Clearing Out the Mental Debt
How I blow away the cobwebs of my mind
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DARE TO BE DRY is sobriety focused. But you don’t have to have ever had a problematic tango with alcohol to be here and feel resonance. This is the space where I get curious and invite whatever parts of me want to step up that day. For decades I spent so much time and energy doing. Writing reminds me of the importance of simply being. It slows me down. I’ve learned I don’t like the pace in the fast lane.
My “hero post” explaining what my heart wants from this space and what it DARES TO BE
Two of my most vulnerable essays letting you know I Was That Kind of Drinker and what I realized when I hit 1,000 days of sobriety
Lately, I’m in a season of needing to be in nature. The pull is strong. I’m letting it pull me. It must have something to teach me. Here are two recent essays I wrote that stemmed from my time outdoors, wandering and wondering What if _____________? and Who Are Your Quiet Teachers?
I’ve been noticing spider webs lately. They catch my eye, and I stop to stare at them for a moment. I can’t explain the pull or why they are capturing my attention but I’m learning that there need not be an explanation. My eyes want to settle there. Something in me is finding this important.
Being in nature has a way of pulling me out of the spin cycle of my mind. Nature becomes a story in and of itself which therefore lifts me out of the narrating one in my head.
There is one web that keeps forming in the upper right corner of the entrance to my office. Because I don’t want spiders crawling on my head each morning when I show up to work, I take a stick and swipe at it to dismantle it. But relentlessly, the spiders go back to work and weave a new one. A new day, a new web. I’m starting to think it should stay there. So, I’ve left it alone.
I walk through the world with different eyes now that I am sober. And what my eyes see are constant reminders of how we all are interconnected. And by all, I mean ALL creatures, not just us humans with the upright stance.
I am also thinking a lot lately about my own internal interconnectedness. How all my parts inside me, link together to make up a whole.
Some days, certain parts may be louder than others and yet - they interconnect and remind me how to find harmony in the middle. Peace in the mundane.
It reminds me of how energy compounds. How we co-regulate in this world. In our families. In ourselves.
Think about how someone’s infectious kindness at a grocery store or at a traffic light can be just enough to remind you that not everyone is out for just themself. We interconnect. My energy sees yours and can shine on you. And vice versa.
Every time I stand witness to an orange sky, the way the sun slowly breaks through filtered clouds, or the way the sun stands up to be noticed at day’s break, it connects to some part of me inside. The glimmer and rays of sun have this incredible way of dulling any shame that still lives in my body over how I used to start my mornings. That sun is giving me new life every day I see it return. The idea that this sun I am looking at is the sun that belongs to everyone on this planet inspires me to bring more warmth to others. More warmth to myself. To be the light someone else might need in their dark.
The sun’s warmth. The spider’s web. Both are visual reminders to me of the power that burns in us when we recover ourselves. And just like the sun’s rays and the web that weaves outward, so do our stories of recovery.
Because September is National Recovery Month, I’ve been extra loud about it. I’ve been that spider who keeps coming back to weave a web of stories outward so that all who need to hear have a chance to hear. I’ve been beaming the light on others’ words because we all want to cast our rays outward. Isn’t that why we come here to Substack? To interconnect? To weave my experience with yours?
For the past 20 days, each morning I have showed up on Notes and said the same thing:
PLEASE READ:
September is National Recovery Month in the U.S. and Canada
I am a woman in recovery. I am recovering from alcohol addiction.
Because I believe in the power of sharing our stories and because I want to stand in my truth, I choose to recover out loud.
For the month of September, every day, I will show up here to Notes and shine a light on another writer who is showing up and speaking out about the freedom one finds when living into a sober life. 🔦🔦
YOUR TURN - TELL US:
~How do you clear the cobwebs of your mind? Is nature a teacher to you, too?
~What is your relationship with the word recovery? I believe we all have something to recover from. If you feel called to share, I’d love to hear from you.
If you're a writer on Substack and have been enjoying my work, please consider recommending DARE TO BE DRY to your readers for essays from a sober focused woman and mom who is waking up to life here in mid-life, daring to speak up as a woman in recovery who is writing about recovery of self, turning down the noise of the world, reclaiming desire and walking into each day with intentional living.
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BEFORE I GO:
Question: Do you like a challenge? I do! Would you like some accountability in regularly posting here on Substack? Me too. Check out the Sparkle on Substack Essay Club where you can find this cute badge:
All you have to do is commit to write (up to) 24 essays each by January 31st 2025. Here is my #12 of 24. Join
and her fun vibe for some collective writing inspiration.
Thanks for giving me a special memory of my dad:) He's been gone for 20 years. My dad was a farmer & would never kill a spider. He told my sisters and I that they were helpful & ate the "bad" bugs. So to this day, I won't kill a spider (at least not intentionally). Although he would pick them up with his bare hands, I use a tissue to place them outside. I loved your pictures and especially the paragraph with the sun analogy... the same sun for everyone on the planet... bringing warmth to others and myself. I'm going to borrow those words (and give you credit, of course) & include them in my journal of inspirational sayings. Thank you for sharing this lovely writing:)
This was so beautiful, Allison. You've reinforced for me through your writing that nature is our quiet teacher and I love how you've spun metaphors for life from the spider webs around you. As for your questions, I also clear the cobwebs of my mind through walks or time spent in nature--ideally, on the beaches of Florida's Gulf Coast, or as I am now, along the Mediterranean in Barcelona (and not long ago, the dramatic Atlantic coast of northern Portugal). Meditation and reading poetry or reflective readings like Mark Nepo's also have a clarifying effect, so I can weave the web of my own thoughts with more intention, less angst.
As for the second question, I have a complex relationship with the word "recovery." There is a part of me that thinks, now sober since Feb 1, 2021, that the recovery is behind me; whatever it was that drew me to have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol is gone--poof! Forever! But like the persistent spider web outside your office, I realize that this thinking itself is a bit wishful, wanting to force a conclusion upon something that is in fact fluid. In fact, on this trip in Spain and Portugal, as my daughter enjoyed her wine and port, I felt, for the first time in a long time, a longing not to "miss out" on everything that life in this part of Europe had to offer, including its wine. But a couple of sips of her port and wine, out of curiousity (could I become an occaional, healthy drinker?) confirmed for me what had been my experience when I quite accidentally a year into my sobriety tasted my daughter's red wine instead of my n/a wine--a very unpleasant taste and feeling inside me. Yuck. Ugh. All I taste is the alcohol, the ethanol. I've lost my taste for it. But I see that I still have more recovery work to do in being completely at peace with the idea that my lack of appreciation for what I once thought essential to my life is perfectly okay--that I am not missing out on anything essential. In fact, my mind and heart will stay more clear, alert, present as my wine-drinking companions become inevitably affected by the alcohol. I don't judge their choices--and I must be at peace with my own choices.