How I Moved Myself from Wanting to Doing
I peered around the curtains at the couple living in their van across the street. I’ll call them Bob and Lisa. I'd met them and talked to them several times since we’d moved in. Who knows how old Bob and Lisa were-- after years of meth and alcohol use, it was hard to tell.
Now, they were grizzled, gray-haired, self-appointed watchdogs of the city park. They’d mellowed in their older age, especially Bob, who went into violent rages when he was younger— they’d gotten off meth by transitioning to smoking copious amounts of weed from morning 'til night.
I was in what psychology calls the "contemplation phase" of change—unhappy with my compulsive use of weed and alcohol, preparing myself for commitment to trying a new way.
I thought what they were doing made sense. They live in a vehicle, have few resources, and have little to do all day.
But what about me? I asked myself, How does my alcohol and drug use make sense?
Here I am, standing at the window of a warm, clean house with indoor plumbing and a refrigerator full of organic food. I have a great career, a loving husband, and good health.
What am I numbing?
What am I trying not to feel?
When you are in the contemplation phase, you are in that in-between place of knowing that you are unhappy where you are but perhaps not quite unhappy enough to act.
Studies show that people are much more likely to move away from pain than they are to move toward pleasure. So if you are where I was— not at a typical rock-bottom, your drinking or drug use causing problems but nothing that you can’t tolerate, then it can be challenging to move towards where you suspect you need to go— which is a commitment to sobriety, at least for now.
I had to allow myself to focus on all the ways my alcohol and weed use were causing me pain.
When we went on our incredible vacation to Vancouver Island, and I couldn’t enjoy it to the fullest because I was secretly scheming on how to get my hands on some weed and get high without my husband knowing.
When I went on a work trip, and told myself I wouldn’t get drunk around one of my work colleagues— in the past we’d had a conflict after we’d both been drinking that made our relationship strained. But we both drank too much again, and I was embarrassed to get into a tense argument in front of a contract employee that reported to me.
When I was visiting my brother in Hong Kong, drinking in the hotel room so my family would think the first glass of wine at dinner was my first of the night. Making three adults and two children wait for me every morning when I was hungover and couldn’t get up on time.
The way my sweet husband was at the end of his rope, tired of me getting high any chance I got on the weekends, which meant I had mentally, emotionally, and spiritually disappeared.
The thing is, all the small things in life ARE the big things. The more I allowed myself to accumulate evidence of the way alcohol and weed were sucking the life out of my life, I drew closer to taking action.
I remember that day, looking out at Bob and Lisa as puffs of smoke wafted into the playground from their van.
“Look at all the resources I have available to me compared to them,” I thought. “Do I truly believe I’m too helpless to act?”
The last straw was Memorial Day Weekend, 2018.
I sat in my car, taking selfies to try and capture a look of happiness that I didn’t feel. The waves glinted in the sunlight, as I tuned into the weight in my chest.
Surfing wasn’t fun. The beach wasn’t fun. Getting high didn’t make it fun. I knew I had to try for more.