Sober
The gift I gave myself.
Everything Belongs is a community for those who want to explore and embrace their neurodivergence with radical self-compassion. True to the name, these weekly notes reflect whatever it is that I’m currently exploring in my life and research rather than a prescribed set of subjects on neurodivergence. My work as a neurodivergent life coach centers around self-discovery, self-compassion, and self-advocacy—so you will see these as underlying themes of this space.
Last Sunday marked my first sober birthday.
Giving up alcohol may not be the top decision that has helped me the most, but it's a crucial part of my healing.
I’m hesitant to label myself as an alcoholic; however, that may be self-deceit.
In past years, I've abstained from alcohol for months, both intentionally and unintentionally. I’ve never blacked out and my only arrest was as a sober 16-year-old. But, in various ways and at various times, I've relied on alcohol.
I've come to understand that alcohol can be a way to soften the intensity of the world for those who find it too harsh.
Alcohol dulls everything that would normally hurt.
In large group gatherings, reducing sensory input can make social engagement less demanding. When your system is overwhelmed by sensory input and social demands, even the simplest task of eating can be too much.
Since my teenage years, I've had difficulty eating in front of anyone beyond my immediate family. Sensory and social demands left me too overwhelmed to eat and often unable to feel hunger.
If you aren't neurodivergent or haven't paid attention to your sensory experiences, think about the events you've attended:
You can hear talking, music, chewing, pouring drinks, scraping dishes, and other sounds.
People, food, drinks, and decorations all contribute to the smells around us.
Movement everywhere.
Navigating crowded spaces.
Getting unexpectedly bumped into or hugged.
Then there's the social aspect of observing body language and social cues to gauge the room and different conversations. Absorbing, and being overwhelmed by, the energy of others.
Now let’s make small talk with these people because that’s what friendly hosts and guests do.
Don’t forget to smile!
Look them in the eyes, but not for too long.
Gauge your distance. Are you too close or too far from them? Do they seem comfortable?
What are your arms doing right now? Make sure they’re not crossed.
I forgot to pay attention to my face! Oh good, I’m smiling. It’s okay.
Now take a sip of your drink. No, stop. Don’t drink at the same time as them. Crap.
It's too much to take in.
To me, alcohol is like a numbing cream. It did more than just take away the pain and discomfort; it helped me forget there was even a problem. It helped me feel normal.
Alcohol is a poison that can act like medicine to neurodivergent folx.
I’m not convinced I could get well until I stopped numbing the pain. I needed to experience the full discomfort of living as an Autistic woman in order to see what needed to change. I needed to experience the full impact of the challenges in my life to understand my need for accommodations.
I don’t judge those who drink. I’d love to keep drinking, too. I don’t just enjoy the effects of alcohol; I love the taste. However, as enjoyable as alcohol is, I find greater enjoyment in being at home within myself—possibly for the first time in a long time.
When my body speaks up, I can hear her now. Instead of ignoring her, I listen and meet her needs.
My use of alcohol wasn't only shielding me from the world, it was preventing me from seeing and being with myself.
Today, I’m 370 days sober. Despite not always being comfortable or enjoyable, it feels like a gift.
I’m with you,
T
Now I Become Myself
by May Sarton
Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before—"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!
