Читать книгу Yoga and the Twelve-Step Path - Kyczy Hawk - Страница 9
ОглавлениеMy Story
San Francisco in the late 1960s. What a place and an era for an alienated, frightened, headstrong teenager. With the heart of a socially conscious rebel and the dependencies of an addict, I was let loose in a city that had the answer to my fears. As early as ninth grade, I got into pot and diet pills; the summer before high school I joined protest marches and drank red wine; high school added acid and other drugs to the mix, and it was off to the races.
Like many, but not all, addicted people, I came from an emotionally impaired home. We moved frequently during my preteen years. My parents were teachers, and we moved from country to country as they obtained contracts with various schools and universities. We children learned to adapt to different countries and languages, never forging close ties due to cultural differences, lack of skills, and the knowledge that we would be leaving in a short while. My mother was an active alcoholic in countries that permitted drinking, and a dry drunk in countries that did not. My father was an angry man who was deeply disenchanted with his career, his family, and his life. My parents were brilliant people, loved by their friends, but unskilled at being parents—part of their tender flaws. That made raising children a challenge for them. They often lived countries apart from each other, and this was the case when I entered my thirteenth year in northern California—the summer that I dove into the world of alcohol and drugs. My mother was searching for recovery herself—a painful journey she did not fully embrace until shortly before I left home. During those years my brother, nine years younger, and my sister, only eighteen months younger, were each as different from me as siblings could be, but I tried to play house and create a “normal” American family without adult supervision. We maintained the house and did the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. My mother tried to reengage as a parent from time to time, but those phases did not last long. When my father returned to the United States, it meant he was unemployed and was depressed and despondent, full of regrets and remorse, which came out as outbursts of anger.
My youthful “controlled drinking and using” meant that I had to be down from my high and semicoherent by late afternoon to cook dinner for the family and do my homework. At that point in my using career, I was still trying to be a good girl. It was a pattern that would follow me through my addiction years. I walked a tightrope between being a good and eager student, friend, and daughter and being a wild, politically active protestor, drinker, and drug user. While I believed strongly in the political protest against the Vietnam War and social change for both racial and gender equality, I was enchanted with drugs, including alcohol. I ended most weekend rallies by going home with some older guy to get high, rather than with a fellow demonstrator or activist to plan for another day’s activities.
My bad behavior carried over to my home, where I was an impossible child. On one hand, while managing our household and doing most of the chores, I also tried to parent my younger siblings and mediate the fights between my parents. On the other hand, I was frequently high or drunk, reckless with my health and safety, and truant from school whenever possible. As I said, with my father working out of the country much of the time and my mom suffering with her own demons, I was drawn to the freedom of the streets and the irresponsibility of the urchin life. I ran away from home a couple of times to avoid terrors, real or imagined. I threatened to drop out of high school, but instead I did an accelerated program and graduated early. I was that unsure of my ability to continue the duplicitous life of the good girl/bad girl. I couldn’t keep the two lives apart. The compliant student was no longer stronger than the full-blown addict. Soon after graduating from high school at seventeen, I left home.
In and out of junior college, in and out of relationships, taking minimum-wage jobs, and hanging out with the kids who had dropped out of high school, I continued my drug and alcohol use. I did so until I moved to Colorado, but not before getting pregnant. I was sure having a baby would give me structure and purpose. I moved away with the love of my life, hoping that the opportunities near Boulder would keep me straight and allow for us to create a “normal” life. However, “wherever you go—there you are.” I was still a depressed, insecure, frightened, dependent girl. I was leaning on him to give me security and focus. I had no real employment skills; I was still a mess. I went back to doing what I knew how to do: the good girl in me did volunteer work at the elementary school, and the addict side worked in the local bar at night.
Pregnancy made me nauseated, and for those months I was unable to drink. I was not a sane person. Being young, with raging hormones, large with child, jealous of all women, and alone in an unknown state, I was unkind and possessive, frightened, and demanding of all. As soon as my daughter was born, I was drinking again. Working in the bar made drinking affordable, and I drank for entertainment, for distraction, and as an excuse for all the hell we put each other through. The relationship with “him” broke up, drama ensued, and another baby was conceived. And “he” was gone.
I returned to school, and this time the pregnancy could tolerate drinking, so I was drunk most of the time. I worked in a bar, tended to my child, went to school, and studied. For five long months, I exhausted my body and mind with this cycle of school, motherhood, and my barmaid job on the weekends. I again came to the edge of insanity, and this time tipped right over. I created a drama to reunite myself and my children with their father (unsuccessfully); I successfully finished my semester at university and moved back to California. I had enlisted the help of friends to bring me back. One woman flew out and drove us back to the Bay Area, while another housed and comforted me until I could find my own place. With public assistance I was able to rent a place with roommates and enroll in college again.
So the good girl wanted to become a good mother and a good student, and to be employable. The bad one found intravenous (IV) drugs. I remained enrolled in school, gave birth to my second child, and had addicts and dealers in the house. I was part of the parent-participation nursery school my daughter attended, was a board member of a local nonprofit, attended single mothers’ group meetings, and went to college. I also drank like a fish and used drugs. The three of us—my two children and I—were incredibly fortunate not to have been harmed by others as the result of my lifestyle. Drugs, including alcohol, were now a requirement for daily living. Friends were betrayed and lost forever; my family was disappointed time and time again by broken promises and unreliable agreements. Even doing jobs like house painting for cash seemed beyond my ability. Once again I rushed through school to be certain I could finish—without a job skill but with a diploma. Relationships with family, friends, and roommates were trashed, and eventually falling in love and moving in with a dealer seemed like a reasonable solution to my using needs.
I was able to keep a receptionist job after college graduation. It was not quite the career I imagined after having earned a BA degree, but I was ill-suited for anything else. I did quit IV drugs, but was now a round-the-clock drinker. My daily cutoff was five a.m.; I had to be at work at eight, and it took three hours for my breath to clear. I worked eight hours a day, picked the children up from preschool, stopped at a small corner market for a quart of rum, and went home to hole up, pretend to be a mom, put the kids to bed, and drink through the night. I did this for several years, breaking down my body, puffing up with the high sugar content of the alcohol, and living on poor food and little sleep. I ended up breaking all promises to my kids about trips to the zoo, the beach, or the park, or even just going outdoors. I even lost track of whether I had fed them at night. I would frequently dress them in dirty clothes, as I often couldn’t stop drinking to retrieve the laundry from the laundromat until after it had closed. I became so worn down and paranoid that I could no longer make decisions at a store, make change, or answer the door or phone at home. Work became increasingly challenging, and I was an emotional wreck.
One night I sat on the edge of the bed—no special night or unusual event—when I thought, “I cannot go on, I cannot do this anymore.” I was unclear in my mind as to whether “this” referred to taking care of the kids and going to work or to drinking and using. I felt strongly that I could not do both, and if I chose to continue to drink and use, my kids would go, the job would go, and my actual SELF would go—my authentic, genuine, inside soul/self would drift away. I would walk out the door and not return—go into the arms of whoever could or would keep me high. I felt as if I could actually see my core being as a mist floating in front of my eyes; the choice between dissipating or integrating was as fragile as my next breath.
Finally I moved to the phone to call a friend who, as rumor had it, was in recovery. She answered her phone and eagerly agreed to meet me and take me to a meeting the next day. I had my last drink that night, but drugs did not leave me that easily. While I abstained from alcohol for nearly three months, I knew I had to move away from my dealer boyfriend. So I moved to San Jose, hoping that a new town would separate me from my obsessions. My need for him was all balled up with my need for drugs, and I was unable to keep them separate for quite some time. I finally broke up with him, cutting myself off from the supply, and really entered recovery. I had not been honest in my twelve-step meetings about the drug use, so I had not sought support. I slipped one final time, drinking a pint of cough syrup. That was twenty-five years ago. So, though I stepped into the rooms on July 5, 1983, my recovery anniversary is actually April 29, 1985.
During the past two-plus decades I have raised my family, found a career, and seen my parents through their final illnesses and my brother through a life-changing accident. I have made friends with my family and family out of my friends. The road to emotional and spiritual health was not smooth. It was necessary for me to get professional counseling, something I would utilize on occasion for most of my life. I was so shaky in my first recovery meetings that I cannot tell you much about them. Some people can remember with enviable clarity their first meeting, their first work with a sponsor. That was not to be the case for me. I was a mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual wreck.
I had continued to attend meetings almost daily and to work with (and withhold the truth from) my sponsor this whole time. It wasn’t until I was ready to establish a “new” recovery date by going out and getting loaded that I realized the danger of keeping my secret. I finally told the truth about my using at a meeting. This I did not do all on my own. My Higher Power had intervened. I heard a woman share who had done the same thing: she had continued to use drugs as she continued to attend twelve-step recovery meetings. I felt nothing but compassion for her; I did not feel pity, and I did not sit in judgment or scorn her. And as I listened and looked around the room, I saw the same emotions on everybody’s face: compassion, concern, and care. I stood up with what we call “a burning desire” to share and told everyone my story of self-betrayal. And they loved me, too. Eventually I went to all of my regular meetings, changing my recovery date out loud and feeling humility with that action of amends.
Now I could dig into my steps for a second time with renewed honesty and more self-awareness. While I had made sincere amends the first time through the steps of the program, addressing all the issues and events I could remember at that time, I had a new appreciation for who I had been and who I wanted to be. That gave me a finer comb with which to remove the tangles of my past. It was as if a veil had been lifted between my inner self and others: I could listen with my whole heart and respond honestly from the totality of my being. It also gave me a new place of authenticity to be a sponsor to others. I could “give so freely that which had been given to me”—acceptance and empathy.
With the madness of having lived the “lie of deception” in my early recovery, I truly found the unmanageability of my disease. I realized that I would have to include and rely on a power greater than myself for resolution and guidance, that I could become whole and find my genuine authentic self, and that there were still moral wrong turns to evaluate and evacuate. I needed to know what my spiritual road was and how to proceed. This is an ongoing search, and I am patient. I tried organized religion, I tried me-ism, and I tried “him” again—making my partner my deity. This also does not work, and is an unfair burden on a partner and an unrealistic source of inspiration and approval. In my journey I have discovered that the real source of inspiration and approval comes from inside, and is based on my spiritual life.
We are taught in recovery that we need to find a Higher Power that we are comfortable with and develop a relationship with it. While much of the writing in the basic texts of recovery reads from a traditional monotheistic model, we are given the option to find our own spiritual path in any manner or direction we wish. Twelve-step pioneer Bill Wilson averred that the program “contained spiritual principles that members of any and every religion could accept, including the Eastern religions” (Pass It On: The Story of Bill Wilson and How the AA Message Reached the World, p. 283). As a result of this search, I am on a very comfortable path now of worshiping the divinity in all of us. I have my group of wise people who demonstrate the life I want to lead and advise me along the way. I have been able to take the principles from the twelve-step recovery program into my daily practice, and to weave them into my daily activities and my relationships with my husband, children, and grandchildren. I have also been able to work them into my career choices and my relationship with myself.
Once abstinence was firmly a part of my life, once I had dealt with the wreckage of my past, and once I was solidly practicing the principles of the twelve-step program in my daily life, I still had an inner landscape to explore. Moving down the path in recovery, I found the need to heal my body, to get into movement and rehabilitate my stagnant physiology. As my children grew up, I had more opportunities to be on my own and could walk, try gym classes, and even take a dance class. Each of these had physical health as a focus, and I became more fit and strong (initially I could only manage to walk around my block, and eventually I was able to run a ten-mile race). Physical health was only one aspect of the recovery I sought. I went to a church and hung around with people who had a spiritual life and a spiritual quest. I belonged to an antiwar/nonviolence group. I was patching together solutions to my overall needs for a holistic answer to my deeper longings. I was unsure what physical discipline could combine with my need to move into my body, spirit, and recovery. Then I found yoga.
I do not have a flexible body, but I do have a flexible mind. I am aware of my physical limitations, but my desire for the integration of body, mind, and spirit has no such limits. I was afraid of stepping into a yoga studio for fear of not fitting in, of lack of capability, and of being “not as good as.” I actually had to try a few yoga studios to find one with a heart, the one that had room for the inquiring, uncertain student in me. I was fortunate enough to have teachers who brought attention to the breath as well as the postures. They taught the principles of working within your own capacity and accepting yourself the way you are, and they taught integration of spirit, body, and mind during final relaxation. These skills are useful on the mat and in your life.
Each class allowed me to release more and more stiffness and tension. My shoulders, which were often drawn up to my ears, began to descend as I released the weight of the world I had been carrying for so long. Once I learned to identify and let go of tension, I was able to replace that with strength—strength and energy to deal with “life on life’s terms” rather than fighting, resisting, and controlling.
I had heard and read enough to know that yoga was more than just the postures, and that there was a reason for the breath work and meditative aspect, and that the practice could provide me with a doorway to further integration. Recovery had reached a plateau, and my spiritual seeking had moved me away from a church—but toward something more defined than “Good Orderly Direction” or “Group of Drunks/Druggies” (as some in recovery say). I was definitely looking for a deeper connection. Yoga is not a religion; it is a spiritual practice. My continuing journey had to include a deeper sense of self-knowledge and an embrace of the divine around and within me. This came to me through the smoothness of the breath, the focus of the poses, the release of trapped feelings, and the energy that yoga poses allow. This abiding calm had an impact on both my prayer and my meditation; it also moved into my life off the mat into my daily activities and relationships.
My investigation into yoga started with the body postures and finding a style that suited me. I eventually found it. Integral hatha yoga taught me to feel my insides clearly—to practice something difficult, sometimes physically stressful, but that led to inner peace. Many benefits were immediate. I learned poses that I could take into the workplace to give me a sense of calm and serenity. A simple forward fold into “rag doll,” arms hanging limply to the floor with the gaze at the legs, would bring circulation to my brain and both increase alertness and provide a release from anxiety. Calm, measured breathing in a mindful pattern would dissolve anger and fear and return me to the present moment. “Standing mountain”—simply standing in an aligned, balanced manner—would bring composure as well as a sense of strength and valor. All of these activities would remind me that I was sufficient; I was enough in myself and with the universe. Returning to the mat on a regular basis developed, strengthened, and renewed these skills.
Unlike with competitive activities, in yoga I was being taught to explore my physical limits in balance and breath, with love and acceptance for where I was, moment by moment. The philosophy of yoga also intrigued me; my teachers were generous with their time and wisdom. Here, I thought, was another way to look at recovery: with guiding principles, disciplines, and observances that sometimes mirrored, sometimes complemented, and sometimes expanded on what I had been practicing in twelve-step recovery. Both belief systems were founded on the principle of nonharming. In recovery, cessation of the activity or behavior that debilitated you is the first step of nonharming. In life, treating self and others with care and respect is a continuation of that practice. Both systems believe that honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness are keys to a successful journey. Purity or cleanliness—that is, being right with our Higher Power and others—is a daily practice of both yoga and the Fourth Step, as well as the Tenth Step in particular. Finding contentment in daily life can be achieved through gratitude. The discipline of working a daily program of recovery and mindful yoga practice are partners in this journey. Prayer and meditation are integral to both paths, as is working with a teacher or sponsor. Meetings and satsang, or wise company, are suggested. Letting go of control, being in acceptance, and having gratitude become parts of everyday life. In both yoga and twelve-step recovery, being of service, or practicing karma yoga, is vital to both internal growth and communion with your Higher Power.
I was able to use what I had been learning on the mat—to use the postures with controlled breathing and a focused mind to become more self-aware—in my approach to life and self-discovery, and apply the yoga philosophy to enrich my Eleventh Step prayer and meditation beyond measure. I was truly being “rocketed into” what the Big Book (the basic text) of Alcoholics Anonymous (p. 25) describes as the “Fourth Dimension,” one day at a time, one practice at a time, one discovery at a time. Yoga, its roots more than 4,000 years old, helps us to be in life one breath at a time, one pose at a time. The practice and guidance of yoga invite us to leave the ego-self and to discover the essential, authentic self. In recovery, we develop a closer relationship with our Higher Power through a spiritual experience. In yoga, the physical exercises, breath practices, ethical observations, self-discovery, and meditation also lead us into a deeper relationship with the divine. In the practice of both yoga and a twelve-step program we seek to unify the body, mind, and spirit.
I was soon off to the races again, but this time in the enthusiastic pursuit of health. I began studying yoga and yoga philosophy. I became a yoga teacher. I enrolled in workshops and went on retreats to figure out how I could bring the beauty of yoga to those in recovery—those who might also have the curiosity and need that I felt. I am finding more and more people on a similar path, those who love recovery and yoga and who share in the desire to move from the Basic Texts onto the mat and into our true natures.
EXERCISE
FIRST BREATH PRACTICE
Three-Part Yoga Breath (Dirga Pranayama)
The three-part breath is an important technique that promotes relaxation and calming of the mind. It is often the first breath practice to learn in yoga. It moves one into mindful breathing. The benefits in healing or balancing the emotions are also great. When the mind is calm, it can also become clearer. In having the ability to relax, an individual lessens the harmful effects of stress on the body.
Focused three-part yogic breath awareness is often practiced while sitting comfortably in a cross-legged position on the floor, or in a straight-backed chair, though it can also be done while lying flat on the back on the floor. Novices may find it easier to learn this breathing technique while lying down, since you can better feel the breath as it moves through your body.
To perform the three-part breath, sit the in the comfortable cross-legged position or in a chair (or lie on your back), and close your eyes. If you’re sitting, make sure your spine is straight and erect. Relax your body and face. Start by observing your natural breathing pattern. Allow any distracting thoughts to drift away. Without judgment or attachment, invite them to come back later. Bring your attention back to the breath, allowing your focus to remain on the breathing.
Inhale through your nose, filling the belly with your breath as if it’s a balloon; exhale, expelling all breath from your belly through your nose, pulling in the stomach to make sure it’s empty of air. Watch that your breathing is smooth and relaxed, without any strain. Repeat several times, and then move on to the next step of this breath practice.
Perform the next inhale like the one before, but when the belly is full of air, breathe in a little more so the air enters the lower chest. Your rib cage should expand. Exhale from the chest first, and then exhale from the belly. Repeat this several times before transitioning to the third and final type of breath in this pranayama (breath control practice).
Inhale into the belly, then the lower chest, and then the upper chest so it expands and lifts your collarbones. Exhale through the nose, from the upper chest first, then the lower chest, and then the belly. Continue this for about ten breaths.
Return to your own native, natural breath and continue for a full minute before leaving this practice. Notice how you feel. Your breath is portable! You can use this type of focused, measured breathing anytime. It will add health, vitality, and ease to your life, and it can soothe you in trying situations, bringing patience and well-being to every moment. With time, this can become your conventional breathing pattern.
