Fighting Shame With Forgiveness
About nine months into my sobriety journey, my boyfriend and I spent a night enjoying a long walk with our rescue dog Capone. It was a rare childless Friday night for us, as my daughter was at a sleepover. We had considered going bowling or to a movie after dinner, but decided a long walk and relaxing night sounded perfect. As we came to the end of the trail, Ryan suggested we cross the street and track on the path around the lake. I never take that route with Capone and said as much.
“Yes! I’ve never been this way” I said.
“Sure you have, but I’m guessing you don’t remember it” Ryan replied.
The sucker punch of toxic shame
I immediately felt sick to my stomach. Or like I’d been punched in the gut. White hot anger was rising up from somewhere inside me. I was torn between wanting to scream at the top of my lungs or running as fast as I could away from this place. I wanted to smash or throw something to relieve the pain I was feeling inside. Too late, I knew the tears were coming, as I found myself standing in the place I took my last drink. This was shame. My all too familiar old friend decided to make an unplanned visit.
Forced to remember
I was taken back to the night of July 3, 2020. A night I’d love to forget. The fireworks at the lake and the fateful night I took my last drink. A lot of things happened for the last time that night. My last blackout. My last drunken fall down a hill, unfortunately in front of people I care very much about. My last time stumbling a long walk home, remembering very little. My last night passing out, and waking feeling awful when enough alcohol had left my system that I was no longer anesthetized. My last night laying thinking things would be better if I never woke up. It was the close of a two decade old dark chapter to say the least, and I resented having all of this drudged up on an otherwise nice night. With all the time I spent looking through my bright new windshield, I had no desire to check the rearview mirror. I knew where I had come from and never wanted to be again. I didn’t realize I left something key back there.
Finding forgiveness for myself
As I walked home, I couldn’t answer the question of why I had such a visceral reaction to an innocent comment. One that was most likely meant to be humorous even. I didn’t have an answer for myself. I certainly didn’t have one for Ryan, who after noticing the silent painful memories falling down my face in the form of tears, asked me if I was ok. I was a lot of things at that moment, none of which were “ok”.
I took a lot of time to reflect on the last nine months when we returned home. In the beginning, the popular recovery slogan to take things “one day at a time” became my mantra. Every 24 hour period where I could wake up, get through the day, and put my head back down on my pillow without slipping was a huge win. I got through those initial days and weeks and didn’t look back. When I hit 30 days, my success became tangible. I bought myself a beautiful keychain with a butterfly and that very phrase engraved on it. I began writing and sharing my journey with others. At two months I gave myself the gift of MMA training and found some great new friends. I let the momentum and encouragement of those around me carry me forward day by day. I acknowledged and celebrated each of these milestones as they came my way. I continued to share and accept more positivity into my life as the days went on, evolving into a version of myself I was proud to be. I could hold my head high knowing the mountain I moved to get to where I wanted to be was no longer blocking my path. But what about the past version I left behind? That mess that was no longer me? If friends, family, and even strangers that crossed my path could forgive her, maybe she was worth forgiving. That was it. The tiny but monumentally important step I had missed along the way. I never forgave myself for being human.
Closure
The next morning, I put Capone’s harness on and headed for the spot on the lake where we had watched the fireworks and I had made all those mistakes for the last time. I was ready to fully close that chapter and forgive. I picked up a rock to symbolize the toxic shame I never wanted to feel again and threw it in to drown. I walk that route with him most mornings and welcome the memories, as they’re no longer a source of shame. They are a lesson in self forgiveness and a reminder that we are all worthy of compassion, especially during difficult times My grandma Susan once told me that in order for shame to survive, it needs secrecy. For me, sharing is healing that kills the shame, and that’s a journey I’ll continue to embrace one day at a time.
