volume thirty-nine

nothing changes if nothing changes

A little plug before I begin! This week I launched season three of my podcast, My Dad Stole My Limelight. It is a podcast about coming out, where I interview someone who has come out and someone they came out to. The season opener is always a check-in of my journey, and this season opened with an interview with my Dad. It is so so special, I would love it if you listened, left a review and followed the podcast to help it get recommended to others, too. This season also marks the start of being on the Comedy Here Often? podcast network, so all-around amazing stuff happening there.

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It is a warm, sunny, Sunday afternoon in April. When I say warm I mean above freezing — this is Montreal after all. It is the first warm spring-ish day after a long, long, covid winter and it feels like summer. It would be a shame to waste it. That sentiment alone makes me giggle, as I write this thinking about how many beautiful Sunday afternoons over the last fifteen odd years I didn’t want to waste — so I spent them getting wasted — convinced that was making the most of them.

This Sunday afternoon is different. For the first time in my life, it is different. I make my way down the spiral fire escape from my apartment to the neighbour’s courtyard with snacks filling the giant pockets of the oversized comfy leopard print coat I have bundled around my sweat pants and docs. I am sporting large sunglasses covering half of my face and the evident lack of sleep and water, and in my hand is one, lonely beer.

This Sunday promises to be the hope of an amazing summer. A summer that is the light at the end of the tunnel, a summer of fun, a summer of hot, hot sun and plenty of places to say “cheers” while getting an unintentional tan in the company of people, finally. Today is setting the tone of what will be this magical summer, by giving us a glimpse of spring.

I arrive in the courtyard and I am alone. My friends likely still inside assembling a platter of deliciousness fit for royalty that will come out looking like a damn painting, as they do. I stand here in the quiet, the sun seeping in through the vines that have just started to sprout new life, creeping up the wall to my bedroom window. I think about how much warmer it is on my balcony where the sun has free reign and think about suggesting we meet there instead, but it isn’t as roomy and quite honestly, it isn’t as pretty either.

I can hear squirrels scurrying in the overhead trees, and I roll my eyes as they take a leap of faith from one branch to another and make their way to my balcony where I know they will soon take over again. I hear the neighbour’s dogs barking at whatever they feel like barking at, honestly, they don’t really need an excuse to wake up every home that backs onto this alleyway. At least from my balcony, I can see into their yard and yell-whisper down to them to shush. In thinking about Mrs Colin and Toby (the dogs), and my balcony, and the squirrels and the sunshine, I am avoiding thinking about the painfully obvious. That this Sunday is different.

I lay out my snacks on the table and sit my beer there, too. I don’t crack it open, I just sit it there as we stare each other down. That is when I hear “hello!” and my friends emerge, arms full and smiles large and I move everything around to the edges of the table to make space for their smorgasbord, forcing me to break the eye contact with my fruity IPA.

The rest of the hangout goes more or less like any other of the handful we have had. We talk and eat. For hours. Except for this time, in the space I might have filled with six or so beers, I sit with that one IPA. It slowly becomes the same temperature as the air around me, and I slowly sip it, not wanting to finish it at all but still unsure what to do with my hands in between eating and talking. This IPA is my security blanket in so many ways, even though now I want to break up but am still too scared to do it.

I would like to say that there was one huge incident that made me go from wanting every beer I could get my hands on to hating the sight of one in front of me. But that isn’t true. The truth is I loved the beer more than anything and to pry my hands and lips away from it was something I knew I had to do. I detested who I would be in thirty minutes if I drank at my usual pace. I loathed who I would be in the next hour or two. I hated who I was the next day. This had been a long time coming, a long time thought about, a long time of almosts.

It was a combination of sleeping weekends away, trying to rest off the sick feeling in my stomach, if I was so lucky that it stayed down as merely just a feeling and not a physical response. It was nights blurred and walks home forgotten. It was four o’clock in the afternoon starts to my day — in the dead of winter that meant it was already dark again — only to crack another drink to even make that happen. It was calling my grandparents crying and not remembering doing it. It was lacking any of the motivation required to do the things I truly desired. It was a life of sleep, work, drink, sleep on repeat. It was fifteen odd years of this, that slowly crept in and secured its grip on me, tighter and tighter over the years.

I grew up around alcohol — family, friends, relatives — that’s what brought us all together. It was so easy to look at others and say to myself “I am not them”. And I was right, I was not. But that just became the excuse I needed to ignore my problems, which were not better, just different. It was time to take responsibility for my own actions and if nothing changed, nothing changed.

So this different-than-the-rest Sunday, April 18th, 2021, was my last beer. I haven’t lost any time since. Time is not wasted not remembering or trying to recover. Time is spent creating, working, writing, and resting. Rest no longer comes with guilt. Before, I only allowed myself rest as a form of attempted repair. Now it comes as a right, something I give myself willingly in order to have the energy to nourish my heart the next opportunity I get to do so.

I don’t want to dwell much on how I was before, maybe that is for another time. Instead, I want to give myself the warm hug that I need to remind myself of what I have accomplished this past sober year:

• Took up writing again after not touching it since my teens. I write every day now. I publish this weekly digital journal. I get paid for some of my writing. I found a community I love and check in with every day who love and support and encourage each others’ creativity.

• I reclaimed my style. I stopped being who I thought I should be and found myself again.

• I actively invest time in my recovery and healing.

• I sleep better, I am well-rested.

• I eat when I am hungry and I eat what I want and I nourish my body and I don’t discipline it.

• I read. I sketch. I journal, when I am inspired to.

• I spend far less time doom scrolling.

• I enjoy cooking.

• I have better relationships with the people I love. I lost some and grew apart from some too, but that is okay. It was always for the best.

• I gave up my career to follow my dreams because I finally believe that I am capable… because I am finally giving myself the space to be capable.

• I understand my sexuality better than I ever have because my vision and desires are clear.

• I spend far less money and as a result, don’t have to say no to things much for that reason — I can go for a coffee or lunch date with a friend or pursue travel or visit home or offer to treat people I love without fear. I eat avocado toast a few times a week, not to brag.

• I wake early and some days I even leap out of bed.

• I am a better listener, and I remember things better, making me a better friend.

• I am so fucking happy. I have energy like never before because I balance it with the rest I require and it is not numbed by anything. I am full of life and joy and I can honestly say after being around friends again for the past week, I am more fun than I have ever been and I still bring life to every party. Only now, I remember every single magical moment.

I love you,

Lauren xoxo

thehappysnapshot

A post shared by The Happy Snapshot™ (@thehappysnapshot)

 Three things I struggled with this week:

• I will touch on this in blessings, too, but my hearing has been overwhelmed by conversations of strangers as they walk by me when I am out and about. I didn’t realise that by living in a french speaking city for two years and knowing very little french, I was actually alone with my thoughts without being pulled away whenever I was out in public. Now I am walking down the street or in line for the checkout or sitting in a venue waiting for a show to start and can’t keep up. I feel like Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty when he is overloaded with prayers, except I am just eavesdropping unintentionally on people’s days.🦜

• Weird, I fixed everything in my life but my acne is still here. Guess it is more than stress? (side note a blessing is that I am somewhere I can easily access healthcare so to the doctor!) 😊

• Why have I stopped eating dinner? I get up early and eat breakfast and break for lunch, but come dinner time I am just… well I am figuring it out as I write actually I am just ready for bed. Adjusting to so much stimulation is exhausting! 😴

Three blessings from this week:

• I left the house more this past week than I have in two years. Not just for social things but errands are now easy, and not put off in dread. I will happily pop out in the warm weather knowing I can step into a shop and ask the questions I might have because there is no longer a language barrier — I give huge kudos to anyone navigating a language barrier for travel or especially in different circumstances without the choice. Small talk and compliments back and forth with staff is something I missed so much! 🏪

• Hugs. I love hugs. 🤗

• It’s like thunder, lightning! I have been on the west coast not even two weeks and we have had two thunderstorms. This is wild to me. I love thunderstorms so much and the last time I lived here for four years and never got one. Thank you mother nature for the perfect writing weather. ⛈️

Three goals for the coming week:

• I celebrated another permanent residency anniversary this week, which means I have exactly one year to get my citizenship. Let’s get that application moving! 🎢

• Continue to rest and socialize in balance. I can very easily feel the need to see all of my wonderful friends creeping in, and taking over my downtime. As much as I want to make up for lost time and get all those hugs in, and as much as people want to hang out, I need to make sure I maintain a good balance so I do not burn out like I used to. 🧸

• Pick up a book at least once a day because reading reduces stress for me and takes me away from any thoughts overtaking my brain. Start with what I can manage, and don’t turn this into another task but rather an escape from tasks.📙

What I am enjoying this week: this

🌍 ✍🏽✨📷⏳ @SierraChas

I saw somewhere earlier “Go be your favorite self” We are used to “higher” or “best” But “favorite” leaves room for Grace. I’m going to be the version of myself that I like right now in this moment.

If you feel inclined to say thanks for this post, please like or comment (it’s free and means so much!), forward it to a friend or you can buy me a slice 🍕