Writing not smoking

Perhaps the hardest and best thing about sobriety is the fact that none of the big emotions disappear through recovery. We just learn how to ride the wave when they appear.

It feels like a cliche to say it this way, because I read it over and over again for 5-6 years before finally managing to quit weed. But today truly felt like another moment to celebrate surviving the inevitable emotional turmoil that is existing as an adult.

Over the past three months I have been working my arse off. Printmaking, writing, exercising when possible despite wanting to throw up constantly. All with the image in my mind that I would be exhibiting my work this weekend, sitting at a stall of my own, talking to customers and art enthusiasts about the journey to completing such a sentimental portfolio.

But it turns out I got caught up in the fantasy once again, failed to clarify the venue capacity and didn’t get much visibility of my $4000 stock beyond a small A4 box hidden in the corner of a town hall. We paid a lot in petrol to be here and couldn’t even afford to park outside to unload the car.

When I realised how poorly organised the event had been for my crew, and that I wasn’t going to get the outcome I’d dreamt of – I cried, a lot, like a big baby.

Stimmed for hours in the hot stuffy corridors nearby, faking smiles and nodding politely. I tried to charm other artists, appreciate that I was surrounded by exceptional talent and distract myself from the pain of not being able to showcase the work I am so very proud of pulling together.

But then I also had to give in to the fact I am just disappointed, and next time there is a large event like this I will need to be a big girl and go out there as an independent to get the table I wish to sit at.

So I slept it off. Whatever that means. You can’t really sleep off a feeling but it is better to sleep than it is to spiral. Magnesium is good for that.

In the morning I woke up, went back to the venue and politely collected my prints and T-shirts and rack and took them home.

Cried again like a baby in the car, whilst hugging my big baby belly, and let myself be totally taken over by the disappointment so it could pass.

After a very emo drive home, I bawled into my mum’s shoulder, followed by her friends’. We bitched about the annoyance over a cup of tea. I washed my face, and they took me out to eat soup on the roadside. I’m still disappointed by the financial loss and emotional fatigue, but learnt how to recover with dignity and what to do better next time.

Inside that car I felt like the world was crumbling down, but it simply wasn’t. Had I still been using substances to numb pain – I would have certainly started a scene at the venue, potentially torn up my artworks and offended my studio organiser. But there was no need.

I am sober and free to choose how I react now. For that, I am beyond grateful.