When I started HIp Sobriety last summer, the intention was to create a website not just dedicated to blogging about addiction recovery, but a space that would become a haven to anyone looking for an alternative, positive, empowering roadmap out of addiction. My vision was resources and tools, online classes, e-books, coaching, bootcamps, video blogs, and of course, a written blog.
The blog for me was originally a place to air my dirt or my angst or my truth. I didn't quite care about how well it hit or how well written the pieces were, I simply cared that I was getting something out of me and on to paper and out to the world.
Somewhere along the way, the innocence was lost. Because somewhere along the way, I started to receive feedback, and started to consume that feedback. It began to impact my ability to write, and further, began to impact my ability to write authentically on command. And so somewhere along the way, the mission became not necessarily to create a great website. It became to create a great blog.
So of course, I stopped being able to write.
I found myself coming to the computer, in dread, stuck before I began. It felt like word constipation...a complete inability to pull anything out in a smooth manner. And then when I did pull something out, it was in fact total shit.
I tried everything. I went back to old pieces that had flowed so purely from the heart and out the hands and re-read them, praying for inspiration. I read four other books by authors I admired, hoping effortlessness of their prose would somehow translate into my own. I practiced vomiting stream of conscious and even started speaking my pieces into voice memos and trying to re-type them. I picked different topics, I tried different writing styles. I took Cheryl Strayed's advice and I wrote not like a girl, not like a boy, but wrote like a Motherfucker.
I became extremely depressed and watched as all those other things that had made me tick became constipated as well. My correspondence. My web design. My instagram. My daily reading. My meditation practice. My vision. My fire.
This weekend I set out to get reacquainted with these aforementioned things. To start my program for online group coaching. To write an e-book. To jump back in to website design. To catch up on correspondence. And then Johann Hari published his grossly oversimplified piece on addiction that went viral and I found myself sitting in a cafe, head down, pushing out more constipated writing in response to Hari's article, instead of doing these flow activities that light me up and that serve my mission. Because, I reasoned, I had to. I'm a writer.
This morning, in near panic and total misery on the phone with a friend after some 10 hours spent trying to push out a piece of literature that lived up to those that have come before, I found myself having the kind of breakthrough that I needed to have. Not a perfect draft of something that will captivate and tickle all and get me some sort of kudos on my penmanship, but rather the breakthrough that I didn't need to write a perfect draft or something that will captivate and tickle and get me some sort of kudos.
You see, I am here along with my dear friend Hip Sobriety to do one thing and one thing only, and that is to be the thing that I did not have in my hour of need: an above ground, proud, experiential, inspirational, empowering, alternative, modern place to figure out this whole nasty addiction thing. To share the tools, resources, and knowledge I have accumulated along the way to get there. To provide something that doesn't exist anywhere else in this space. So that you, whoever you may be, feel less alone, feel more connected, feel more more empowered. So that you, warrior princess or warrior prince, can move beyond the thing that is holding you back and on to your most wonderful, inspired life.
So today, I am moving beyond the thing that is holding me back. Expect to see a lot more tools, a lot more resources, and a lot more posts. But also, please expect to see a lot less wordplay and prose. Because writing is not the thing I give a shit about. You are, my dear one.