The Rebuild- Week One
Time to renovate...
Milestones and Moving On
Last week I reached the most significant milestone of my sober life to date. One whole, fucking year.
I’ve never been one for milestones. I’ve always found the idea of celebrating birthdays a little odd. The same goes for any anniversary, really. I think it’s because they never make me feel any different. You look forward to something for so long; before you know it, it’s come and gone, and life resumes as usual.
I took the same approach as I approached this milestone. Sobriety is very much achieved through one sober day at a time, and that has to be your mindset if you wish to succeed. So I wasn’t expecting to feel a whole lot different for achieving a year of sobriety.
Initially, I felt a sense of relief. I’d put this milestone on a pedestal, so I felt relieved when I achieved it. I felt like a slight weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
It prompted me to reflect a little on the year that was and consider just how different I am from who I was 12 months ago. A whole lot has changed in that time. There have been some amazingly good and hopelessly bad things that have happened, but as I sit here today, I can genuinely say that my life, in general terms, is a far better one than the life I was leading when I was drinking and using drugs.
So after some thought, I’ve decided it’s time to make some minor changes to the blog. I’m not the same person as I was when I started writing. In fact, I’ve never been so far removed from the person I was 12 months ago in any period of my life than I am now. So it makes sense that this blog, something so crucial to my progress, changes a little with me.
While my weekly blog will still be around the same themes of emotional growth, newfound self-awareness and, of course, the occasional mention of sobriety, I don’t feel right about referring to sobriety in the title of every blog.
I feel like after a year sober. I don’t need to mention how long I have been sober for every single week. I’ll keep track independently, but I think it’s time to let go of that. It’s like I’ve finished my probation or traineeship, or like I[‘ve been a nom in a bikie club for the last year, and now I’ve got my patch. Like, look at me! I’m a real-life sober person!
I think the language we use is essential. Whilst I will always make sure I take the time to recognise the things that I have achieved and remain motivated never to get complacent, sobriety is one of many parts of my life. It’s not my entire identity. The “sobriety” section of my blog each week was starting to get a bit repetitive, and at times, I felt like I was searching for things to write about regarding sobriety.
This blog has always been about my organising my thoughts. Untangling the mess of knots in my mind and laying them out in an organised fashion in front of me to help me make better sense of them, and I will continue to use them for the same purpose. But if I don’t have anything to add around sobriety that week, I won’t.
It just feels like it’s time to let go of that celebratory, unnecessary daily count and accept that it’s just a part of what I do now. Attaching that to my identity is starting to hold me back a little, and I need to let go of it and start living in the moment even more.
I have learned in the last year that the best, most sustainable changes are incremental ones. So I’ll start with the name of this blog, and we’ll go from there. When I’m ready, I might make another one. I might use this one for the following year. I might use it for two weeks. Whatever the case, I have to keep evolving.
ANZAC Day
I suppose the significance of one year of sobriety is that you’ve done one whole lap of a life cycle in a new and different state. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, Holidays, Long Weekends, and whatever else. All the things that come around annually that could tempt me have been navigated. Now it’s just a matter of doing it again and again. One year at a time, consisting of 365 days of one day at a time.
At least, I thought I had navigated everything that could tempt me in one year until yesterday. Yesterday was ANZAC Day. I had only been sober for a week on ANZAC Day last year. The first few weeks or even months of my sobriety are blurry. So to say I have experienced everything that a year throws at me, whilst technically true, is still not entirely accurate.
Traditionally, ANZAC Day is a great drinking day. It’s socially acceptable to drink in the morning on ANZAC Day. I used to absolutely love day drinking. Everyone you knew would be off work. No one had an excuse not to be down at the local pub or club playing Two-up.
Usually, you would get up nice and early and attend a dawn service of your choosing, g home for a shower and some breakfast, and then head off to your local watering hole.
The weather is great this time of year. Usually, a chilly morning into a beautiful, warm, sunny afternoon. Perfect weather for getting nice and pissed with a hint of sunstroke.
I know that ANZAC Day isn’t about drinking, and I’ll touch on the significance of ANZAC Day later. But this blog is about drinking, so I’m talking about it.
I had moments yesterday where I thought, “ANZAC Day truly is one of my favourite drinking days. I miss being at the pub right now”. It wasn’t the drugs or alcohol that I missed, but the atmosphere. But it was the drugs and alcohol that put me into a headspace where I could enjoy the atmosphere.
It was only a fleeting thought that I didn’t give too much consideration at all, but I did realise that these things will happen from time to time. I’m never going to be completely free of these thoughts. My Mum quit smoking nearly 40 years ago, and to this day still says that the occasional whiff of a lit cigarette makes her nose perk up and think how nice it could be to have a cigarette. I think the temptation is something we all live with. We get better at resisting them through repetitions.
Instead of going to the pub, I went for a pram run with my son. Later we went for a little family bushwalk to a lookout and spotted some Sea Dogs (seals). Then I finished the arvo off with another run with Liam The Jet, one of the GOATs from
. After that, I perched up on the lounge, ate junk food, watched football and hung out with my family.
I realised I still love ANZAC Day, only now it’s for different, and better reasons.
The Ultimate Sacrifice
His name was Ernest Henry Stephenson, member of the 18th Battalion, 5th Brigade. He was among the thousands who lied about his age to enrol in the Australian Military forces. But to my Mum, he was just Pop.
For the first time in years, I could spend ANZAC Day with a degree of mental clarity. My brain wasn’t clouded by anything I’d ingested in previous days or the excitement of what I planned to ingest later that day.
I decided to head down to the service at Wimbie Beach, NSW, just 700m from my house. I wanted to take my family with me, but my son has been struggling with a couple of new teeth that have decided to pop through, and both he and my partner haven’t been sleeping very well. So, I went alone.
The Wimbie Beach service is a community-led event and not sanctioned by The RSL. It’s a very basic service, The Last Post is played through some speaker, and then a lady without a microphone says The Ode.
What is unique about it, though, is 700 lit candles laid along the beach. Each candle represents one of the 700 soldiers from the area who fought in WWI.
It was a stunning morning. I don’t have words to describe the scenes, so I hope the photos below do it justice.
As much as I would have loved to share the experience with my family, there was something nice about being there alone and free from having that clouded judgement I mentioned earlier.
I thought a lot about just how lucky I am. My pop wrote a diary when he was at war. It is difficult to read due to the cursive font and dodgy photocopying. Still, I recall reading a passage where he talked about getting out of a trench and hurtling towards the next trench, only 10 metres away, bullets flying by his head and watching his mates drop right next to him.
He could have quickly suffered the same fate as his mates who didn’t make it to the next trench, the next one, or the next one. If he did suffer that same fate, I don’t exist. That simple.
I started to think about whether or not I was leading a life worth all of this sacrifice. Am I doing the things that these soldiers fought so hard for? I felt guilty. My Mum’s pop didn’t risk his life by going to war as a 17-year-old so I could waste mine doing drugs in some strangers kitchen at 4 am on a Sunday morning.
He didn’t spend three years in such horrid conditions so I could complain about the slightest inconveniences of modern-day life.
He didn’t come home bearing countless mental scars, which he never once spoke about, to start a family, work a regular job to provide for that family, so that I can try to find the easiest way to do something or take shortcuts.
For the first time ever, I think I really started to understand the significance of ANZAC Day. It’s embarrassing that it’s taken me so long to feel like I’m genuinely beginning to understand the level of sacrifice made by so many.
Some might argue that the freedom to do whatever you want, be it drugs, alcohol, or whatever the vice, is what our soldiers fought for. But I'm afraid I have to disagree.
I don’t believe in god, but I choose to believe in the universe. I choose to believe that things happen for a reason. My pop survived the war for a reason. I was born for a reason. I went through what I went through for a reason. Maybe my son’s teething dramas happened when they happened so that I could have the experience I had yesterday. Whatever the case, life is easier when you choose to believe everything happens for a reason and don’t waste time and energy questioning everything, and have an understanding that things just are.
I like that my sobriety anniversary falls just before ANZAC Day. I hope I get the same kick up the arse next year. I feel like everything that has happened in the last week and a bit has, too, happened for a reason.
Without sounding too wanky, I’m feeling somewhat reborn. I feel ready to move into the next phase of my life. I feel motivated and excited. I have no idea what it will look like, but I trust that whatever happens, there will be a reason behind it and that I will be ok. And if I’m not ok, that, too, was meant to be.
Whatever the case, I’m feeling somewhat replenished, motivated and ready to start rebuilding the life I want to live. A life where I am in control. I’m proactive, not reactive. I want to make myself proud and try to remember to ask, are my actions in alignment with what Pop fought for? LET’S, FUCKING, GOOOO
Cheers Wankers.
X.
Bogues Tonnes Up
Each week I will chuck a bit about my journey to my first 100k run at the Sri Chinmoy Canberra Trail 100k for anyone who gives a shit.
Last week I wrote about how I failed at Canberra Marathon. I was pissed off and embarrassed about it ever since. So, on Sunday, I decided to run a fucking marathon. I needed to for peace of mind. It was slow and ugly at times, but nothing stopped me from proving to myself that I could do it.
Pretty happy with the result, given I had already run 28k in the previous five days and 80k in the last seven.
There’s no time to hang my hat on that one run, though. I’ve got a lot of work to do to prepare for the 100k in September, but I’m starting to feel good about my running. My metrics are heading in the right direction. The weather is cooling down. Work is slowing down, and I have an appointment to get injections in my back, which should help significantly with my nerve pain. Things are looking up! Tentatively, of course…
I am running the 100k for a few reasons. Mostly because I always wanted to. Mostly though, I want to raise as much money as I can for Beyond Blue. A fantastic charity that does brilliant work in the mental health space.
If you want to help out and help keep me accountable for this fucking ridiculous goal, CLICK HERE to make a 100% tax-deductible donation.
Every cent counts, and you’ll be comfortable knowing it’s going to a reputable organisation who do fantastic work.
Click here to check my other blogs. Follow me on Instagram and Twitter @sbrngthghts.
If you want to support me and gain access to my second weekly blog, Secondary Thoughts and my full archive, consider upgrading to a paid subscription.
Subscribed
Make sure you check out my Writing 4 Resilience friends. They’re all legends.
Running for Resilience Ben Alexander Brent Ford Running Rare The Milkbar Reflections of a Clare Bear
If anyone is struggling in any way, make someone aware of it. Speak to a friend, family, loved one, stranger, postman, uber eats driver, or me; talk to someone.
Lifeline Ph: 13 11 14
Alcoholics Anonymous Ph: 1300 222 222
NSW Mental Health Line Ph: 1800 011 511
Suicide Call Back Service Ph: 1300 659 467
Mensline Australia Ph: 1300 78 99 78
Kids Helpline Ph: 1800 55 1800
Looking forward to the blog rennos, and your pop’s diary would have made for fascinating reading cos we have a different kind of bullet flying past our head everyday. Ones that won’t kill us instantly, but can still cause a lot of pain if we don’t wind our necks in.
Brilliant piece on ADHD - I am floored every time I open your blogs, every one resonates & hits home. This was a big one for me - late diagnosis (at 45) and felt/feel everything you talk about in here.
I’m so proud of you Sam! Thanks.