Here is to hope: Journey to Heathenry in Recovery.
I'm not even sure how I would start something like this. I'm an addict in recovery. My name is Kerby. I am also a Norse Pagan. From what I've experienced so far, I don't see a lot of pagans or polytheists in the rooms of recovery. I'm sure they exist! It's just that when folks come into the rooms, they don't bring their gods with them. Most come in with resentment towards their god, or they never believed in one in the first place. My spirituality is secondary to my recovery. When I keep my recovery primary, everything that follows grows. I didn't find this path until later in my journey. The god of my upbringing is what I walked into the rooms of recovery with. I grew up with values that were impractical, based on fear and hate, due to my own lack of understanding and unwillingness to listen. Through recovery, I found freedom of choice. I can live my life any way I desire. I can believe in whatever I desire. For me, spiritual freedom is finally possible.
There was a time when I did not believe that I had a choice. I believed that my path was the right path. The ones that loved me created my path for me. I thought that if I followed their path, then I would feel accepted and wanted. Wanting to feel wanted and accepted was the basis for a lot of my intentions. If you want me around and accept me, I don't have to feel empty. I don't have to feel unwanted or unloved. I don't have to feel forgotten anymore. I don't have to feel. So, I adapted to fragments of your personalities and threw away my identity in the process. It left me feeling suicidal, and I would willingly suffer because it's what I truly felt like I deserved. I could not form my identity from the pieces of others'.
These were not just thoughts for me. These were beliefs. I placed many unrealistic expectations on my environment. I tried to control people to fulfill my own self-seeking desires. I was a manipulator, living the role of a director of sorts, with people in my life as actors in a play. I couldn't bear the thought of being alone and discarded, so I attempted to behave in a way that would help me avoid those feelings; however, the role ended up being reversed. Over time, I became the monster I was running from. This was essentially me for a good bit of my life. I used drugs to numb my feelings or to attempt to enhance them.
When I entered the rooms at the age of 22, it was just a part of a series of events beyond my control. Eventually, my family became tired of me. I would attempt to rationalize and justify my destructive behavior. I stole because I didn't want to hear the word "No." Asking for forgiveness made more sense to me. Eventually, they could no longer tolerate my apologies. My family gave me the common ultimatum: Go to treatment or get the hell out. I weighed my options and chose treatment. I figured I would go there; they would work some sort of voodoo or something, and then I would be able to use successfully and without consequence. I was gone for about 90 days.
The treatment facility was an old motel in a sketchy part of Houston, but it was free for me. I'd always lived with my grandparents, so it was a heavy transition for me. From the burbs to the boondocks. It was my first introduction to practicing structure and routine, which I resisted quite heavily. I knew I might have a problem with drugs, but it wasn't the needle. It wasn't a crack pipe. I still had all my teeth. I compared myself to the lives of the other "guests." I believed that I was well off. "I don't have a problem." "I'm just going through a phase right now. If everyone had just left me alone, I wouldn't be in this situation! It's your fault!" I wasn't willing to take responsibility for myself or my behavior. My experience at that facility was when I started to realize that I'm going to have to change.
A few times a week, certain 12-step programs would come in to carry the message of recovery. You had AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), NA (Narcotics Anonymous), and CA (Cocaine Anonymous). I perceived NA to be too serious; AA had funny stories, and CA was more of a Q&A format. My introduction to recovery programs planted seeds within my heart that really stuck from the start. They taught me to look for the similarities. They told me to stick around. They talked about freedom in a way that I did not think was possible for me. They talked about freedom from obsessive and compulsive thinking. They mentioned how lost dreams awaken and new possibilities arise. They said that they loved me and believed in my recovery. They gave me a hug as if I were a survivor of a near-fatal catastrophe. I wish I could say that was enough. I wish I could say that it worked, and I never used drugs again. That experience exposed me to a loving world that I perceived to be frightening and unfamiliar. I walked into that world with the hope that I might find a solution to living other than killing myself.
So, I went to AA meetings after I got out of treatment. My first experience with meetings was welcoming for the most part. Even though it was difficult for me to identify with the alcoholics of AA, I was still able to pick up some nuggets of wisdom. They talked about God a lot, which did not bother me as much. I knew of a concept of God or a higher power, but I was no longer attracted to the type of God I was raised with. It took a minute for me to understand that the god that was talked about in meetings was not the god of my upbringing but rather Good Orderly Direction, or a Group of Drunks. They taught me that developing an understanding of GOD takes time and not to worry about it right now, just keep coming back. Just don't use. Go to meetings. Work steps. Work with others.
The more I kept going to meetings, the more the seeds that I was given started to grow. They were seeds of practicality and the love and joy that can come with a life without drugs. Over time, I still went to meetings, whether I was loaded or not. They never shamed me or kicked me out. Attending a meeting is sometimes the safest place for me to be. The seeds that were planted took years to sprout, and it was all at once. Over the years, my fears faded, and they were replaced with the willingness to understand, then act.
Rock meets bottom, right? I have certainly experienced my share in the process of relapse. There were consequences when I put things before my recovery. Everything that I put in front of recovery, I either lost or gave it away. I did not want to change for myself, so it really didn't stick. It was always for others. My wife. My kids. My grandparents. To escape consequences. I focused on differences and separated myself from others. It was more important how I sounded rather than the message I was conveying. Since I separated myself, I listened to the last person I got high with. For me, with enough isolation, I can rationalize anything to myself.
I spent so many years relying on the very thing that always got me in trouble: my thoughts and actions. Due to my unwillingness to accept personal responsibility, I was always creating my own problems. My perception, attitude, thinking, and behavior must always shift towards the practical. For me, attempting to live practically leads to a content and pleasant life. By practicing universal spiritual principles in all my affairs, I have come to experience life in ways that I could never have imagined. Recovery didn't change my life. Life is still heavy, painful, and a big heaping mess sometimes. Recovery changed how I act and react to my problems, which forced my life to turn towards the moments that made living and enjoying life worth it.
When I was at the lowest point in my life, I reached out to the gods, and not only did they reach back, but they also provided me with an unbelievable sense of comfort. Like a feeling that a child gets when they are found by a parent. I was scared and terrified of going permanently insane. I'm certain that the gods were making bets. I prayed to Odin during these times, but Bragi answered. Freya answered me through my wife. Thor answered me through my brother. Frigg kept my family safe from me when I went down the rabbit hole. I choose to believe that the gods kept me safe from my family. I was able to earn all of that back. All I had to do was follow directions. I no longer feel like I don't deserve good things in my life anymore. The gods don't take my problems away. They point me towards my party members. When it comes to surrender, I no longer take it as a sign of weakness like I used to. If you were in a party getting ready to tackle a dungeon, would you venture into the dark depths all by your lonesome? When I have challenges in life, I see them as encounters. When I lack a skill, I surrender myself to those that are more skilled than I. I surrendered to my party. I surrendered to the healer when I took damage. I give the tool to the person next to me if I can’t complete the challenge.
Hope is a spiritual principle that anyone can give. Hope is not only vital to simple survival, but it fans the flame of desire within one's heart. Whoever reads these words, please know that there is always going to be hope. There is hope for you. I felt hopeless for more than a decade of my life. I want so badly to give that hope to anybody and everybody. There are a lot of acronyms in the realm of recovery. Hope has two. By Hearing Other People's Experience, it gives me cause to Help Other People Every Day. Recovery is universal, and I would not be here on this path without it. For that, I am grateful beyond measure. In many moments, I give thanks to the gods that I simply draw breath. The gifts I have been given must be paid forward so I can keep it. What gives you hope? How can you give it?
