volume sixty-four

yoga mats and vampires

hi, lauren deborah! is free for subscribers every week.

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I know that on the about page I say I often write about my sexuality, my sobriety and my celebrity crushes, so you kind of know what you are getting into when you read. I do still, however, given the connections I have made in various parts of my life that have turned into readers that I am grateful for, want to give you the heads up that this volume speaks to my experience before getting sober, and for some of you that might not be something you want to read today. So please go and do something you would prefer to if that is the case and take care of you. Love you!

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I lay in śavāsana, the physical and emotional strain felt in every inch of my body from the last sixty minutes. It smells like sweat in this crowded, colourful room — different from the soft incense that greeted me when I arrived. I feel the tears roll down the sides of my face, finding their way to my ears as they swirl and fall past my lobes and patter on the bright pink mat.

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I walk in and am greeted by a gentle person at the desk, who notes my weekly pass and tells me where to find my mat and blocks. A person who never once mentions today is the last day of my pass being active, and my first time using it. Whether they don’t notice or perhaps don’t want to bring it up, I don’t know. Maybe they can see the defeat in my face — the dark grey under my eyes coming from within, the pores oozing the havoc wreaked, the hair needing love, the make-up trying to mask it all — or maybe my accent gives me an edge of “she is far from home, be gentle”. Maybe none of the above matters. Maybe this person could care less about how I show up and is just glad that I did. Maybe glad for another paying customer, maybe welcoming of anyone who walks through the doors and they refuse to see beyond that and treats us all as equal, maybe glad that I am one of many removing my shoes and entering the yoga studio to give myself an hour of time to take care of myself.

The incense masks the smell of feet.

This is the most expensive yoga class I have ever taken. Not just because it is close to the French Quarter — it is obviously very popular with the locals and regulars by the way they familiarly greet the instructor — Lauren. Lauren introduces herself to me, a new face, my face, on her way into the studio. I tell her she has the same name as me with more excitement than perhaps I should — but I spent $100 USD on a weekly pass, and am flying out tonight and this is the first time I have set foot in the studio. AKA the most expensive yoga class I have ever taken. Her name feels like a sign.

I move from the reception and shoe removal area and into the studio, where Lauren has made her way to the front of the room, instructing everyone to move closer, “we have a large turnout today, let's make sure everyone can fit”.

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Before this vacation began, I was ready to carry on my routine. The routine that pushed me out the door for 7am yoga or fitness classes at the YMCA around the corner from my house each morning before work, no matter what I had done the night before. Whether in these classes I sweat until I sobered up, or I puked in my mouth and swallowed it a little, the fact that I was in that class proved that my drinking was under control and was no cause for concern. How could I possibly have an issue if I am making it to an early workout class every day while everyone else I know sleeps? Complete denial, and out to prove that I could change the parts of me that saw my last relationship crumble and my life in almost every other aspect tatter, while hanging on to the parts that I was convinced were just who I was: the life of the party.

I was no longer working nights, having gotten a fantastic job with the hours from 9-5 and was finally living the life I worked hard for and told myself would be the ticket to drinking as regular people do. Just like I told myself dating someone who didn’t drink much would, or turning a certain age would, or moving in with a certain friend would, or getting through my depression would…

But all working daytime hours meant was that I started my habits earlier. I used to catch up after a long night at work managing a comedy club (and let’s be honest most of the time we started the drinking before the shift ended) and heading out to late-night dives with the other staff. Now I was invited to work lunches at the pub around the corner, happy hours after work, and comedy shows in the evening to scout talent. All of these things came with pints or bourbon or both.

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So this is where I find myself. After a week in NOLA — the top of my bucket list destination — ready to puke (actual puke, emotional puke?) on a yoga mat.

I got in on Christmas Eve in the early evening. I dropped my bags, freshened up and headed straight for Bourbon Street. Magical, colourful, wonderful New Orleans. With the idea that I would find the St Louis Cathedral for midnight mass. No longer a practising Catholic, this was significant to where I was visiting, midnight mass on Christmas Eve, was a must-do.

As midnight crept up on me, so did my intoxication and I remained on Bourbon Street (never setting foot in a church) until 4am. I threw money in a bowl for duelling pianos to play my favourite songs, I spun on a chair while shots were poured into my mouth, I bar hopped, I met other Aussies, I danced, I sang, I carried large plastic cups through the street of brightly coloured frozen beverages and then — nothing.

At some point, something that always happened, happened. I woke up. Mid-morning, feeling around the bed to find my phone. Dragging myself to wherever I found my bag to make sure everything was still there, checking my bank account to assess the damage, staring at the pillow covered in my make-up.

It was Christmas Day and I spent it like I did many days of my life: horizontal, naked, sweating, dry heaving — sometimes with a follow through — reading texts that were sent and hating myself, looking at my photos and wondering what the fuck they are of and piecing things together based on the time they were taken, playing a movie in the background as an attempt to distract me, trying to nap while my tummy told me it had other plans, head throbbing, shame-filled from top to bottom.

It would be a long while before I admitted I had a drinking problem, some days it is still so hard for me, as I start getting imposter syndrome thinking my “bottom” isn’t like the ones you see in movies. Spoiler: the movies ain’t all it. I guess that is why I write about it, because it is so easy to be immersed in my magical present life, I forget what it was like and the fear of slipping back can slip away. My “bottom” was life being wasted. A life spent trying to cure a hangover in a cold shower while I prayed over and over with “please, please, please” begging to feel better, often sipping on more booze while doubled over, physically unable to bring myself upright, under the water, trying to level myself out. Most days my first meal came later in the day and was filled with grease, once I finally “came good” and could stomach something. My “bottom” was spending most nights not remembering the end of them and telling myself I would grow out of it as I grew up.

The people in my life who still tell me they are surprised I got sober and “never would have guessed I needed to” were given the exact information they were supposed to. They were given the parts of my life I strategically and intentionally showed them. They only saw the girl who danced and sang and made new friends. They often went home before the rest unfolded and I sure as hell didn’t share with anyone what the next day looked like — what most days looked like. I showed up for work, I paid my bills (somehow) and I kept my commitments (mostly). All I needed was booze in my belly or the promise that it wasn’t far away.

I would like to say that spending Christmas Day moaning in bed until 4pm, while the sun shone outside, while children and families delighted in their day in the distance, while music played from various places around me, while people celebrated, while my yearly watch of A Muppets Christmas Carol was fogged by naps (truthfully this one hurts the most, thirty years of tradition missed), in the ideal place that I had daydreamed about since I was sixteen and read Interview With A Vampire on a family vacation, was enough to snap me out of it. But it wasn’t. Instead, I thought “Woah, I need to take it easy the rest of the trip,” and failed to see this was just another day for me, regardless of what special day it fell on, regardless of where I was. My favourite day of the year, one I have many times spent alone, with family, with friends, in foreign places, and many times before sobriety I had slept away or drank away. Instead, as soon as I could bring myself to, I was back in a bar, meeting more strangers and the cycle repeated for a whole other week.

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I mentioned last week that my yoga practice was a blessing, that making time for it was essential to my week being great, and that I had let the practice slide for a while. When I came back to it last week with an exhausted body from working hard, travelling and not enough sleep, I was brought back to the girl who cried on her yoga mat. The girl who lay there wondering why she had neglected her body in such a way, both physically and emotionally. And vowed to take better care of it.

Except for this time, I meant it, and no addiction with its claws in me is going to stop me from giving myself the gift of a stretch, a break, and a few moments (if that is all I have to spare) of gratitude of what I continue to achieve. Now I have lost the one thing that controlled me and I have gained a life back.

here are three things I struggled with this week:

📅 I wrote down all the things I work on in a week: for money, for fun, to give back to communities, to practice self-care and for my creative projects. Essentially everything that doesn’t include eating, sleeping, and being social. Yeah, so it turns out there is just not enough time in the week for it all and that is why in almost every volume of this newsletter I am talking about burnout, or “something has got to give”, or finding more work (as it feels like if I am so busy I should be richer but actually…). Anyway, where is there a service that will come in unbiased and chop a bunch of that out for me?

🐌 Staying here in this moment and not thinking ahead or putting myself in a situation that is not yet here or isn’t guaranteed. Right now is.

🪜 Step 4. IYKYK.

here are three blessings from this week:

🧑‍✈️ On my flight back to Vancouver from San Diego, it was announced that it was the Captain's last flight before retirement after thirty-five years working as a pilot for the airline. What a special flight it was with his family on board, the ceremonial fire trucks watering us down on the runway (a tradition I didn’t know about but now love), the several rounds of applause and the tears. Tears from me. I cried at such a special occasion as I cry at everything beautiful.

🚶‍♀️ Walking blissfully down the street in my neighbourhood on a gorgeous sunny Fall Saturday morning. Well, not walking, but rather floating (there is no emoji for that, maybe ☁️?) with gratitude for having healthcare. I had just left a doctor’s appointment where nothing had to be put off or avoided due to lack of care. Something I lived without for two years and so many live without every single day. I couldn’t be more grateful and will never take it for granted again, so don’t ever let me!

📚 I found some amazing books for $2 at a local thrift store this weekend. Magic. When I make no plans for my weekend (bliss) then my plans fall into place as I desire them to based on how I feel. So when my roommate asked if I would like to spend some time on The Drive and thrift on Saturday, you know I said heck yeah.

here are three goals for the coming week:

⛔ Say no in the moment instead of yes then no later. I heard something this week where someone was asked to hang out and they, having a lot going on, said “I am trying not to book anything right now and just take it easy” and that blew my mind. Is it really that easy? My co-dependence thinks not, but my want for rest says LET’S GO!

⛴️ I am off to Vancouver Island again this weekend. I plan to write, draw, eat and rest, with none of those in excess (except, well maybe the eat and the rest, but the other stuff I will do for pleasure and not with deadlines looming or a sore bum from sitting at a desk too long). There will be JOY!

🤝🏻 AA Meetings. When life gets hectic, that is when I need them most. When life gets hectic, that is when I drop them to make way for other things. Nope. I will go. I have the ones on the island in my calendar so feel free to send me a cute little text to make sure I am going.

here is something I enjoyed this week: 

Everything Alok, always, who reminds us that beyond what we are told we should be, there is possibility.

it won’t let me link the video, but I linked it above (:

one more note from me:

Did you know that 1 in 5 people experience symptoms of mental illness each year? Every day in Australia, 8 people will die by suicide. Mental illness can be debilitating and can have a devastating impact on not only those living with it, but those around them. This October, I’ll again be taking part in One Foot Forward to show people living with mental illness that they are not alone.

I'm walking to raise funds for the Black Dog Institute to support crucial mental health research and support services to help Australians impacted by mental illness and suicide.

It would mean so much to me if you'd support my walk this October.

Together, we can create a mentally healthier world, for everyone.

If you’re able, you can donate here.

pics or it didn’t happen:

a gorgeous and unexpected care package arrived all the way from Ireland this week. Here is me enjoying some late-night delicious crisps that travelled to me by plane. Thank you, Lou!

I love you,

LD

xoxo