This past week was nonstop. My creative juices are scattered. There are so many things running through my mind that I want to write about, but it’s difficult to contain when I am worn down, overstimulated, and overwhelmed.
One thing I have noticed since we brought home Miss Daisy is that my alone time has decreased significantly. As a result, my alcohol cravings have been through the roof.
Before Daisy, I would take daily walks to the park with Ted. Sometimes I would walk in silence. Sometimes I would walk with my support group or Glennon in my earbuds. Either way, I discovered a soothing, cup-refilling connection with Mother Nature on my Ted walks. Solitude (plus Ted) provides a sacred space to process my thoughts and emotions.
As many of you know, I was admitted to inpatient treatment six times during my twenties. Instead of getting better post-treatment, I always got worse. Treatment was tricky because there was never any room for solitude. I was monitored 24/7 and forced to be around other suffering humans. Inadvertently, I soaked up all of their pain and trauma with no release or escape. I have beaten myself up for years, thinking there was something wrong with me for not getting better within that system.
The world, like treatment, is noisy. As an overly empathetic, autistic human, it is nearly impossible to avoid absorbing other people’s energy. It’s like I’m a walking vibe magnet. Dysregulation is highly contagious. Whether I want to or not, I pick up on the tiniest shifts in tone, body language, and mood.
Over the past few years, while mastering the skill of solitude, I’ve begun to believe that my heightened sensitivity has always been a blessing disguised as a curse.
Heightened sensitivity feels like a curse because everyone is hurting right now. We’re all living in a late-stage capitalistic climate disaster hellscape. We’re all exhausted and pushed way beyond our limits for basic survival. We’re all lacking connection and engulfed in fearmongering. We’re all dysregulated and grieving. We’re all desensitized to trauma and violence. We’re all influenced and harmed by toxic masculinity and toxic femininity. We’re all experiencing a governmental shit show. We’re all witnessing fatal beatings and stochastic terrorism against queer kids. And yet, we’re all forced to remain on the hamster wheel and show up smiling for jobs that make us sick because homelessness is illegal.
While engaged in addiction and eating-disordered behaviors, I never understood the importance of solitude because I spent all of my alone time self-harming. I believed feeling and sensing things deeply was a character defect. I believed self-medication was the only way to find relief from all of the noise. I believed self-abandonment and constant masking was the only pathway to connection and belonging. I believed my heightened sensitivity was a curse that needed eradication.
I was wrong.
Heightened sensitivity, when given space and solitude, is the ultimate blessing. There has never been anything wrong with me. There has only been untapped potential and extreme emotional intelligence hiding beneath addiction. The problem lies in a society that produces and praises emotionless robots, not in my empathic superpowers.
While the current state of society is difficult to look at, thanks to my heightened sensitivity, I can see the deep pain beyond the chaos.
I can see the fear that lives in the gun-obsessed.
I can see the extreme monetization of inciting violence.
I can see the need for an expansive emotional release in rage-driven, UFC-worshipping toxic masculinity.
I can see the exploitation of women’s insecurities via Kardashian-like impossible beauty standards, diet culture, and expensive, injectable skin care (a.k.a. toxic femininity).
I can see the trauma of deliberate, systematic oppression.
I can see the generational, unconscious racism, misogyny, fatphobia, and homophobia.
I can see the indoctrination of kids into compulsive heterosexuality and hatred of those who are different.
I can see the collective suffering.
I can see the humanity beneath the desperation.
Without time to myself, I get lost in the heaviness. I get lost in the sea of toxicity. The best way to calm my nervous system, process my thoughts, and return to a somewhat stable place is to be alone without interruptions. Once I learned to spend time alone without self-harming, I discovered that sweet, velvety, luxurious solitude is the greatest gift of my sobriety.
Returning to addiction after completing inpatient treatment didn’t mean I was crazy, broken, or ungrateful. It makes sense that I felt the need to numb out after weeks or months of nonstop overstimulation. It makes sense that my highly sensitive, autistic self was so overwhelmed by the absorption of my roommate’s pain that I couldn’t begin to unpack my own. It makes sense, sweet girl. You can release the shame. It all makes perfect sense.
Yesterday, I took a three-hour walk with just Ted. Walking two dogs at once is a skill I have not yet mastered. Don’t worry, Daisy and I played a long game of fetch when we returned. Plus, Daisy is technically my partner’s dog and not my responsibility. Sometimes, to find solitude, I need to release control. Trying to tackle everything alone results in unnecessary resentment.
This upcoming week, my only goal is to carve out extra pockets of solitude. Now that I understand the importance of quiet time (plus Ted), I can rediscover my peace. By protecting my solitude, I can reduce alcohol cravings and take better care of my autistic self.
The world around me might be a dumpster fire, but I can still water the garden of superpowers that live within. Amongst the chaos, I can still tend to the seeds of solitude and await their vibrant bloom.
Progress.