The Realization

When my husband was in treatment, I sat in on a class with him about the science of recovery. Maybe not every girl’s ideal night out, but that’s sort of my jam. I like knowing the the hows and whys, the science and medicine behind the mess. They talked about pleasure receptors, and retraining your brain, and they talked about PAWS (Post-Acute Withdrawal Syndrome). Symptoms can include irritability, trouble with memory and concentration, tiredness, mood swings, disturbed sleep and anxiety. At the time, I focused on the symptoms, tried to memorize them, thought about how to watch for them in my husband, how to support him through  it, and how to deal with it for the next six month to two year period that it could last. I didn’t stop to think that I might deal with the same symptoms, even later that night, back in my own bed, scribbling furiously in my journal while crying my eyes out. I didn’t think about it in those terms for probably a month or more. I would catch my husband in those moments of frustration, or sudden anger, and remind him it’s just part of the process. I’d remind him of the ten commandments of recovery and about not taking things personally. I didn’t even watch for the signs in myself, because hey, if  didn’t need rehab, I obviously didn’t have to worry about recovery. It wasn’t until I went icy quiet after some benign comment from the husband, until the silence grew long and loud, and he looked at me and said “Man, I’ve really been struggling with PAWS lately. Do you think you’re having any symptoms?”. I was floored. I stared at him for a good minute while I thought about it… I hadn’t yet really thought about myself being in recovery. We quit together, but I had always sort of focused on his  alcoholism. I was just along for the ride. Sure I drank too much, and maybe I wasn’t that great at just having a drink with friends, or just having a beer with dinner. But I had quit. Just like that. It wasn’t that I thought I was above it, just that he was the one who went through treatment. The one who needed help. This wasn’t about me, and spending time thinking about my sobriety felt selfish. It wasn’t until he asked me that, let me know that he was thinking about me, and my recovery, that I gave myself permission to do the same.