Choosing Joy Regardless

July 9, 2020

I could be an alcoholic. Alcoholism runs in my family. Or an addict. That’s in our family, too. Or suffer from workaholism. Maybe sexaholism. Or any other “ism” to fill the void in my soul. Maybe shopaholism. (I wonder if this is already an issue when I keep scrunching the shoes piling up in my closet, packed in sideways, toe to foot now, so more can fit in my narrow, carpeted space.) 

But after tons of self-reflection I’ve discovered my biggest ism,—my method of self-soothing—is satisfied by connections with people. I’m a recovering co-dependent, micro-managing, controlling FOMO-holic (If you haven’t heard, FOMO is Fear of Missing Out. . . trust me, it’s a real thing.) My need for attachment with people rules my life.

Which is unfortunate since my family of origin is all dead.

Gratefully, close friends and associations fill that void. Yet unlike family, their relationship with me isn’t mandatory. They can walk at any time. Especially those further out on the concentric rings of relationship—the B, C and D circles. The A ring is hopefully stuck with me. You know, the gold friends you can count on one hand. 

But every holiday, Super Bowl, 4th of July, etc. is a huge trigger for me. Months in advance I begin navigating a place to land; there’s no assumed invitation awaiting me.

This fear started congealing when my adored older brother chose drugs over everything else— until it was no longer a choice—and died from a heroin overdose twenty-four years ago. I was thirty-three when my husband and I found his stiff body folded over a ratty brown sofa in his apartment, TV blaring. 

After decades of Brad’s addiction dominating my life, everything suddenly stopped.

The ultimate loss—one my family had dodged for decades—relabeled me as an only child left to console our broken parents. I didn’t allow myself to grieve and became clinically depressed five years later. That inspired more co-dependence, controlling and micro-managing behavior. 

So now you know my story.

In desperation I sought prescribed psych meds to calm my body, and therapy to calm my mind. Yet I still distracted myself with busyness every waking moment. I launched into reporting for a local paper, participated on a school site council, played tennis, took a board position on a non-profit focused on at-risk youth, studied yoga, volunteered to administer a lacrosse program we founded, started a personal history writing business and travelled at every opportunity. I flashback now to my old self: going, doing, going, doing, saying yes, yes, yes. Include me, I’m your girl! What a desperate girl I was.

We can get into the psychology later (Lord knows I’ve studied it enough!) but for now, I craved attachment to people, and clung like a snail climbing the sideboard of a house, gripping with all my might. Until I learned it pushed people away. . . manifesting my greatest fear. 

I no longer could stand to be with myself. Who was I? I sought the chaos to avoid me—something I’m sure my then teenage kids will grapple with someday, since I became increasingly unavailable. (Sadly, our kids are usually affected by our “stuff,” and why isms are repeatedly passed down through generations until someone has the courage to break the cycle. Do you know any alcoholics who have alcoholic parents?)

We change when it becomes more uncomfortable to remain the same. 

I unwittingly embarked on a journey to revise my future, my story. Fifteen years of talking with therapists, practicing with yoga, engaging with God and writing with journals steered me toward making peace with myself. I began climbing out of my brokenness by looking at my truth. 

I had been deeply affected by living in the shadow of my brother’s addiction and his ultimate death. But now I had to change my response to the cards I’d been dealt. I had to release my past and how I viewed the world and the stories I believed. 

I had to change my thinking to change my life. 

Today I remain on a daily mission to live in joy, despite my losses. Side note, both my parents slowly died from dementia over the next two decades following Brad’s death, first Mom, then Dad, with me as their primary support system, both in life and death. 

All this taught me the goal is working through our crap and choosing to live a happy life regardless. By turning my brokenness into my purpose—for me it includes writing about the repercussions of Brad’s life and death—I’m making sense of my past. And peace with my circumstances.

Now I’m writing about what I call ReVision—a healing journey designed to bring self-awareness to people living in brokenness and ultimately help them redirect their future to a more wholesome outcome. Trust me, I’m still a work in progress and expect I’ll be forever, but my triggers are diminished, and that’s a worthy success. Small success change lives. 

Are you ready? I invite you to join me on this ReVision journey together.

And speaking of invitations, any chance you’re free to barbecue on Labor Day? 

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought…”
― Gautama Buddha

Read more quotes from Gautama Buddha