The Divided Self

8:15am
I know that if I would have a routine spiritual morning program I would derive a lot of satisfaction and even enjoyment from it. Like in other parts of my life lately, I lack the motivation to do it. I committed to my therapist to do a daily morning program, but I haven’t been doing. Or at least not all of it. I’ve been pretty good about the journaling part but not so good about the meditation part. Yesterday I did some yoga, which was great. I could only spend about 20 minutes on it since I had to be out of the house unusually early but it was great. It was as if my body (or maybe mind) was craving it. It had been way too long. As I flowed through the postures, I listed to one of my spiritual teachers. His voice is so reassuring. Just hearing it provides an amazing comfort, like a child who wakes in the night and is held by his mother until he again falls asleep. Ok, generally analogies of spirituality compare it to waking up—true. But this one works for me. It reminds me of my own childhood.

Sometimes it’s recommended that prayer be done in the mood of a child crying out for her mother. I wish my meditation could be more in that mood. Prayer is always helpful for me but besides my meditation I do so little of it. That’s unfortunate because I find it so helpful. Often it’s easiest for me to write down my prayers. I find it helps me focus. It’s less easy for me to get distracted. It’s also less easy for me to fall into mechanical prayer. I think I can go deeper when I’m writing.

One of the meetings I attend has a writing component to it. I find that quite helpful. Before I moved here, none of the meetings I attended had that format. I like it. Recently I wrote:

The divided self. My therapist asked me an interesting question last session: What is the relationship between my two selves (the addict & the one who seeks health, growth & recovery)? I didn’t have an immediate answer. One thought I had then was how hard it is for one to relate to the other. Neither can really understand why the other would want to be like that, to do those things, to feel those feelings. Part of my recovering self feels a need to hide the addict. He’s careful who he lets in on that secret. He’s scared to talk about that other behavior fearing judgment, perhaps even abandonment or rejection. He’s interested in projecting a certain image to his friends and to his world. A part of him realizes that the more he expands that circle of friends who know the whole story, the better. They’ll be able to help. They’ll be compassionate & sympathetic.

The addict in me is a nefarious counterpart. He seeks gratification wherever he can get it. He gives very little consideration, including perhaps mostly, to the other part of me. But it’s not just me. His acts have real, negative consequences for others and whatever limitations he puts on himself often get pushed to aside to accommodate a new low. His integrity and honesty are slim to none.

In sharing at that meeting I had the realization that the more those two selves can integrate, the more I can see myself not as one perfect person and one horrible person but as one human being, flawed and imperfect, struggling to make progress, the more I begin to heal.