The real, embarrassing work of recovery
This is an embarrassing but important post to write.
This is the real work of recovery:
6 years ago I (Carrie) got blackout drunk and stupidly decided to drive my car. It was possibly the dumbest decision of my life, but unfortunately far from the only time I made terrible choices influenced by alcohol, which is literally #poison for your brain and body.
I got pulled over and got a DUI. My blood alcohol level was .24 which is freaking high. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt anyone or myself. I spent a night in jail. It was a pretty traumatizing event, not to mention expensive with all the legal fees and court ordered fines, lost dignity, depression, and embarrassment. But since I was a stubborn, set-in-my-ways type of person, not to mention in the grips of #addiction , it still took me 3 more years to quit for good.
One of the less-obvious consequences of DUI is that you cannot legally enter Canada with a DUI on your record. Well, I am attending the She Recovers Yoga Teacher Training in British Columbia this October. So for the past six months, I have been dutifully gathering all the documentation, background checks, and references I need to apply for “Criminal Rehabilitation” to be allowed to enter Canada. How fitting that my offense is related to substance abuse and I’m going to attend a recovery yoga teacher training. This doesn’t mean they’ll let me in. They could very well refuse. It has taken me so long and so many phone calls, google searches, and tears of frustration to gather this whole giant pile of paperwork. Background checks and work history for every state and every job since age 18.
Every time this mission seemed impossible or dragging myself back into painful memories started to get to me, I tried to just remind myself that THIS. IS. THE. WORK. OF. RECOVERY.
I am alive, I am awake, I am clear-headed enough to perform these tasks to make my amends to Canada, to prove myself worthy. To make my amends to myself by believing myself worthy of this work, this training, this opportunity.
I can drag myself through the coals of bad memories in hopes of teaching someone else whose wounds are the same shape as mine.