64. backslide

You know, I used to be terrified of making any kind of big, public pronouncement about what I was doing, or intended to do, because I was afraid of my own self-sabotage. I was scared I wouldn’t follow through on what I said I’d do. I was anxious that I’d tell people I was doing something, then change my mind, or fail, and everyone would know I couldn’t be trusted. 

There are layers I could unpack in this, but I’d rather keep it simple: I didn’t trust myself. 

Today, I’m not so scared of making public announcements (where relevant), but equally willing to keep my business to myself, because honestly everybody doesn’t need to know everything about every facet of my life. Not because I need to keep it secret, but because we are each the center of our universe, and no one really cares that much about the nitty gritty of what we’re getting up to. 

When I stopped drinking alcohol in fall 2023, it took me a minute to share it outside my little constellation of trusted people, but I did, soon enough. When I mindfully hopped off the wagon about seven months later, I decided to share that too, because I’m an external processor, and it helps me figure out what I think and feel when I talk or write about it. Then I got right back on the wagon, because somehow, the act of confession helped me clarify my own sentiments and realize I really just didn’t want to drink. So I stopped again.

Last summer, I let myself build up a few weeks of momentum before I shared that I was going strong with daily workouts. It felt like a tender time, because I was also freshly diagnosed with ADHD (finally, at 39), and trying medication for the first time. I made a deal with myself that if I was gonna take amphetamines, I had to stay committed to daily workouts, so I didn’t get super aggressive or have unmanageable anxiety. For the first time in my life, I’m moving my body not as punishment, not to fit into a certain size of jeans, but because I am way more mentally balanced, stable, happy, and loving with the movement. 

But I made other changes in the past year or two which haven’t stuck so well. Like, I gave up coffee because I was healing my adrenals, but in the past three months, you bet your boots that espresso has snuck back into my life, one yummy little foamy homemade oat milk latte with Portuguese honey at a time. I’m actually okay with it, in moderation, because it’s such a delightful ritual - but, my body doesn’t love it, and I can feel a huge difference in my energy levels when I wake up in the morning if I’m on the bean-buzz. I wake up grumpy and sluggish, with less dream recall. 

Then there’s the other sneaky habit and occasional vice that I promised myself I’d give up: my teensy weensy nightly spliff, hand-rolled homegrown cannabis and a smidge of organic tobacco. I started smoking them again after twelve years off tobacco, and I started right after a death, a profound loss of a soul gone from their body far too soon. Which made sense, in a way, because the lungs are connected to grief, and it happened right in the wake of releasing all my other coping tools. 

But time went on, and I knew I needed to give up the habit. Breath is life, and I want to live. Yet every time I’d throw out the tobacco, or offer it to the land, a few days would pass, something would happen that was activating, stressful, angering, or emotional, and I’d go buy the little pouch of organic tobacco again, and roll the teensy weensy spliff, and sneak off to the well up at the top of the hill, out in the middle of an open field, and have my space, and have my smoke. 

When I started this project, I told myself (and you) that I was done with it. But sneaky habits die hard, and I’ve found myself back in this self-harming cycle over the past month. I’m not available for shame or judgment on this subject (not my own, not yours, not theirs) but I do need to get it off my chest, because… oh, my poor chest. My lungs are okay, but lately I’ve noticed a tension around the back of my heart, and I know exactly what it’s from. When I work out, I get winded sooner than I used to, and I know exactly what it’s from. When I don't want to just crash in and cuddle my boys and give kisses all over their faces because I worry that I might smell like smoke, I know exactly what it’s from. 

But what is the behavior giving me? Why is it so seductive, so easy to fall back into? What am I gaining from the habit? How is it serving as a coping tool? 

Beyond the highly addictive nature of nicotine, I think it’s actually a simple answer: to indulge in this vice, to sneak this habit, I have to be alone. I go away to a quiet place, by myself, and I just take five minutes to do nothing. I sit, stare at the landscape, and breathe (smoke). There’s something grounding in it. There’s something numbing in it. There’s something soothing in it. 

But there’s also something really fucking toxic in it, and I have to stop. My body is speaking to me loud and clear, and it is NOT happy with this habit. In fact, there’s not any part of me - body, mind, heart, soul, Spirit - that is happy with the habit. 

So… deep breath (without smoke). It has to go. I’m choosing to let go. From here on, I say no. I know I’m going to have a few days or a week of crankiness as I adjust again to one less vice, but I promised myself that this year I’d get into the best health of my life. What good is a mind free of social media noise and a body strong from exercise if I have internal organs that are poisoned from smoke? 

I really don’t want to send this email. I really don’t like being this vulnerable. I really don’t love how I feel about myself in sharing that I’ve been doing something I’m not proud of. 

But every time I feel this way, and I hit ‘send’ when it feels too tender, too sticky, too tricky, too flawed to share… I receive back something in the form of love, care, support, acceptance, encouragement, grace, cheerleading, solidarity, or just plain kindness (hint: more of that stuff, please). 

I receive the reminder that even in a backslide of my own making, I am worthy of showing up and telling the truth. All of who I am is safe to self-express, even the imperfect parts.