It Took a Little Hell
Neither Regret the Past, Nor Shut the Door on It
November 8, 2010
Today was interesting because it’s my father’s birthday, and my father and I are estranged because both my parents have been mean-spirited since my divorce earlier this year.
Because of the turmoil that boils in me regarding my parents, I worked to keep my boundaries in check today. I acknowledged my father’s birthday with a small gift, but when he called to thank me, I happened to miss the call and I’m glad it worked out that way. I sort of took the Bible literally and honored Dad, but didn’t set myself up for any negative feedback by getting on the phone with either of my parents.
When I got upset after the fact — angry at how me, my ex, and my kids have been treated; frustrated and sad that my folks are missing out on my kids’ lives — I called friends in group and vented.
I bring all this up to note something I’ve learned in recovery, which is that I try not to regret the past, but I also try not to shut the door on it altogether. That’s taken directly from the Twelve Promises of recovery. The past is how I got here, but I don’t have to dwell on it. At the same time, I can learn great lessons from past experience. My father made a horrible choice when I was nine-years-old by exposing me to hard-core pornography. My nervous system was fried by the time I was twelve, if not sooner. And ever since then, I’ve struggled with wanting normal intimacy and healthy sexual relations, yet having zero idea how to realistically go about achieving those ends. So I just kept diving back into porn, and the insanity of my addiction grew.
I cannot turn back time. I cannot instantly undo my compulsive tendencies, but I’m finally in a place where I can start to appreciate everything that’s gotten me here, to sobriety. Had I not experienced those early abuses, I might be a completely different person. But without those experiences, I don’t know how I would’ve finally traveled to this new place of clarity and honesty and self-care. I might not know God in such close proximity, through the consistent surrendering of the Third Step. I might not have experienced the loss of my marriage, but I also might not have the beautiful kids that relationship produced.
And so, there’s always, in my mind and heart, a sort of silver lining, even having gone through the trauma of abuse and addiction. Because, although it took a little hell to get here, by slowly reconciling with my past — good and bad — I can better live in the present, in sobriety, in the warmth of the transforming love of my Higher Power.
