When the Room Went Quiet

I knew how to keep busy. Work supplied deadlines. My phone supplied interruptions. Other people supplied problems I could solve, sometimes before they had asked.

A quiet room was less obliging. It left me with my own thoughts and, for years, I preferred almost any alternative.

Alcohol offered a quick way to change the atmosphere without changing anything in my life. When I stopped drinking, the room did not suddenly become peaceful. It simply became harder to leave.

Learning to sit there was slow. Some days it meant speaking to someone. Some days it meant admitting that I was frightened, lonely or angry without immediately turning that feeling into a project. This was disappointing for someone who liked projects.

I had spent a long time trying to arrange my life so I would never feel uncomfortable. Recovery began teaching me that discomfort could be felt and survived.