Work is a shift for me. I go from a weekend alone (with 2 cats) to an office with a roadrunner, a back stabber, a mountain goat who likes to rule the roost and various other 'characters' who are all working to become better people.
I work at a small treatment center. We employees are all addicts in Recovery. We were all once insane with drugs and alcohol and now we are striving to live our amends to the world. It makes for an interesting work week.
On the weekends, I am essentially in retreat. I meditate, I self-
Reiki. I move energy with Macrocosmic-Orbits and
EFT. I read
Tarot. I do my chores and muse about this incredible Journey in which we find ourselves. Like riding a Great Ship through a sea of miracles. It is grand.
Monday's I get in the office at 7:30 in the morning. I drive 30 mins from my home in the city to a watery land where bald eagles and golden eagles live. I see deer and groundhogs and vultures on a regular basis. It's like going to Heaven everyday!
In the office, I put meditative music on Pandora. The place is quiet and lovely. I am still wearing the weekend.
When the 'roadrunner' arrives, the energy in the office swirls. Ready, set.
It would be fun to actually see how it moves as he starts buzzing back and forth, hither and yon, in and out of the door. We are both in Recovery, but his idea of Serenity is far different than mine. He likes to buzz. I like to float.
I try not to judge. Buzzing is his choice; floating is mine. As he splashes around the room, he talks to himself, clicks his pen and makes odd buzzy sounds with his tongue. It is irritating as hell!
I have thoughts sometimes of a giant fly swatter.
I occasionally wonder if he relapsed and is snorting cocaine. He does make sniffy sounds at times. But I think the problem is more sinister. I think he is a wounded boy. Many of us in recovery are adult wounded children. The back stabber is definitely a wounded child. The mountain goat seems less wounded, but still has issues. The funny thing is, in the past, we were all active addicts and/or drunks and, today, we are all in various stages of Recovery.
We may be addicts, but we were probably wounded children first. I do think addiction is primarily genetic, but one can't help see how childhood pushes us to use. Childhood trauma seems to be a common denominator in Recovering people. Addiction, for us, was a way to actually stay alive. For a while.
Eventually, using kills us. Working in a treatment center, I see that people die of this disease. More often than we might think. It is a wicked, insidious disease.
I believe we have to take care of the wounded child as part of our Recovery. If we don't, the clarity of Recovery will just be too bright and we will withdraw. We will seek the shelter of getting high.
Drugs give us addicts a cocoon in which to crawl. People might think using is about partying, but the truth is, using is about hiding. Every time we get high, we're in a bubble by ourselves. We may be with people, but we are in a bubble. The people with whom we socialize are all in bubbles, if they are high. It's the safest way to be with people - together but alone.
Some addicts don't like to use with others. They are just alone and in a bubble. Like hiding.
Adult wounded children feel quite vulnerable. And why wouldn't they? As children, they were deceived by someone or some occurrence. They were traumatized or hurt or betrayed in some way that left them so freaked that they had trouble being here anymore. Being scared half to death is a lousy way to start life.
So at 10 or 12 or 15, we find a way out. We sneak drinks from our family or a friend has a joint or we discover how to sniff glue. We learn how to be here and hide at the same time. It seems like a solution. A terrific, marvelous, happy solution.
The body and spirit were made for air and water and sustenance. Beer, marijuana and glue are none of those. They are toxins that get into the system and start to destroy. We users learn that eventually. We either die or get help or try to do both. The wounded child in us has a hard time letting go of its cocoon. The wounded child in us no longer trusts people or us.
What we need is Care, huge dollops of it. I learned from other recovering people how to also seek recovery from my childhood wounding. I learned, in a rather rude awakening, that I had to deal with more than just recovery from addiction to drugs. I also learned that the Care I needed could come to me through learning how to self-parent in a loving manner.
If we don't address our deeper issues, we will eventually relapse. I've seen it time and time again. It's not easy work, it can be painful and troubling; but it is always liberating. We heal and stop longing to hide.
My trek in healing has been a long one. The Hobbit comes to mind. Traveling into territory I do not know, discovering dark secrets buried deep beneath my surface, finding strengths I only wished for.
Workdays are tough sometimes. The wounded child in me still wants to hide at times.... or lash out.
I have learned Boundaries in Recovery. I have also learned compassion and acceptance. I continue to learn, with Practice, the Art of Being Here; mindfulness has a way of releasing the toxicity of a moment and finding the beauty and the humor of working with wounded people who have the Courage to be their Better Selves.
I am Grateful today.