The year 2023 is, today, like the last rays of a sunset in the rearview mirror.

There’s not much else I want to try and squeeze into this year. Just some time with family, and I’m good. And, I’m grateful that my daughter and her husband are still here, so I get to do what I enjoy most! The only improvement would be if my son and his wife could be here, too. But again, I’m thankful for the many times we’ve all been able to spend together this year. Especially considering we live in three different states. Truly, deeply thankful.

I dunno about you, but I’m not big on making resolutions. Seems like either you are or you’re not. I’m just not.

There are some big rocks ahead (thanks, Franklin Covey). For one thing, my daughter will graduate from college. Our crew will use that as an opportunity for (what else) some together time – our favorite way of celebrating! I have some other stuff in the works that I’m pretty pumped about as well.

As far as my recovery goes, 2023 has been a good year. I feel like I’m learning a lot, but also learning how to put into practice the things I’m learning. And more than “things”, it’s a way of thinking, and moving through the world. I guess, in a word, it’s mindfulness. A few more words I’d have to include are ones I’ve definitely written before. Practice, curiosity, compassion, connection, and did I mention practice?

There’s something else for which I am hoping. Something I don’t think I’ve experienced in 32 years of marriage and probably not in at least 40+ years of my 50-something years of life! I don’t even want to say this, which is why I am going to say it. Even though I’ve had the hope every year before, and it hasn’t happened yet. I want 2024 to be the first year in my adult life to be free of relapses or slips. And, even as I write this, I notice the discomfort in my chest. The feelings of excitement and anxiety are almost too much!

It’s possible. Even plausible. I cannot tell you how much I hope for it to happen! And yet, I can only, in this moment, in this day, and in every day to come, return to practicing recovery, resolute that as I keep practicing it will come to pass!

For now, I’ll just take a bit more time to gaze at the sunset.

Yesterday – Christmas Day – we got to spend time with many family members and it was splendid! I didn’t count how many people came, but I had genuine conversations with all of them. Even the cactus-y ones (though brief). I was able to practice agency and care for myself by limiting some interactions. I even took time out for a short nap, rather than feeling like I had to force myself to be around people every moment they were around. Maybe I’m just getting older, maybe this just what self-care looks like?

I’m still chuckling though…after everyone except our daughter and son-in-law left (because they’re staying with us), the four of us played games to end the evening. The second game we played is a card game called 500, where four people play in pairs. It was girls vs guys, and funnily enough, at the end of the night, both teams were in the negative! But hey, the guys were less negative by a whopping 20 points! 

I got to thinking. Sometimes less negative can feel like a win! In the case of our game, it’s not – because we decided we’ll pick up where we left off some other time. All the same, sometimes not losing (or not losing my shit) is a win! In addiction recovery, there’s survive and advance kinds of days, and there’s not losing kinds of days. Both still count as progress!

Do you know? I’m for real. A lot of times, I have a vague sense of how I feel, but unless I take time to really process through what I’m feeling, I don’t have adequate vocabulary for it.

When people ask me “how are you?”, I’ll first try to gauge if they actually have any interest in knowing, or if they’re just doing their usual & customary thing. I don’t ever like saying “I’m fine”, because that really communicates nothing. So if I do tell you I’m fine, that means I don’t really think you’ll care what answer I give you. Otherwise, I might throw a few words at you and see if you actually want to engage in conversation or not. Someone asked via text a few days ago, and I replied with “I’m mostly pretty good”. They asked for clarification, so then I went into a more in-depth reply. It was a great conversation!

But, even so, I had to take time and decode my own feelings first. This is something I’ve been practicing, so it doesn’t take me as long as it has in the past. But, my feelings still don’t just roll off the tip of my tongue.

I’m grateful (ooh, that’s a feeling) there are people who’ve come up with some ways to help us figure out what we’re feeling. For instance, The Feeling Wheel. I can generally start with one of the “big emotions” in the middle and find a feeling or few that correlate well as I move toward the outside. A while ago, I discovered something called Plutchik’s Wheel of Emotions, which will drill down further to describe the sensations of any given emotion, what that emotion is telling me, as well as how it can help me. There’s a really creative therapist named Lindsay Braman who took the Feeling Wheel and came up with two additional wheels that depict how these emotions may show up in the body and in action. I refer to those as well! They’re awesome!

Recently, I found one other resource – a totally free app called How We Feel. It’s super simple to use, and I’ve found it really helpful too.

Why does it matter – knowing how I feel, how I’m doing? Here’s a quote from the first of many videos available to learn from on How We Feel:

“When we learn to better understand and use specific words to describe what we feel, we can develop a kinder relationship with our emotions. In other words, we can learn to work with what’s happening rather than avoid, suppress, or deny it.”

This is the work of mindfulness and remaining present. It’s the difference between being irrational or relational. Knowing and being able to articulate how we feel, how we are, is pretty major stuff!

So, really, how are you?

(It’s not cheating to use the image above or one of the linked resources)

(I wrote this because I was feeling unsure of myself and decided to explore that more, which included putting a couple of these tools into use, and that led to feeling encouraged and having a desire to encourage others)

Today marks the 32nd anniversary of when my wife and I were married. We were 19 year old college sophomores.

Now there’s a fun, oxymoronic word. Sophomore is a compound word, with “sophos” (wise) and “mōros” (foolish – think moronic). So, the word literally means “wise fool”. Hah!

Wisdom now tells me that getting married – to the incredible woman who is my wife and best friend – was, indeed, a very, very good decision! And also, we just didn’t know what we didn’t know. Given how unprepared we were for what would be ahead, it really was – at the same time – a very sophomoric thing to do.

These anniversaries are always a lot. How do we “celebrate” something that has been battered and broken beyond recognition? We’ve done pretty okay sometimes, and other times have been really difficult.

We did a little emotional check-in this morning, after yoga, and I’m grateful to say today has started off with both of us feeling some contentment and gratitude.

With all we’ve been through, that’s saying something.

Have you seen the Disney/Pixar movies about The Incredibles? I enjoy those movies quite a lot! Since I’m a runner, you might think my favorite character would be Dash – and he is pretty great! I think Mr. Incredible might be my actual favorite. It’s hard to choose. Jack Jack is a lot of fun, too.

I’m gonna seem to switch gears here…please hang with me! I’ll circle back to the movie!

There is a therapy practice called IFS, short for Interpersonal Family Systems, as developed originally by Dr. Richard Schwartz. In IFS, each singular human person’s psyche is described as being made up of many singular personas, all vying for attention and affection (this is just my simplified way of thinking about it and not anyone’s actual definition). The “usual suspects” in IFS include managers, firefighters, and exiles. All three personas are pretty much exactly what they sound like. But I’ll break it down a bit.

In IFS, both the manager and firefighter are considered protectors of self. The manager works tirelessly with one primary goal of keeping self safe. The firefighter’s job is to stay on high alert, watching for anything that might overwhelm self. Exile is the wounded part in need of healing – many would refer to exile as the “inner child”. When exile shows up, this can be quite risky for self. Firefighter and manager will work to keep exile safe, but also to keep exile from showing up unexpectedly and creating danger or overwhelm. So, exile isn’t allowed to come out and play very often.

I have ADHD and developed a disorganized attachment style in childhood. My manager and firefighter have both been know to create chaos and start fires. And my exile? He shows up in the most random situations and times, in some sad and painful ways. He showed up last week, and it didn’t go so well. Then my firefighter ran to the rescue and my manager set everything back in order rather quickly. Too quickly. I gave myself a nice pat on the back and curled up in the warm glow of feeling ever so good about it.

The thing about ADHD and disorganized attachment is that, historically, my exile has not been all that great at being left unattended for long.

In comes the scene from The Incredibles 2, represented by the screen capture above. My exile is very much like Jack Jack – the toddling polymorph. He may show up all cute & cuddly, or he may be a raging ball of fire, shoot lasers from his eyes, melt into a puddle, or go entirely invisible! My exile may also show up like the poor unsuspecting raccoon, just trying to get a little snack for himself. Trying to get his needs met the best way he knows how.

Much of addiction recovery is about learning how to re-parent exile, so exile can feel safe enough to show up, and can show up in safe enough ways, so manager and firefighter don’t get their knickers twisted.

This, I think, is why I may like Mr. Incredible the best. Poor guy. He was not prepared to have a polyamorph for a son! And in the movie, we see him doing the best he can to care for little Jack Jack. He even uses curiosity, at first, to discover how music can soothe or amp up his son. He notices how Jack Jack likes cookies, and implements them as behavior modification incentives. He also enlists the help of his other (super) kids. But whoah, it’s just not enough, and all the efforts to contain and control Jack Jack end up with a very frazzled Mr. Incredible and an out-of-control Jack Jack.

In comes Edna – who is super-scientist, fashionista, and psychologist. She is not at all concerned about Jack Jack’s wellbeing or his abilities. In short order she’s able to devise a super suit and some better techniques and technology to help him (and his dad) appropriately handle all those super powers.

I showed up in the office of my Edna recently. The only super part of me was my frustration with self! Manager and firefighter had done all they could to contain exile, and I really thought they were successful. But exile showed up anyway – in an unexpected way. Like Mr. Incredible, I was frazzled and felt I was out of options. I knew where my latest struggle came from, but didn’t have enough experience or resources to re-parent myself through it on my own. She reminded me that though I have been a parent for many years, I’m still very new at this re-parenting thing, and that all parents make mistakes along the way. We worked through what happened, she helped me find healthy containment for and more adequately re-parent my Jack Jack. It was pretty incredible!

Funny how things happen and realizations take place when I’m writing. I did not at all start writing this post knowing I was headed in this direction. Now, I think Edna is probably my favorite character in the Incredibles movies. We all need an Edna.

Do you have an Edna? Therapists are great, but there are also people who just help make sense of life. Got one of those?

I did a thing last week. I think it was my ADHD brain, seeking intensity. According to Dr. Tamara Rosier’s Solve It Grid, I’d have to say it was a red quadrant choice.

I first learned of the Solve It Grid when reading Rosier’s book, Your Brain’s Not Broken. I looked for a digital version of the Solve It Grid on Rosier’s business page, but didn’t find it there. I found it again on a different website. Seems there’s lots of individuals and organizations out there offering coaching and support for people with neurodivergent minds. Since the image gives a nod to Dr. Rosier, and I included where it came from, I feel decent about posting it here.

Stimulating and not fun perfectly describes the choice I made. I stepped into an area of ambiguous loss, thinking – after years have passed – I might find some resolve. I only found pain. A friendship suddenly cut off, with only a baffling explanation as to why. I hoped, this time, for an answer – even if it meant learning something painful about myself.

The only answer I got was deflection and visceral blame. Again. It hurt. Again.

And then, I did the thing.

I didn’t respond in kind. I took some time, and used my words to let the person know it was not okay for them to use their words to tear me down like that (again). I was not insulting, I was not rude. I put together my response and sought input from my wife to be sure it was appropriate, accurate, and respectful.

The hurt dissipated a bit. Something changed in me. A peace started to settle. I felt as though I could begin to let go a bit. The loss felt less ambiguous.

I told a trusted friend about it. His words in reply were so kind. I felt seen. I also really, really wanted to deflect or dismiss his words. I have a difficult time receiving and accepting kindness – especially from people I admire. But I’m choosing to notice that deflective part of me and tell him to step aside – it’s okay to just receive this time. And I notice the hurt dissipate a little more. I feel peace settling in – like a cat curling up in the sunny spot for a nap.