“A little kingdom I possess, where thoughts and feelings dwell; And very hard the task I find of governing it well.”
— Louisa May Alcott
As I enter another week of recovery, I’m reminded how much of this journey is about managing my inner world—my thoughts, feelings, and reactions. This week brought several events that stirred strong emotions and challenged my sense of balance.
Here are the stressors that shaped my week:
⦁ I came down with shingles the same weekend I received the shingles vaccine.
• My son’s wedding celebration was planned, and I was excited to be part of it.
• Loved ones are dealing with serious personal health issues, and I had committed to being available for caregiving, but was unable to.
• I was recently diagnosed as pre-diabetic, and the tinnitus I’ve been dealing with will not be medically evaluated until January.
I realize my stack of issues is small compared to the hardships others face—friends, family, and many people I read about in recovery communities. In truth, my life right now is pretty damn good. I’m grateful for where I am, what I have, and the growth I’m experiencing.
Still, the emotional mix this week felt worth sharing. Shingles brought pain and sleep disruption. The virus’s contagiousness forced me to consider risks and make difficult choices—I ended up missing my son’s wedding ceremony to protect others. I also stepped back from caregiving commitments. Missing workouts and hikes left me feeling physically disconnected from the routines that help keep me centered.
During this self-imposed isolation, I became more aware of the tinnitus, reflected on my diet, evaluated my financial picture, and thought more deeply about long-term goals and plans. My feelings shifted over the week: fear, sadness, regret, uncertainty, and even a shade of depression I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I also noticed subtle moments of relapse risk—those flickers of dangerous thinking. When I felt low, I imagined going out alone into nature, but thought it best not to drive by any beckoning trigger locations. I recognized the familiar self-doubt and remembered past relapses sparked by a single “eff it” moment. I even imagined the risk at the wedding celebration, knowing how easy it would have been to chase positive emotions with “just a glass or two.”
Those memories are vivid and still guide me now. They remind me that I cannot safely handle “just one.”
This week, I watched my thoughts and feelings with awareness. I let them rise and pass without surrendering to them. Old defense mechanisms—denial, numbing, avoidance—had no place here. I stayed present, mindful, and sober.