Judy: Battling Demons

Is it my demon that leads me to substance use? 


That nagging voice around my will power tells me I should buy another pack of cigarettes or refill my wine glass, again.  This voice disregards the agreement with myself that THAT was my last pack or that I’d only have two glasses at the birthday party.  


The voice becomes so loud at times I have difficulties focusing on the conversation at hand.  
I give in.  
I indulge.  
The struggle ceases, momentarily.  
The demon won.

In my meditation group recently, we were asked to sit with “mistakes” and observe what we noticed.  I felt tightness in my chest that continued up to my throat and resulted in the release of a continuous stream of tears that rolled down my face, off my chin and down to my heart.  
It was as if the tears were washing, the tightness I had just felt welling up inside. 
My heart must have needed some deep cleaning since the tears had no apparent end.  
The mistake that came to mind wasn’t my social lubricants.  It wasn’t even the brash remarks I make under the influence.  


It was a story, a habit of mind that rears its ugly head after disappointment in love.  


It is the voice that tells me I’m not good enough.  


This voice is not one of reason.  


Having a conversation with it is like having a political debate with a well-armed opposing view.  


It’s not about seeing eye to eye or about true understanding.  Rather, it is about going to battle.

I’ve come to call this side of me my inner teenager.  She’s hurt and needs to be seen.  She will say, “Nobody can tell me what to do.”  I can have that glass of wine, smoke that cigarette or overeat at a potluck because those behaviors mask her pain.  
My work now is learning how to let my inner teenager be seen, heard and felt with empathy while still caring for my true Self and doing that which allows my light to shine brightly and regularly.   


The journey with this demon is not likely to end with my new resolve.  


It will probably greet me at another inconvenient moment.  


And, each time I remember to meet her with empathy, her hold on me is more gentle.