I haven’t published anything for the last several days. I’ve still been writing but those writings have just been for me. I needed the break.
I want to publish because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. I don’t write as a job, and sometimes the things I’m working through need to stay private for a while before I’m ready to share them.
I’m 19 months and one day out now with no substances. 579 days and I’ve realized something during these past several days… I’m still learning. I can still get knocked down pretty hard by a bad day, or by a couple of bad days in a row. But the important thing is I get back up.
Nineteen months and one day. 579 days. That may not seem like much to some people but it’s huge to me. I don’t pick up a bottle. I don’t seek out pills. I can vividly remember so many times when I would have done one or the other or both.
I’ve come a long way. I’m still alive. I’m not drinking or taking pills. I’m still healthy enough to practice Tai Chi and qigong every day. Since I last published anything I’ve even started learning Bai He Quan (White Crane kung fu).
But something had been eating at me somewhere in the back of my mind since January 15, 2025, the day I took my last benzo after more than 20 years of taking them, alcohol before that, and more than a year and a half of tapering.
I couldn’t put my finger on it. I just knew something was there gnawing at me. At times I got really frustrated because I knew something needed my attention, but I couldn’t identify it good enough to address it.
During this break, it finally became clear. I had been holding on to the struggle. That’s hard to put into words. My nervous system had been on high alert for so long, not just during withdrawal, but for decades. Getting off benzos certainly didn’t make that any easier. My brain and body have had to learn how to regulate themselves without the substances I relied upon for so many years.
But this goes back a lot further than substances. I’ve been on guard to one degree or another since I was a kid. There’s a reason I started drinking vodka in seventh grade and using drugs at 15. Things like that rarely happen in a vacuum.
Somewhere along the way hyper-vigilance felt “normal” to me. Always watching. Always scanning. Always looking at people, places and situations for some sign of danger even when I was somewhere safe. Even when I was alone. Even when there was absolutely nothing to defend myself against.
I finally saw this clearly during a particularly prolonged meditation session. I had gone into that meditation specifically wanting to understand what was happening inside me. And when the realization actually came it was utterly and painfully clear. I broke down and cried… “wept” would be a more accurate word. And then I wept some more. It was such an intense release that I actually felt a little physically unwell afterward.
But I needed it, I needed to understand. Because once I could finally see what was happening I could start working on it instead of blindly struggling against something I couldn’t even name. And that’s what I’ve been doing lately. I’ve been actively working with my body, my mind and my nervous system. Reminding them over and over and over again that we’re safe now.
I’m learning that I can’t just “think” my way out of patterns that have been carried in my body for decades. So I’ve been using practices that involve the body as well as the mind. I already feel a little bit more at ease. Not because everything is suddenly or magically fixed but because I finally understand now what I’ve been carrying for frikkin decades.
Letting go of the struggle doesn’t mean that the struggle magically disappears forever though. It might just mean realizing that I don’t have to stay braced against life every second of the day. I don’t have to constantly scan the horizon. I don’t have to keep fighting battles that ended a long time ago. I can learn every day bit by bit that this time in my life is different.
And that I’m still healing. That I’m still learning and still in the process of becoming who I am when I’m not in danger anymore.
There’s a saying heard a lot in recovery that goes “One day at a time.” After 579 days I understand those words more now than I ever did before. There isn’t some imaginary finish line where I’ll finally be able to declare myself completely healed. There is just today and what I choose to do with it.
So if you’re struggling too, be gentle with yourself. Whether you’re healing from substances, trauma, hard or bad experiences, or from years of living in survival mode, give yourself time. Healing is a journey not a race toward some imagined finish line.
We are all works in progress. Sometimes progress is just realizing that we’re safe enough now to start letting go of the struggle.
Amituofo
~Buck
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