We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it

I used to think that the reason I drank and used drugs was because of my past.



I'd rant and rave about the awful stuff that had happened to me, and I'd talk about how I needed to forget.



You didn't understand. You couldn't possibly understand how bad it was, how much I needed to drink because of my past. When I heard the 9th Step promises read at meetings, I would scoff inwardly at that line about the past: "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it."



And then, when I was in treatment in 2008, my counselor told me something that really surprised me, and hurt my feelings a little bit. (Which, truthfully, was never a difficult task for anyone to accomplish.) I had written out my little life story, and it was full of self-pity, full of all of my usual excuses about "my past." Linda looked at me and said bluntly, "You don't have a past, Holly. All of this stuff is still in your present. The purpose of the 12 steps is to give you a past. Once you have gone through the steps and cleaned up your wreckage, you will gain perspective on this stuff and be able to use it, rather than using over it."

In my previous "attempts" at getting sober, I had never been willing to go past the 3rd step. I would start writing a 4th step inventory and get all wrapped up in the "woe is me." I also knew that once I quit carrying all of my hurts and grudges around with me in a figurative little suitcase, I would truly not have an excuse to drink or use again. What I never realized though, was that by carrying those things around with me, I was choosing to remain a victim.

When I was a little girl and my uncle abused me, I didn't have a choice. He was bigger and stronger. When I was 19 and almost passed out drunk, I didn't have a choice. The guy I was with was bigger and stronger, and I ended up pregnant.

But for me to continue to use those abuses as reasons to drink was to willingly place myself back into those hurtful situations. It was to continue to be a victim.

I had to choose to move on, to let go of my past and to allow God to place it into the framework of my life. It still isn't pretty, but I've made peace with it. And now I truly understand what the 9th step promises go on to say: "No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experiences can benefit others."

All bleeding stops... eventually

The title of this blog comes from a T shirt I once saw that had the "Top 10 best things about being a nurse." One of them was that all bleeding stops...eventually. I've decided that fits my life. We all have wounds, and they eventually stop bleeding. Either you heal, or you die.

This is the story of how I decided to stop dying and start healing.

I almost always wanted to be a nurse.

There was a period of time in 6th grade when I wanted to be a lawyer. This ambition followed my introduction to Nancy Drew's father, Carson Drew. He was a criminal attorney. That sounded awesome to me. Then I met my dad's cousin Christine, who was a lawyer. She was hip, and smart, and beautiful, and I wanted to be just like her.

But after I read all the Nancy Drew books, my fascination with the law left as quickly as it had come.

Other than that brief flirtation, my heart always belonged to nursing. My parents were both nurses, and I grew up around my mom's job at the hospital. She worked ICU and Recovery Room (now known as PACU, because acronyms are MUCH better at communicating accurately) when I was younger. When I was in high school, she became a diabetes educator.

My dad didn't go to nursing school until I was in school. He graduated in 1974, when I was in second grade. I was so proud of him, and couldn't wait for show and tell. "My daddy graduated from college and now he's a nurse." My teacher argued with me and said, "No, you mean he's a doctor." I stood my ground and was sent to the principal's office for talking back to her. It was pretty unusual. He was one of only 2 "male nurses" in the city at the time. Daddy worked in pediatrics for a few months, then went to work for the Department of Corrections, where he spent the rest of his career.

My parents were always bringing stuff home from work. (I know the statute of limitations is long expired, so I'm not worried about outing them here.) We had suture kits, bandages, betadine... we could have opened a MASH unit in our back yard. I used to do surgery on my stuffed animals and then suture them back together. I read Nursing and RN magazines and knew what to do for acute abdomen as well as the 5 top nosocomial infections in hospitals. I was a candy-striper for several summers, and my first "real" job was at the same hospital where my mom worked.

So, during high school, when we were making career choices and planning our educational futures, I knew that nursing was what I would do. A nurse was what I was going to be. I was awarded several academic scholarships. At the finalists' interview for one scholarship, I was asked, "Holly, with your academic background, you could easily get into medical school. Why do you want to be just a nurse?"

I drew myself up to my full 5' and responded, "I do not consider nursing 'just' anything. I don't want to take care of diseases, I want to take care of people. I want to make a difference. I don't want to be 'just' a nurse. I want to be everything that a nurse can be!" A few weeks later I received the award letter in the mail. At the winners' reception, that professor approached me and told me he was impressed with my response to that question.

I have thought of that moment often in the past 15 years. Somewhere along the way, I lost my way. I was caught up in addiction and lies, and was very close to losing my nursing license permanently. I didn't know if I could ever be a nurse again, if anyone would ever trust me again. I didn't know if I could ever trust myself again.

10 years ago, I began to find my way back. I started working in long term care, and found my true calling as a nurse.

17 months ago, I found my way to sobriety through a 12 step recovery program and began the process of healing my broken past.

All bleeding stops...eventually.