The Tangible Way: Relapse, Recover, Repeat

Someone who cares about me had an intervention with me recently. I sort of had a feeling it was coming, but I wasn’t fully prepared for the truth I would hear. You see, I’ve been using a substance recreationally for a while. I thought it was just for fun. Something to help me wind down. Something to help me turn off my thoughts for a bit and just relax.

This substance would sometimes really make me laugh. I mean laugh out loud, belly laugh. But unfortunately, sometimes it would also make me really angry. And over time it just seemed to make me feel more hopeless. Sometimes I’d feel all of these feelings in a matter of moments.

I thought it would be ok when I wasn’t using it. But that’s not how it works with addictive substances. Over time, it takes up more of your headspace, more of your time. Sometimes when you’re not even using it, you think about it. Or things you thought while under the influence of it, you begin to notice you’re thinking that even when you’re not using it.

Stuff I used to be pretty good at, focusing deeply, having patience, I began to lose that. It was alarming, but as long as I kept using this substance, honestly, I didn’t much care. Because when I used it, it numbed me out and made me not notice stuff like that.

But someone who cares about me did. We sat out on my porch one recent Sunday morning and she told me she missed how I used to find depth and connection in simple things around me. How I used to be able to find magic even in a simple porch sit, like the one we were having. How I used to just be steadier, more stable. And then she got blunt. She told me she thought I was becoming superficial. And then she told me she thought I was getting dumber.

Wow, that stung. I knew deep down she was right, though. Wait, before you think she's really mean, "dumb" is our word to describe being distracted and numb. I was getting "dumber."

I knew I was only really getting captivated by this substance now, barely noticing the beauty and experiencing awe of nature around me, barely connected with anything else. Not having curiosity. Being more irritable with so much less capacity for finding presence and compassion.

And I also knew I could no longer pay attention or stay focused like I used to. If I tried to read an article that was long, I’d just leave it. And reading a book? Forget it. I had to face the reality that my brain had been damaged because of my substance abuse.

But this person who cares about me helped me figure out a plan for how to get myself and my brain back. First off, it’s complicated because my supplier is always around. I knew I’d need to detox, but I’d have to figure out how to do it even though my supplier makes it so, so easy to use.

It wasn’t enough for me to just tell my supplier that I even though I knew they had this substance on them that I didn’t want it. Because just knowing they were carrying this substance around made me want to use it. So they’d have to stop carrying it. Full stop. It may sound strange, but I actually own my supplier, so I can tell them what to do like that. I forget about that sometimes, but I can.

This person who cares about me reminded me of things in my life that are life-enhancing, and there are so many of those things, so much that I’d detached from. She encouraged me that if I lean back into those things, she thought it would help me heal. Getting my meditation practice back. Intentionally reading real books again. Getting back out in nature. Writing more. Connecting more. Remembering The Tangible Way concepts that I’ve been exploring in the past as a means to get a handle on this substance.

In fact, she reminded me it was last September on this very porch where I wrote the first post in The Tangible Way series (The Tangible Way: My Weekend Awakening), having some of the same difficulties I was having now.

Last September the hummingbirds were coming through, making their way south for the season, and they figured heavily into my detox weekend. Such fascination and deep connection came up being with those amazing little creatures.

Someone who cares about me had an intervention with me recently. I sort of had a feeling it was coming, but I wasn’t fully prepared for the truth I would hear. You see, I’ve been using a substance recreationally for a while. I thought it was just for fun. Something to help me wind down. Something to help me turn off my thoughts for a bit and just relax.

This substance would sometimes really make me laugh. I mean laugh out loud, belly laugh. But unfortunately, sometimes it would also make me really angry. And over time it just seemed to make me feel more hopeless. Sometimes I’d feel all of these feelings in a matter of moments.

I thought it would be ok when I wasn’t using it. But that’s not how it works with addictive substances. Over time, it takes up more of your headspace, more of your time. Sometimes when you’re not even using it, you think about it. Or things you thought while under the influence of it, you begin to notice you’re thinking that even when you’re not using it.

Stuff I used to be pretty good at, focusing deeply, having patience, I began to lose that. It was alarming, but as long as I kept using this substance, honestly, I didn’t much care. Because when I used it, it numbed me out and made me not notice stuff like that.

But someone who cares about me did. We sat out on my porch one recent Sunday morning and she told me she missed how I used to find depth and connection in simple things around me. How I used to be able to find magic even in a simple porch sit, like the one we were having. How I used to just be steadier, more stable. And then she got blunt. She told me she thought I was becoming superficial. And then she told me she thought I was getting dumber.

Wow, that stung. I knew deep down she was right, though. Wait, before you think she's really mean, "dumb" is our word to describe being distracted and numb. I was getting "dumber."

I knew I was only really getting captivated by this substance now, barely noticing the beauty and experiencing awe of nature around me, barely connected with anything else. Not having curiosity. Being more irritable with so much less capacity for finding presence and compassion.

And I also knew I could no longer pay attention or stay focused like I used to. If I tried to read an article that was long, I’d just leave it. And reading a book? Forget it. I had to face the reality that my brain had been damaged because of my substance abuse.

But this person who cares about me helped me figure out a plan for how to get myself and my brain back. First off, it’s complicated because my supplier is always around. I knew I’d need to detox, but I’d have to figure out how to do it even though my supplier makes it so, so easy to use.

It wasn’t enough for me to just tell my supplier that I even though I knew they had this substance on them that I didn’t want it. Because just knowing they were carrying this substance around made me want to use it. So they’d have to stop carrying it. Full stop. It may sound strange, but I actually own my supplier, so I can tell them what to do like that. I forget about that sometimes, but I can.

This person who cares about me reminded me of things in my life that are life-enhancing, and there are so many of those things, so much that I’d detached from. She encouraged me that if I lean back into those things, she thought it would help me heal. Getting my meditation practice back. Intentionally reading real books again. Getting back out in nature. Writing more. Connecting more. Remembering The Tangible Way concepts that I’ve been exploring in the past as a means to get a handle on this substance.

In fact, she reminded me it was last September on this very porch where I wrote the first post in The Tangible Way series (The Tangible Way: My Weekend Awakening), having some of the same difficulties I was having now.

Last September the hummingbirds were coming through, making their way south for the season, and they figured heavily into my detox weekend. Such fascination and deep connection came up being with those amazing little creatures.

“And look,” this person who cares about me said during this recent intervention, pointing, “they’re back.” I turned my head, hearing the whirring of the little wings and the sweet little chirps before I ever saw the tiny bird, landing ever so lightly on the feeder just a couple of feet from where I sat. How long had they been back? How long had I missed them?

I deeply sighed and began to smile as I sat with this person who cares about me, appreciating her steady presence. She’s an old, dear friend who is always there to help me pick up the pieces. In fact, she knows me better than anyone, because we inhabit the same body. And with this body we deleted the social media apps off my phone, my supplier, telling it to stop carrying that substance right then and there.

It’s been a multiple week detox this time so far, and, honestly, I can tell my brain is getting better. I’m not as scattered, my mood is more stable, my attention and focus seem to be returning back to normal, and I’m finding presence, compassion, and even awe again. Depth.

When I began to use social media more regularly again a few months ago, I was thinking of it as a great vehicle to connect and promote ideas with an intention to put positive, meaningful content out into the abyss. But, before I knew it, I was no longer putting anything out there at all, just staying hooked up to it and being fed content meant to keep me there.

The seductiveness of social media, particularly short-form video content, is powerful. It’s way more powerful than most of us realize. It’s changing our brains. And thereby, it is changing our world.

Look, I know social media is here and I get that there are positives about it. There is so much great music I’ve discovered because of it. There are some very clever creators who are making really cool content. I know it’s not all bad. So between using it or not using it, I don’t know the answer.

All I know is I’m not willing to lose my brain capacity to a corporation that wants nothing more than to keep me tethered to it. Oh, and to take all my privacy while we’re at it.

I live in a state that was the first to sue tobacco companies for knowing but concealing the dangers of their highly addictive product. The addictiveness of nicotine we were concerned about then almost seems quaint compared to what we’re dealing with now.

During this extended detox I’m currently on, I notice I don’t miss it. I don’t. Even still, I know it’s likely I’ll start using again. I don’t know how else to find and connect with people who may be interested in my ideas or offerings when old avenues for that just aren’t open anymore. I also don’t always know stuff that’s going on, even with people I’m personally connected with, because so much is just shared on social media now and not with an old-fashioned text or even an older-fashioned phone call.

So I admit I’ll probably have my supplier carry that substance again. But not before I can assure I can engage with it more wisely. I don’t want to lose my way like that again.

I’ve written in The Tangible Way series about the issue of fragmented attention with social media use (The Tangible Way: Reclaiming Your Attention), I’ve written about the distortions created by the algorithm (The Tangible Way: Shaking Off the Algorithm). I’ve written and written and written about these issues and I still find myself getting seduced with this substance and having real world impacts with my use that inevitably becomes excessive. I know I'm not the only one.

So this just deepens my resolve to keep exploring The Tangible Way. As I observed in that first post after having an intentional analog weekend that began my last September detox, “we face a future of rapid technological advances that will bring more and more fundamental changes to our lives, it’s essential that we are wise, intentional, and rooted in our living beingness.”

I think we do so by engaging with the real substance of being a living, breathing being surrounded by real things we can see, smell, taste, touch, and hear. I gave credit in that post that “It was the tangibles that brought me back to myself …, the real things that helped me find clarity and grounding.”

So, here I begin again. Back to myself with a renewed intention for more knowing, less scrolling.