fire

I used to binge eat or buy lots of things I didn’t need or, if I’m honest, really even want. It was a destructive coping skill, one I have since been fortunate enough to (mostly) rid myself of through a combination of therapy and community and a lot of work.

Back then, when I was standing in line at the checkout waiting to add some more to my credit card bill, or starting at the 3 pound bag of jelly beans I had spent my remaining paycheck on, it was usually one thought that would propel me forward: “just do it, nothing matters anyway”. Sometimes this was referring to worries I had about my credit score or my dwindling collection of pants that fit; often it was directly related to a feeble desire to stop the moving train of self-destruction I was on. “Nothing you’re doing to try to live simpler and feel better matters because I am never going away”, this inner monstrous voice seemed to promise. So I gave in, on and off, for years.

What I have found in recovery is that exercising my own voice against this inner bully and succeeding against these destructive impulses feels more radical and empowering  than anything else I could have imagined. From advocating for my best self to my destructive impulses, I have been led to a career where my job is to advocate for other people in the systems that oppress them.

I have started hearing that small monstrous voice again in the past few years, the one that says “nothing matters anyway, stop trying”. The difference is that this is an external message being sent to me and to millions of people by our own government. My time is now taken up with daily reminders of the ways in which the dominant political, economic, and cultural systems in this country tell people to give up, accept their fate and stop trying to achieve justice or equality. A small fire inside me that started during recovery is fueled by these external jabs, as I work to determine how exactly I will try to dismantle systems of oppression. However, I am not immune to the occasional leak of personal doubt or despair, which occasionally drip in and threaten to extinguish the inner fire of righteous anger fueling me.

After this most recent national debate on whether or not to believe survivors of sexual assault, I have come home every day feeling exhausted. Today I heard the voice again in my own head while contemplating the contents of my pantry: “Just give in, nothing matters anyway.” I didn’t do it.  I have been actively resisting for months, hanging on by a thread. Focusing on not giving in has been taking an inordinate amount of my energy recently, and it is hard but I am winning, for now.

This is all to say that I have compassion for anyone working through recovery from addiction or other self-destructive behavior during this particular moment in history. I see you. This work is hard. You are worth it. We are worth it.