I last wrote of a commitment to spend more time in mindfulness meditation, specifically looking inward. How am I feeling, and where am I feeling it in my body? What are my thoughts, my intentions, my desires? What is my inner experience like?

I’ve been actively meditating for over thirty years – ever since I got sober. In 12-Step recovery, Step Eleven states, “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us, and the power to carry it out.” When I was in early sobriety, I believed God hated my guts, and I refused to pray to that god. I refused to pray at all. I was told to take what I could use today, and leave the rest, and I did. (I do pray now, to the loving power of the Universe, but it took a long time for me to get there.)

When I went to rehab, I was introduced to meditation and took to that like a duck to water. (See my early post, “Mindfulness: Guns, Rehab and a New Nudge,” for more about my early meditative days.) At first, I could only sit quietly for a few minutes, when listening to a guided meditation with just the right voice. I would picture myself in a safe environment, and follow the journey suggested. The racing thoughts in my brain and the terror in my soul would soften, and I found some degree of peace – without drugs or alcohol!

I quickly began to study meditative practices – starting my day with the I Ching and reading all about Buddhist thought. Soon I could sit quietly without guidance, just noticing the sounds all around me, the feel of the floor underneath me, the smells in the room or the great outdoors. Sometimes I’d be so peaceful I’d fall asleep – an act my sponsor called snoring meditation. I’ve tried a variety of methods, including chanting, and found them all helpful. Suffice it to say, meditation has been a core activity of my substance use recovery.

Then why is it still so hard to sit with me? When I asked, I didn’t like the answer. For most of my adult life, I’ve used meditation as another escape from myself – even going so far as to dissociate, calling it a deeper form of meditation. I could justify focusing on the outer experience as connecting to the world around me, but really, I was further disconnecting from me.

Disconnection from myself shows up in so many areas of my life, including my chronic struggle with suicidal thoughts. Being truly mindful means I must be part of my awareness. So I have been spending time with myself.

It’s not all rainbows and unicorns.

As I began this process, I dipped into what felt like another deep depression. I slept twelve hours or more a day, had to force myself to eat, and lost my motivation. Still, I thought about suicide less. I found myself generally more hopeful. It was hard to explain, but didn’t feel like my past depressive episodes.

Because it wasn’t depression.

I am exhausted because I’m not used to this kind of self-awareness, and it’s really tiring. Emotions! Oh my, so much ugliness. I am angry – enraged even. My arms are hot and I want to hit things. I am sad and everything feels so heavy.  My thoughts are full of self-loathing. No wonder I didn’t want to sit with myself. It’s a dive deep into the darkness.

Yet ahead, there is light. I see it. It shines brightly even though it is relatively small. As my husband says, like you’ve got two flicks left on your cigarette lighter and you better pay attention. I AM paying attention, and in spite of the crummy, awful emotions and thoughts, I can see ME in a way that I’ve avoided before.

I’m going to keep up this experiment, with a few modifications. I started journaling after each meditation session and sharing some with my therapist. At first, I just wrote about what I noticed – the ugliness, really – but now I’m countering the ugly thoughts with more positive reflections about myself. This is like wrapping it up with self-affirmations. I’m also looking to move some of that angry energy out of my system with physical exercise. I can’t do much, but even a little is better than letting it fester.

I guess I was ready for this new awakening.