Repairing the Damage

I am not the same woman I was ten years ago.

The process of beating addiction requires you to tear yourself apart, layer by layer, and then to reassemble yourself, as best you can.

Then I got breast cancer, and dealing with that was very similar. I was shattered, and had to gradually rebuild.

I didn't just end up emotionally scarred, I was physically scarred too - an ex-lush with only 1.75 breasts and a big gash where one of my my sentinel lymph nodes used to be. Not to mention the damage inflicted by three lots of childbirth and breast feeding.

It's very easy to emerge from all of that feeling damaged. Flawed. Imperfect.

That's why I loved a performance I saw recently by the amazing feminist poet - Megan Beech.

(Megan's debut poetry collection was brilliantly titled "When I Grow Up I Want to be Mary Beard.")

Megan performed a piece about living with depression. She compared her relationship with mental illness to the Japanese art of Kintsugi.

Kintsugi is the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum, thereby creating a piece much more beautiful and unique than the 'perfect' original.

It is said that when this new art emerged in the late 15th century, collectors became so enamoured with it that they would deliberately smash valuable pottery so that it could be repaired with the golden seams of kintsugi.

Kintsugi is not just an art, it's also a philosophy which treats breakage and repair as part of the unique history, or story, of an object, rather than something to disguise.

In a book about mended Japanese ceramics, Christy Bartlett writes "not only is there no attempt to hide the damage, but the repair is literally illuminated."

Another brilliant poet, Leonard Cohen, said the same in these lyrics from Anthem:  

Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in.

And the truth is that those repaired cracks and flaws are what makes us unique and precious and beautiful. We shouldn't be ashamed of them, we should celebrate them - highlight them in gold and make them shimmer.

It also makes us brave and fearless, because we know that even if something is thrown at us that makes us shatter again, we have the ability to rebuild, and to - eventually - emerge even better.

I like to think that understanding Kintsugi can make us less judgemental too, that instead of criticising the flaws and imperfections of others we can see them as marks of a bewitching individuality.

So, if you are feeling battered and bruised by life, then don't be, because it's those scars which make you beautiful, unique and courageous.

There's lots of new stuff on the SoberMummy Facebook page, including much heated debate on the Liz Jones article about the misery that is sobriety (*angry face*). 'Like' the page to stay updated.

To listen to my TEDx talk on Making Sober Less Shameful click here.

To read about the ups and downs of the first year sober in The Sober Diaries click here (UK), or here (USA) or here (Australia).

To hear Megan perform her kintsugi poem, click here.

Love to you all!

SM x

There is a Crack in Everything

What a week. America elects Trump and Leonard Cohen dies.

Do you think those two events are related? Did Cohen see the news and lose all desire to ever sing again?

Cohen was, first and foremost, a poet. He said that he only took to song writing because he couldn't make enough money from poetry.

The lines of poetry, from his song 'Anthem', that have been haunting me this week are these:

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in.

We are obsessed with papering over our cracks.

We are constantly bombarded with Facebook and Instagram posts of people's perfect offerings. Perfect faces, bodies, children, houses. We never get to see the hidden wrinkles, cellulite, behavioural issues and damp.

It's so easy to believe in all of it, particularly if you're an adolescent, programmed to hate your own flaws and disregard anyone else's.

One thing the last year and half has taught me is that there really is a crack in everything. Everyone has their hidden struggles - their addictions, their fears, their challenges, because that's how life is.

I've also learned that, once you find out how to deal with those cracks, how to fill them up properly, rather than just pour booze into them, you'll be stronger and more fearless than ever before.

Now, when I meet someone new, I look past the perfect face they show the world and try to see the cracks. Because it's the cracks that make us unique, that make us interesting. Without them it's all a bit bland, a bit meh.

It's the cracks that let the light in.

Thank you, Leonard Cohen, for leaving us your words, and happy Sunday to you all,

SM x

P.S. Please check out lovely reader Neinwine's new blog at www.anintoxicatingaffair.blogspot.co.uk

Getting to 100 Days

If you quit drinking around New Year, then right about now you should be getting to 100 days!

Huge congratulations to SFM, Justonemore, Dr C and my e-mail friend CB for doing just that. Awesome work, my friends.

I looked back at the post I wrote on my own centenary (click here).

The reason 100 days is so significant is not just because it's a pretty number with three digits. It's a massive achievement.

One hundred one-days-at-a-time. Hundreds of battles with the wine witch. Endless sitting on your hands, gritting your teeth and mainlining hot chocolate.

The other reason it's so significant, is that for many of us, the 100 day mark was about when it started getting easier.

There's no immediate change. Everything on this journey happens slowly, slowly. BUT there will come a day, around that point, when you realise that you're not thinking about booze any more.

It's like being stuck in a cell for years, then discovering a window you've never spotted before and, through it, glimpsing freedom.

There will still be cravings. There will still be dark days. There will be episodes of PAWS. BUT you start to realise what it's all been for.

Leonard Cohen wrote:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

And that, for me, is how 100 days feels.

(By the way, here's what Leonard Cohen said about drugs: The recreational, the obsessional and the pharmaceutical - I've tried them all. I would be enthusiastically promoting any one of them if they worked.)

You've spent more than three months discovering all the cracks that you used to fill by pouring booze into them (not realising that it was only running out the bottom). You become painfully aware of how imperfect you are....

...but then, around day 100, the light starts to get in. And it all makes sense.

And you realise that without the preceding darkness, you'd never have appreciated the simple beauty of those shafts of light.

And you find that your cracks, your imperfections, are what make you strong and beautiful. They give you wisdom, resilience and empathy.

Once that light gets in, you never want to go back to the endless, oppressive gloom. And that makes the next 100 days so much easier.

So, welcome to the field of bunnies, all you wonderful, strong 100 dayers.

(If you've not heard of the field of bunnies, and want to know how to get there, then click here).

You rock. All of you. Whether you're on Day 100, or Day 1.

SM x

P.S. If you'd like to receive my posts by e-mail, then go to the full website (if you're reading this on a mobile device, scroll to the bottom of the screen and click on 'View web version'), then go to the top right of the home screen and you'll see a box labelled want to follow by Email? Just put your e-mail address in there (it won't be seen by, or shared with, anyone) and click Submit.