One Small Step

Tomorrow’s a new month, and hopefully a new opportunity. Before I close out today, I want to circle back to something I mentioned — I said I was heading to a meeting in my hometown tonight, my very first meeting. I’m glad I went.

When I first walked into the rooms, there was one guy who always stood out. He’d talk to me, check on how I was doing, and always say that famous line: “Keep coming back.” At the time, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to give my life over, wasn’t ready to relieve myself of the obsession, wasn’t ready to change who I was. I was selfish, unstable, and way too early in recovery to be doing what I wanted to do.

At one of the last meetings I went to in that area, I opened up about how losing my mother sideswiped my whole version of reality. Having an overactive mind — always running at 150 percent — made it that much harder to accept the help that was right in front of me. That was the version of myself before I sat down, shut up, and listened.

Then came 90 days in inpatient rehab, reflecting on who I was, who I wanted to be, and understanding why I’d abused myself as much as I did. Ninety days with no dopamine hit from my favorite music, no caffeine to overload on trying to replace my favorite high, and honestly more food than I could have ever wanted. It changed my perspective. It forced me to slow down and sit with myself.

Let’s get back on track. Tonight, we had three celebrants in the room — if I remember correctly, one was 50 years, one was 34 years, and the other was 44 years. That’s over a hundred years in sobriety, not even counting the 60-plus people who showed up in support. It felt good walking into that room and having people see the new version of me. It made me proud to hear fellow AA members tell me I look like I’m doing good.

I could blush and say it’s just because rehab fed me too much, but honestly — I’ve also learned how to take a compliment. The constant narration running inside my own mind used to be negative, abusive, degrading. It’s shifted into something more positive, a different perspective on life. Changing that mindset was harder than saying no to the drug ever was. That negativity was embedded in me from an early age. For once in my life, I have to give myself a pat on the back — I’m finally committed to self-preservation.

What did they say when they landed on the moon? “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” Something like that, anyway. Sitting here, all I can do is reflect on a moment like that with a vision of myself stepping forward. Living somewhere in the autistic realm of ADHD, I catch myself visualizing everything I talk about — so bringing up the moon landing put this image in my head of a big gray blob, an astronaut in a spacesuit jumping out of a giant metal box. Not exactly cinematic, but enough of a picture to make the point.

New month tomorrow. Same commitment. Keep coming back — turns out that’s exactly what I needed to hear.