HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN

“There is a crack, a crack in everything… that’s how the light gets in, that’s how the light gets in.”                – Leonard Cohen

                                                                            Statue by Paige Bradley, "Expansion"

Why is it so hard allow others to know when I’m struggling? I don’t think it is a conscious decision to hide my pain or my anger or my despondency from other people, but it is something I’m very good at, and therefore, this leads me to conclude that I’ve had a lot of practice hiding my truth. Early in recovery, I had no problem walking into a roomful of friends and strangers and laying it all out there.  I didn’t sugarcoat what I was feeling or thinking, where I was emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I shared the raw truth, unconcerned about what others thought of it, of me, knowing that in doing this I was going to have a fighting chance to make it one more day – one more day clean, one more day hopeful, one more day living.

But something changed and I don’t know when that happened. It was a subtle change. The more time I stayed clean, the further I got away from the unmanageable emotions of early recovery, and the less authentic I became when I shared in meetings. I began saving much of what I once shared freely in meetings to share privately with my closest friends or my sponsor. Eventually, I stopped doing even that and just kept the raw thoughts and feelings to myself.  Rather than share my truths in meetings, I shared what I thought I was supposed to be sharing.

What does that even mean? “What I’m supposed to be sharing?” There is no such thing as supposed to in the therapeutic value of one addict helping another. The whole concept of that therapeutic value is based in honesty and in identification. If I am not sharing my truth, how can another addict, a struggling addict, identify with me? And without that identification, the therapeutic value of one addict helping another completely breaks down. There is no value in me being less than brutally honest about where I came from, what I did, how I got here, how I felt, how I feel, what I need, what I fear, what I lack, what I’ve gained, how I got through, how I struggle to get through, how I barely manage to hang on sometimes, still, no matter how many clean days in a row I’ve managed to string together. There is no value in reciting clichés and sharing only what I’ve read or heard in the rooms of Narcotics Anonymous. That is sharing someone else’s truth, not my own.

One cliché I’ve heard so many times is, “share the solution, not the problem.” But what if I don’t have the solution, what if I don’t know what the solution is to whatever it is I’m experiencing? Talking about what is real, what is going on in my head and in my life, is what has allowed me to develop coping skills. If I don’t put it out there, I will never hear how others got through this – whatever this is at any given moment – I will never hear the experience, strength and hope of someone who made it through this without getting high. Before I started this recovery journey, I didn’t have many natural coping skills. Mine were chemical coping skills. Whatever situation came up in life, I knew of some chemical or herbal remedy that would get me through. Stripped of my chemical coping skills, I was an emotional and spiritual wreck. By being authentic and honest in what I share with others, and then listening to their experience,  I am then able to learn all those coping skills I should have learned in my formative years, when instead, I was getting high. Learning how to cope with the big stuff and the day-to-day stuff is impossible if I don’t talk about that stuff.

In the book, Living Clean, there is a section called, “Desperation to Passion” on page 16, and there it says, “It can feel wrong or embarrassing to be struggling to keep the light on in our own recovery when we think we are supposed to be carrying the message to others. The responsibility we feel to carry the message can serve as an excuse not to share the truth about our lives. But without the truth, we have no message at all. And when we are not open, it’s hard for the light to get in.”

And for me, that brings it back to what Leonard Cohen penned in his song, Anthem:  “There is a crack, a crack in everything… that’s how the light gets in, that’s how the light gets in.” Hiding my truth not only snuffs out the message of recovery that I can potentially help bring to another suffering addict, but covering up the cracks in my own interior world blocks the message of recovery from seeping in and shining its healing light on my own broken spirit. And truly, without that healing light, I have no message at all. 

I’m Maze. I’m an addict.