If blogs were like books, this one would be dusty. I didn’t go read my last post but I saw the date–May 2018. I was about to throw my hands in the air and jump into a committed relationship with alcohol.

There was a lot of work to get to the point of writing about rehab and recovery. At least, on an open forum. I remember two things vividly that are very important. The first is sitting in a group for the first time and looking at the 12 steps poster on a wall in rehab. The first step is “admitting we were powerless over alcohol and our lives had become unmanageable.” I felt relieved to read that. I couldn’t put into words what life had become for me and here it was written so succinctly.

The second was hearing alcoholism (a term I don’t use much now) referred to as a “spiritual malady.” Nothing could describe it better. I had always been a spiritual person until things got to the point where I gave up on my God. I have referred to God as the Universe most often to remind me its infinitely larger than I can ever comprehend. I found a quote that sums up my spiritual malady best.

That Esther Nicholson is one smart cookie. As I was forced into the 12 steps, a recurring topic was God as you understand him. Well, I had not been close to my God in a very long time. As I stumbled through recovery, I had to try to find a way to connect. They told us if we had to use the group conscience to do so. If we had to use the doorknob as a higher power, do so. Just use whatever you could and so that is what I did.

When I got back to Mississippi, I delayed getting a sponsor but regularly attended meetings. I prayed a lot during that time. By the time I got a sponsor, I was close to mending the gap back to spirituality, but something felt off. I couldn’t make the connection I had pre-abuse. One day I was in a meeting and tried to visualize God. What would God look like if God sat next to me?

The first vision I conjured up that I could accept was a heavy set, eloquent speaking African American woman. Yes, now this is someone I would pay attention to and who would deliver words of wisdom. And then, a second vision popped up. A young man in his 20s with a beard in skinny jeans and sunglasses. Wtf? A hipster. And then it dawned on me that yes, I am exactly the kind of person to find wisdom in places least expected.

I switched back and forth for the next few weeks. As I went through intense therapy, the matronly figure who could wrap her arms around me and hold me and deliver news gently was useful. But more often than not, I would have to envision the hipster dude just sitting there having a coffee and imparting divine wisdom.

Regardless, it works for me. I’m not out here telling people how to think of God, but I am sharing my experience because it was one of the biggest gates to open in recovery. Having some way to communicate was essential. Now I see hipster dude when I read my devotional or when I go into a tension filled meeting at the office. He’s there reminding me to be anxious for nothing.

Some will see this as blasphemy, but I see it as curing my malady. ❤️