Great Expectations II

Perhaps you’ve noticed.  Perhaps you have not.  But I’ve been making a concerted effort NOT to write and post as often for a while.  Yet again, it’s been a bit of an experiment, brought about by unsettled feelings and an effort to focus my energy on…less.  Because even the decision “to write or to NOT to write” has become one of the looming, overwhelming questions each morning.  Unfortunately, I unknowingly added to the extensive list of personal expectations that I unravel every day. 

Expectations are my nemesis.  They always have been, and now writing just adds to the long list that I sort through each and every day.  And more often than not, these expectations are entirely self-imposed.  Therefore, sitting with them each morning has been much of my recovery work, and I just added a little more when I decided to write.  It is most certainly, NOT my favorite part of becoming a writer. 

Wait.  Am I even THAT?  Can I call myself that?  Who knows? 

I’m just a volunteer in this space.  I don’t have any training.  And I definitely don’t get paid. 

If you caught that…that’s my other unwelcomed visitor…A Jehovah’s Witness trained representative of “Imposter’s Syndrome Evangelical Center”.  She knocks every day, while I hide behind the front door and interrupts my sentences when I try to have a meaningful conversation with her.  Can someone tell her I don’t believe most of what she preaches?  Her pamphlets are crazy talk.

Whether or not this could be considered enough to CALL myself a writer, is debatable.  But in telling you this, I bet you clearly see my reluctance to do so.  But remember, I don’t really like definitive nouns.  I don’t like to call myself an alcoholic either.  But hell yes, I’d love to have the confidence to call myself a Writer.  And with that, the Critic is my editor both figuratively and literally.

I’ve always asked more of myself than anyone around me ever asks of me.  I’m not sure that everyone knows that, or if it’s even obvious.  Sometimes I’m even embarrassed of these high expectations, so I try to remain silent about them…because they are unrealistic and more often than not…perhaps?  Unattainable. 

Maybe it’s NOT obvious. 

And maybe I don’t even DO a lot.  Or ENOUGH. 

Good enough.  Right?  You SEE?  I just did it.

If I’m my own worst critic, and that’s all that I ever listen to, then THAT fact will always be my TRUTH.  She is who I’ve often listened to, but more importantly, she is often who I’ve BELIEVED.  And it’s terribly annoying. 

Therefore, the doubt in doing “enough” and maybe being “good enough” or the desire to be extraordinary in some way, usually drowns out any other opinions that I have of myself.  The same may be true for your…self.  If those sentences resonate with you, then you are likely to read on.

There are a lot of overused phrases to describe this phenomenon…you know, being your own Worst Critic, your own Doubter and such.  This critic sits upon my shoulder always, so now…I just try to use her for good, frankly…always reminding myself to take a step back and view her input JUST as objectively as I did the decision not to drink. 

This started with recovery…the whole idea and ACTION to take a moment and decipher what’s really going on internally.  In this case, I know The Critic believes what she’s saying, but she also needs to know when she’s going too far.  Even her speech is negative most of the time.  And I must stop HER from creating unrealistic expectations that I will never be able to achieve, because that moves towards self-destructive behavior.  It’s a slippery slope, ya’ll.

It’s also a likely reason why I allowed a romantic partner to psychologically abuse me.  I didn’t know when it was happening, but it’s easy for me to see now.  And also say now.  Perfectionists often assume responsibility for all failures, and hell…if you are also drinking at night, then I was a great scapegoat.  For him and also for myself.

When I was in rehab, I had my very first realization that I often take on MORE than what others may view as “healthy”.  My own counselor tried to make me resign from the role as Music Leader during our daily Community Meetings.  I couldn’t believe it!  And I was offended, frankly.  I mean, what the hell?  Does she not KNOW me?  I can sure as hell take on the role of leading music each day, singing some solos, work with other volunteers and schedule practices.  OH yeah, and also try to make a MEANINGFUL effort at understanding addiction and my relationship with it and process trauma of the past.

Jesus.  That makes me want to spit out my cereal milk this morning when I actually write all of that.  I mean, what was I trying to PROVE?

She wanted to make me resign, because she doubted that it was healthy for me to take all of that on.  Not for multiple weeks.  That’s distinctly WHY the position was designed to be nominated by the community and held for only one week. 

Um…I was nominated the second week…the third week, and even did it jointly with another patient my final week there.  I sang almost 25 days in a row.  I guess you could say I “performed”, but I really didn’t view it as such. 

And I had to fight my counselor to keep my position.  Truth be told, she told me I had to turn down the nomination for that final week, and so we put my partner’s name on the board, I told her that I wasn’t in charge…and then I went ahead and did all the work.  Well, most of it anyway. 

But I was impassioned, and So Help me GOD…if I’m impassioned, you better step aside!  Passion becomes my drug of choice, and no one can talk any sense into me.  It may be the only time when I am the most stubborn and selfish being, because if you’ve ALSO got Doubt in the car and Unrealistic Expectations riding in the passenger seat, you can get a little reckless. 

Let me rephrase that.  I can get a little reckless.

BUT…I also feel that having high expectations for myself has helped me in some crucial ways.  These expectations usually push me to do better and to be bold in action.  And without this particular feature of my personality, I never would have written in the first place.  Because in many ways, I realize it would have been much more passive and maybe even easier, to just partake in recovery quietly.  Self-reflectively.  Internally.

But over the past almost FIVE months, the whole writing endeavor got more difficult.  I didn’t have a good relationship with it, so I’ve tried to take that step back…and ask myself WHY.

First of all, we’ve all been dealing with a world pandemic.  That complicated matters, frankly.  I mean, FUCK!  Now I have to write about THAT???  I’m not kidding.  I’ve actually spent some mornings being pissed off that I ever started to write, because I had NOW assumed the expectation to write meaningful blogs about addiction, recovery, personal goings-on, racial injustice AND a world pandemic.  And remember?  I ain’t a “writer”! 

I was a FAILURE!  That’s what my Critics said.

The occurrence of the pandemic and political woes and racial injustice complicated my writing by forcefully expanding my focus and compromised my faith in myself.  I didn’t feel educated or authoritative enough in my viewpoint, and I didn’t even want to COMPETE with all the words flying around out there.  I mean, what’s the point?  Maybe I’m not “good enough” a writer to handle this.  Maybe I don’t have enough to SAY.  Just don’t TRY, Jennifer. 

So, unfortunately, the additional subject matter and the added pressure to write something meaningful became…crippling.  My very few published blogs over the last few months were all I had the attention and courage for…and I will be honest, I had MUCH higher expectations for myself than THOSE writings were able to satisfy.  Basically, I had to try to tell myself that any effort was better than none.  And that I wouldn’t DIE if I put something out there that people didn’t respond to, share, or give kudos for.  Yep.  That’s what I told myself.

And that’s quite the accomplishment for ME.  I don’t usually like to try things or show my work, unless I feel like it’s pretty bad ass, so to be willing to put mediocre writing out “there”, is growth for me, personally.  Kinda like when you first post pictures on Facebook, bare-faced and makeup-free.  It’s scary, but you know you’ll live, and maybe…just MAYBE you’ll even like the picture. 

So, I needed some time to center myself.  That not only needed to happen, but it needed to be my focus.  My highest priority, really.  I could feel that I had fears and doubts that were not healthy, so I needed to pull the car over, ask the passengers to step out…do a breathalyzer on each, and interrogate them as well.

Since this effort began, I’ve posted only a couple of times.  Nope, I didn’t go cold turkey.  That would have felt unnatural.  Instead, I chose to slow down my output, which eventually allowed the expectations to relent.  It took weeks and effort was made each and every day, but eventually, I actually had a few mornings where the expectation was only a passing thought. 

Yes.  That was tremendous progress, my friends. 

And THEN…THEN I slept nine and a half hours last night.  STRAIGHT THROUGH.  I didn’t stir until Mike came to the bedside with coffee at 7:30 am and gently awakened me by rubbing my back.  Sure, he was being super sweet, but really…he was afraid something was wrong, because that’s about four more hours than usual.  The last time he had to do that, it was because I had a bottle and a half of wine the night before.  It’s likely my breath told why I slept that long back then.  I’m grateful I could breathe easy this morning.

I must say that it isn’t difficult for me to accept MYSELF.  You know…as a general being.  I really think I’ve got that down to an art of some sort, after great acceptance and recognition of my own strengths.  But I’m still terribly critical of my efforts.  I’m critical of DOING enough and not doing it well but producing something extraordinary.  These products are things that people may judge, and that’s terribly frightening for me.  It always has been.  And writing isn’t immune to my Critics.  They are out “there”.  They are in the mirror, and they are my passengers, whether I invited them or not. 

If I get caught up in unhealthy expectations, I am setting myself up for failure. 

I am not triggered by walking into a bar.  I am not triggered by seeing a bottle of Chardonnay on the dinner table.  I’m triggered by the constancy of my own self-imposed ideals for myself.  They have been my downfall before, and they’ve even been used against me by others.

So, I’m ready to get back to the basic, folks.  Evidently, when I relaxed just a little, I realized that in focusing on recovery…I have a lot more to say.  I suppose it’s possible that I could cover some of the worldly happenings, but that may be a little MUCH for now.  I just rang the bell on my 18th month of sobriety, and this week was another epiphany…

I must constantly remind myself that this writing thing isn’t a product.  It is a gift.