Drops In A Bucket

Welcome back. I’m writing from the in-between.

I’ve been in this space of transition for twenty months, where things are not as they were, but not yet as they will be. It's a place of uncertainty and becoming, where I often feel lost. But I have come to realize that even a drop in a bucket can lead to a slow and steady shift.

Before I decided to quit my career working behind the chair as a hairstylist, I had the idea to write a memoir about salon life. I thought it would be an interesting and certainly entertaining read. The salon is a microcosm, and a typical day in a busy salon can include an array of experiences, emotions, and characters. I didn’t have a regular writing practice yet, not even a daily journal entry. The journal I occasionally wrote in took about five years to fill up. I would write in it very sporadically. Even during major events, like March 2020 through February 2021, I didn’t have a habit of jotting anything down. I think we can all agree there was plenty going on during that time that I could have been writing about and reflecting on.

I kept thinking about this book idea, and a year or so passed before I quit my job. My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer and heart failure, and my focus shifted to his treatments and helping my parents with various needs. I filled out paperwork and wrote letters requesting financial aid for their medical bills, helped them apply for assistance programs, and made phone calls to understand their medical bills and insurance. The people I talked to on the phone seemed as confused as I was. I went through decades worth of boxes of my parents paperwork, organizing or shredding it. This was essentially my new job. At this time, I started a Transcendental Meditation practice - twenty minutes in the morning and twenty minutes in the evening.

Months went by, and it was January 2022 when I decided I was done with alcohol. I had woken up with a horrendous headache and said, ”I never want to feel like this again.” My last drink was a glass of wine from a bottle a friend brought over for a game night at my house. It wasn’t a typical rock-bottom moment or a dramatic ending. The truth is, I’d had several (dozens of) experiences worthy of an ending, and I’d continued drinking after they’d happened. No, my last drink was like a switch that quietly flipped over to: I’m done.

So, I’m going along, being five months sober, eating lots of sugar, reading recovery memoirs, and listening to sobriety podcasts. One day, I was reading Holly Whitaker’s Substack, Recovering (recommend!), and she mentioned a writing course. It’s led by author Ann Dowsett Johnston. The course is called: Writing Your Recovery. It’s for women in recovery who want to begin writing their memoir. I signed up before I even realized that I’d read Ann’s book: Drink. I read Drink in 2016. It was the first Quit-Lit (literature about quitting drinking alcohol) I ever read. [Bizarre twist: When I told my husband I was doing the course with Ann, he said, “She interviewed me in 1999.” In 1999, when Ann was working at Macleans magazine and my husband was graduating from Waterloo, she interviewed students headed to the States after graduation, and my husband was one of them.]

With Ann’s guidance and the support of this incredible group of women, I started writing and sharing with the group. I finished the course and continued with the group in Ann’s next course, Writing Your Discovery.

When August was approaching, and I was about to be eight months sober, I knew I needed more sober humans in my life. I’d taken a break from alcohol for eight months before, and I wanted to boost my sobriety. I joined the online sober community The Luckiest Club. I went to a meeting online and shared that I was new and eight months sober. I was given a warm welcome and lots of support. It was a speaker meeting, and the speaker suggested attending ninety meetings in ninety days. I decided I’d do that next.

In the Pacific Northwest, the weather starts to change in October. "Winter is coming." This time of year can be tough for me. I need sunshine and the positive mood boost it provides. Living in the Columbia River Gorge, there is often a cloud inversion, which means a layer of foggy clouds sits on your face, blocking the sun you assume is no longer in the sky for months at a time. It felt like the right time for me to try online therapy with BetterHelp. I found a sober, female therapist that I really liked, and I worked with her for three months. Group therapy was also included in the membership, and I attended sessions on subjects that were new to me, such as Tapping, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and Compassion Fatigue. Pro-tip: Sometimes when life gets overwhelming, I'll just shout out, "Compassion fatigue! I have compassion fatigue!" This wasn't a technique taught in the group, but I find it helpful, and you are welcome to use it.

I was a few months away from reaching one year of sobriety when The Luckiest Club launched a three-month program called The Sober 90. I had heard from several people in recovery that the time surrounding milestones or anniversaries can be challenging, as it can be a reminder of a past low point or a period of heavy substance use. My annual milestone happens to be around the holidays (aka party time) and winter, creating a trifecta of potential triggers. While my last drink wasn't sensational, the last two months of my drinking were sneaky and chaotic. I decided to give myself extra support and joined The Sober 90 program.

For a year, I’d heard the term “Morning Pages.” I heard about it in the writers group, in sobriety meetings, in therapy. It turns out Morning Pages is from the book The Artist’s Way. This is a very famous, well-known book that I’d never heard of. From the author, Julia Cameron: “Put simply, the Morning Pages are three pages of longhand writing, strictly stream-of-consciousness: ‘Oh, god, another morning. I have NOTHING to say, I need to wash the curtains. Did I get my laundry yesterday? Blah, blah, blah…’ They might also, more ingloriously, be called brain drain, since that is one of their main functions.”

On January tenth, the day after I’m one year sober, I start a daily practice of writing Morning Pages. On March fifteenth, I’ve filled my first journal. On March 28th, I start this blog. Suddenly (and slowly) I have a daily writing practice. Maybe I could write that book.

Drops in a bucket. For years, I've been adding drops to my bucket. I read a recovery book, drop in a bucket. I meditate, drop in a bucket. I try therapy, drop in a bucket. Another day sober, drop in a bucket. Writing Morning Pages, drop in a bucket.

This is what I've done. This is how the first year of sobriety unfolded for me.

Find what you can drop into your bucket. It may not feel like much, but it matters. Ask for support, look for helpers, and try adding another something to drop into your bucket. Keep going, because it adds up.

Thank you for reading this. I hope you'll come back. I'll be over here.