared. It was dented and sad, so I threw it in the trash. I’ve had the worst luck since I threw away that fucking onion. That’s crazy, right? Like an onion could make anything terrible happen. But I still might go out to the trash tonight to find that fucking onion, wash the dog shit off of it, and put it back in the yard so my life can get back to normal.
*****
fin
RECENT CHECK-INS:
This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.
You can also get a Sunday issue for $7 a month or $60 per year. The Sunday issue is a recovery bonanza full of gratitude lists, a study guide to my daily recovery routines, a poem I like, the TSB Spotify playlist, and more exclusive essays.
But remember—if you purchase an annual subscription in March you get 20% off.
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Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET and *4 p.m. PT/7 p.m. ET (Meditation meeting. Ten-minute meditation followed by 50 minutes of sharing.)
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*****
If you don't feel comfortable calling yourself an "alcoholic," that's fine. If you have issues with sex, food, drugs, DEBT, codependency, love, loneliness, depression, come on in. Newcomers are especially welcome.
FORMAT: CROSSTALK, TOPIC MEETING
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A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
Birthday in Palm Springs
by Alex Dimitrov
************************
The winds made me crazy.
At King’s Highway diner
I did tarot for the waitress
and she drew a heart on my bill.
Every day I watched a boy
play dead in the pool.
His friends laughed at him
from their beach chairs.
“I won,” he’d yell.
“I beat all of you again.”
When a stranger in a cowboy hat
asked if I was born in 1984
I didn’t answer. I stared
at the San Jacinto Mountains
in his BMW. He said, “pull
the seat back,” so I did.
Most nights I played alive
at the bar, after dinner,
the hotel bathrooms, a fire
pit near my room.
“You remind me of no one,”
the cowboy said. It was
supposed to be a compliment.
I was supposed to be older
but I’ve been six years old
since I got here. Trying to write
this poem since I can remember.
Trying not to die and I don’t
want to die here. No one has been good.
No one has known what I am.
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
But if you really hate subscriptions, feel free to donate $20 or more by pressing this button. You’re the best. Thanks for your kindness and support!
A.J. Daulerio. Editor of The Small Bow.
These made my morning. Thank you, we are never alone. 🌟 And may your knee heal with ease. 🌟
What a wonderful orchestra this month. I love the share about finding the 🧅 ! Certainly makes me think of “peeling the onion” in terms of self discovery, recovery, healing.