Moth wings
I am awake at 4:30 AM, my time.
Not because I'm out partying, but because I can't sleep.
Two beloved women friends were robbed at gunpoint last night. They had to lay on the ground, a gun touching the back of their heads, trying to convince the man not to shoot them.
They are both confident, capable, kind women. They both survived. The guy got an iPhone & $20. They will carry this in a thousand ways for a long, long time.
I spent tonight texting one of them. The other had returned to her mother's house, was getting support from family & friends. I texted the one who "was fine." She had "dealt with it."
She is a girl who always "deals with it."
The other woman was surrounded by her community - sympathy, hugs, concern. I recognized "dealt with it - no big deal" girl. She wasn't getting hugs.
I was deeply moved to understand that many of us are "so strong" that people forget how scared we are. Before she fell asleep she shared that her deepest fear wasn't getting shot, it was that no one would notice her absence.
I have built many walls around myself. I noticed it the other day with Dee's share about his scooter & his medications. I never share my fears or hard stuff. Some part of me feels like I'm supposed to "have this." My job is to succeed & to be supportive. My job. Cause recovery somehow means "recovered."
Right before she sadly & drunkenly fell asleep, my friend texted "I'll text you in the morning, so you know I'm ok." And I realized that this is exactly what is so frigging hard about being single & confident & "recovered" & capable in a big city.
The fear isn't the violent event. It is that no one would know you were missing - perhaps until your job got concerned, or a friend you keep distant because you're "doing really well."
I email my NA sponsor that I'm "doing really well" about once a week. Like there's a grade, or a check-in requirement. Like that's the point - that she be proud of me & think I'm strong.
So, on behalf of my friend's sad experience tonight, I need to say out loud that I do care that I have a community, that it is impossible to always "be doing great," & that I want more in my life.
Just like folks post about their sobriety vows & accountability, I feel compelled to say - I'm not always doing great & my value isn't in that posture. Authenticity is supposed to be the point. Even though it sounds artificial & nerdy, maybe the first step is to intentionally tell people when I have a hard time - my sponsor, my co-workers, my friends. Somewhere along the way, I got the idea that recovery was about heroism & stoicism.
Like recovery itself is a mask.
How have others shifted their "invulnerability" (likely a strength disguise) to just being imperfect & real & scared sometimes? Tonight was scary. Our lives are as fragile as moth wings.