One of my favorite bloggers, The Discovering Alcoholic, is traveling in Japan and asked me to write a guest post to help him out. Answering the call of "help!" is one of my codependent superpowers, so I grabbed my codie cape and started typing. His suggested topic: what I hate about recovery blogs. Well, being "nice" is another of my superpowers, so this was a difficult topic. But I did manage to think of something I hate. It's common to all blogging, but I seem to feel it more in the recovery community, because I just don't want it to be there.
When The Discovering Alcoholic asked me to write a guest post about what I hate about recovery blogs, I was stumped. After all, I love blogging about recovery and I love reading recovery blogs.
My husband is a sex addict, and when I started blogging nearly two years ago, I couldn't find many people writing about sex addiction codependency. I (with some typical negative self-talk) thought, "I won't fit in here. I won't be able to relate to blogs about codependency and addiction around alcohol and drugs, and those bloggers won't think sex addiction is a 'real' addiction, like the ones they have to deal with. They'll think my husband is just a jerk, and addiction is just an excuse, and his recovery and mine are a joke."
Instead I was amazed to discover that all I had to do was substitute "sex" for "drugs" or "alcohol" and I could relate to every single heart wrenching situation other bloggers described. The pain was the same. The confusion was the same. The unmanageablility was the same. The vain attempts to control were the same. And this must have been true the other way around, because instead of shunning me, most folks were happy to join in my recovery. Like a big online 12 Step meeting, the only requirement for membership was a desire to stop doing things the way you have done them, regardless of the specific behavior or substance involved.
I've found a lot of support, fellowship, wisdom and deep, genuine friendships in the recovery blogging community. How could I hate anything about that? Especially when blogs are like an extension of the people writing them. Wouldn't saying I hate something about recovery blogs be saying I hate something about all the people writing them, people who are my friends, my support and my inspiration?
Still, my experience with recovery blogs hasn't been all sunshine and roses and perfect acceptance. I get frustrated and triggered and just plain pissed off some days. Some days I feel attacked. Some days I am attacked. And in turn there are times when I frustrate, trigger, piss off and snipe at others. So it occurs to me that what I hate about recovery blogs is that, although they are in many ways like online meetings, they are not the safe places that good meetings are. The rules that are in place to allow us to share safely with one another in the rooms of recovery aren't in place on blogs, where anyone (in recovery or not) can read and comment. There is crosstalk. (In fact, in many ways a blog format encourages it.) There is gossip. And not everyone shares in "I" terms only.
Putting myself out there when I know I'm not safe is hard. I get anxious each and every time I put up a new post. Watching other people put themselves out there when they're not safe is hard too and spins me right into codependent caretaking mode. I wish the whole world ran like a big 12 Step meeting. And yes, the fact that it doesn't is a growth opportunity. It's part of recovery. It's part of learning to live in the world and live life on life's terms. But I still hate it.
This post was originally published at The Discovering Alcoholic's site.
Heading over there now!
huh, I read your guest post and I feel a bit sad that you don't always feel safe when you read other recovery blogs. I've not felt that way myself re: other blogs, BUT I do know, on a very intimate basis, what it feels like to be Unsafe. It's a terrible feeling, a vulnerable feeling.
I'm sending retroactive (((((hugs))))) and an bit of unsolicited advice from my Bottomless Well of Codie Helpfulness. Whenever I feel unsafe, I make myself mindful of my Here and Now - the chair supporting me, the floor supporting my chair, the smell of spring vegetable soup from the kitchen, and i let myself sit there in the arms of Mother Earth who holds me and sustains me no matter where I am and let the vulnerable unsafe feelings go back to the place from whence they came - a place of Not here and Not now. Sometimes I need to cry to release the feelings, sometimes I just need to be mindful that Nobody else can follow the rules I have established for my own safety and expectations, probably b/c I didn't hand out the memo. I've had to learn over and again that I am safe in my own skin and no one can get inside of that, especially when I'm pretending I'm an armadillo. Armadillo skin is particularly impervious.
Not sure if I followed "I" terms there, nor if I stuck my head too far in your business, if I did, I apologize. I love you very much and so do many many other people who have seen a glimpse of your Inner Light.
A very famous writer, Gertrude Stein, once said, "Since everything we do in this life is dangerous, we have every reason to be afraid." And so I can well understand your fear as well as most others. But I do not like the words, "recovering," or "recovery." For what are we "recovering" from? Booze? Dope? Sex? All those are "desires." And how the hell does on "recover" from "desire." And why would one even want to? After being a diabetic for over 50 years and a junkie/boozehound for the past 45 of those years I know a little bit about those conditions. At one time, I did go to AA/NA meetings, but never much liked all the hand-holding, god, and sharing approach, but instead needed the kind of social lubricant that those meetings provided. But the crowd always frightened me. I was always leery of too many people, especially those people who frequented those meetings who only called themselves boozers and/or junkies to meet those of the opposite sex and eat up time. However, I certainly am not against those, who, for whatever reason, finds a degree of solace and/or peace in this little of acre of hell we call our lives, in participating in anything that's organized.
I've written a memoir, JUNK SICK: CONFESSIONS OF AN UNCONTROLLED DIABETIC that was supposed to be published by a major New York house until the bottom fell out of that industry--as it has all across this country and other industries--and so, because Mrs. Death is nipping at my heels, decided to put it up on line before I come to the end of my own. You, as well as others who have lived "the life" and are still alive to tell the tale, might want to sample it.
I'll leave you with another quote, this one by Harry Crews, a terrific writer, x-everything, who I knew at one time, "ONLY THE DEAD HAVE NO FEAR." So as long as there's that little knot in the pit of your stomach, that's a good thing--you're above ground.
If someone asks for help nicely and you say yes, that's a codependent behavior? I don't think so.
L, in this case, I was being tongue in cheek, which doesn't always come across well on the Internet, but the short answer to your question is "yes, in my experience, it can be." And that's an excellent idea for a future post.