Dwelling vs Reflecting

“You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don’t try to forget the mistakes, but you don’t dwell on it. You don’t let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space.” – Johnny Cash

Sometimes I rehash old pains, struggles, conflicts and crises when I blog. I am very careful to reflect enough to build character and grow, but not dwell and have it hold me back.

“Let go. Why do you cling to pain? There is nothing you can do about the wrongs of yesterday. It is not yours to judge. Why hold on to the very thing which keeps you from hope and love?” – Leo Buscaglia

I have done most of this in a shrink's chair over the years, but occasionally will be inspired to put it into writing somewhere.

Today I'm going to reflect on my early years.

My entire childhood, from about 7 years of age (basically when I could start remembering things), through my mid-twenties was tumultuous.  I'm sure everyone's home-life is dysfunctional to a degree; some more so than others. I don't know where mine ranks on the scale of dysfunctionality, nor am I concerned about ranking it, but it's on there. Which is why I enjoy the blog Growing Up Chaotic. I can relate to a lot there.

There was conflict, chaos, and inconsistency growing up. There was love and there was rage. There was always an emphasis on the lack of money. There were adventures and there were times when we wouldn't leave the house for what felt like forever. There were wild parties and there was intense isolation. There were gatherings with family members and then long - and ultimately - permanent absences from family members.

Looking back at my childhood and upbringing, I understand more objectively  now why it is I turned out the way I did, and made the mistakes I made. I won't go through all of them here and now, but I will focus on one specific failing.

There was a hole in me; that's undeniable. I won't explain why, here, today in this post. But I was desperate to fill it up. When I was young, it was food. I still remember the high I got from eating copious amounts of food. Carbs in particular. But - oh - fast food, on the rare occasion I got it - that was the ultimate high. It was satiating and euphoric. It was my first love.

Then, when I was older, I discovered the high of endorphins from running. After watching the Olympics for the first time in the summer of 1992, a seed was planted. I ran around the block a few times, in my cheap unsupportive shoes from Bradlees, intent on being a runner. It wasn't until I was 14 that that seed blossomed into a passion. In the days before GPS watches and tracking apps, I kept a devoted daily calendar of how long I ran non-stop. And the goal was run non-stop longer and longer each time.

Through high school I ran, on and off, becoming so rigidly set on my nighttime routine of running, that if a family meal or event intervened, I'd still eat to meet the social expectation but then would purge so I could run without a stomach ache or digestion issues. I still remember staring into the toilet thinking, "this isn't normal."

Eventually alcohol, being the extracurricular activity of choice of the adults in my household, became the new love. The new high. The new escape. It was inevitable that I participate in the currency of my parents. My parents had always let me drink from a young age - as young as I can remember, they'd give me orange juice with a splash of champagne - so underage drinking was not taboo in my household. Through high school I was allowed to imbibe on wine when my parents did. The first time I got drunk was at my parents renewal of their marriage vows when I was 14.

Fast forward to college. What was a recreational escape has become a daily habit. Vodka is my go-to vice. I take after my mother: I'm what you'd call I high-functioning (to a degree) alcoholic. In college, there is always vodka in my backpack as I work my way through my courses. I manage to complete my BS in Fine Arts with a Minor in Computer Science Summa Cum Laude. Go figure.

What is interesting is that during this time, after I married my husband, I combined my two vices into one: I was drinking daily and binge eating. I would drink and then I would eat with wild abandon, inhibitions lowered. Then, with fast food in my stomach, I could drink more. Then eat more. Then drink more. It was two amazing highs in one.

Of course, because I had abandoned my other vice (exercise), I was putting on a LOT of weight. Looking at my graduation picture from college always rattles me.

Fast forward to a cross-country move and a couple of wake-up calls.

It was in Arizona in 2004 - when I was 24 - that I finally started getting my act together. Going to a therapist. Working through all the crap of my life and understanding WHY I did what I did. It was a long, difficult, arduous process that spanned years.

Hell, I still think I'm going through the process. I don't' know if I'll ever be really done.
All I know is I'm a better person for it. I've lost some people on the journey - and almost my husband - but I've learned who my true friends and family are when times are dark. And for that I am beyond grateful.

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” – Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland