Rebirthday

Interlude

The 26th of August is the day I normally celebrate my birthday. Forty-four this year. Holy shit! That isn't what I'm celebrating this year, though. Instead, I'm celebrating my rebirthday. 

What do I mean by that? 

When I turned forty-one, it was my first day of many to come without a drop of alcohol. I haven't touched it since and my life has been better for it. In fact, it was the best move I've ever made. Not at first, but eventually. 

You see, for me, alcohol was a mask I'd relied on heavily. It allowed me to be someone completely different and hide who I truly was. A person I didn't like. A person I didn't believe in. 

It gave me a confidence I didn't know I could have. I travelled to exciting places, landed cool jobs, made amazing friends, met wonderful women and went on incredible adventures. From my humble roots in a small Canadian town to a life I couldn't have dreamt up, alcohol was my guide, my superpower. And when things didn't go well, it was my excuse. 

It was a way of shirking accountability, acting in ways I wasn't confident enough to while sober, later either taking credit for my lubricated successes as the life of the party or blaming my inebriation for the occasional cockup. Well, that all came to an end on 26ᵗʰ August 26th, 2021. 

The first year without my friend Al was rough, having lost my sense of identity and confidence. I'd also acquired a sweet tooth for the first time ever, having conditioned my body to an unhealthy amount of sugar over decades of regular drinking. With my blood sugar high and my self-esteem low, I endured the loss of my job, my partner, our business, our house, my home and myself. Haunted by injuries, health conditions, a severe ADHD diagnosis, a financial crisis, and the failing of some old and meaningful friendships, I became an island, isolating myself from human contact as much as possible while holding on by a thread to avoid falling into a hopeless, dangerous pit of depression. 

It's now the 26ᵗʰ of August 2024, and I'm back out of the darkness, but only just. With the help of friends, family and, especially, my furry hero Koru, I'm starting life anew. At the risk of sounding cheesy, I honestly feel like a different person carrying someone else's memories. It's been a rebirth, and it all began with bidding farewell to my old friend Al. 

I'm learning to do it without him, facing all the ups and downs life has to offer sober, without a mask of intoxication. I'm learning who I am, where I want to be and what I'm capable of, one step at a time. 

To understand where change needs to take place, we need to retrace our steps back to the beginning, to the root of all we've experienced. 

Professional help is a luxury I'm unfortunately unable to afford at the moment, so my pen has become my therapist. I began reflecting, writing and healing, and it got me thinking, "How many others have, are or will experience something similar? Obviously, I'm not the only one." It didn't seem fair to only look out for myself when so many others suffer alone in silence. I wanted to help.

But what could I do?

Well, I've always loved telling a story. Writing mine was something I'd hoped Al would make happen for me one day. So, after years of hesitation, I began writing Way of the Caribou, only alone, without Al. It's quickly become the most important thing I've ever done. 

Rather than keeping it to myself, I've chosen to offer my story on Substack to anyone and everyone who wishes to read it. It was terrifying at first to be so open and honest. I worried people wouldn't like it or would think less of me for making my struggles public. In fact, I nearly deleted the first chapter immediately after publishing it. 

Fortunately, I decided to stick it out, and I'm glad I did. The response thus far has been more than I could have imagined. I've received compliments, ideas, old stories and messages of support. I've reconnected with old friends I didn't realise I missed as much as I do and made new ones despite not having Al in my corner. I've even been told to hurry up when I'm late with the next chapter, which was a welcome kick in the pants. I've also been congratulated on being brave enough to take this on. But most importantly, I've had people reach out with stories of their own struggles, finding mine relatable, and some even asking for an ear. That's more than I could have hoped for, helping others while helping myself. 

Breaking down walls we choose to build up around ourselves and building bridges to our islands so we're no longer alone is essential if we're to heal. And it's happening, which is what I was hoping for. Still, seeing it slowly come to fruition is surreal, to say the least. 

I offer Way of the Caribou freely. Many Substacks charge for their work, but I don't. Why? Because I'm writing mine to provide something I wish I'd had during my darkest, scariest hours. To know someone else is out there. To know someone else understands. To know I'm not alone. By making myself vulnerable like this and sharing intimate details of my life, I'm telling others, "You are not alone. I'm here. I understand. It's okay to talk about it. Don't be afraid. Let's heal together." How can I possibly charge for such a thing? It wouldn't feel right. Support should be free. Community should be free. Love... should be free. 

I'm so grateful to all of my subscribers so far. On those days when getting out of bed is difficult enough, and I can't fathom writing for myself, I write for you. Your commitment to me has given me a purpose: to reciprocate that commitment by producing the work you've kindly chosen to support. Thank you for keeping me going. 

I'm going to be cheeky and ask anyone who hasn't become a paid subscriber yet to please consider doing so. It takes a lot of work to do this, and income generated through subscriptions eases the burden of daily life, so I can focus even more on Way of the Caribou. Think of it as supporting a loved one so this story can continue unhindered, offering them a buoy in a stormy sea. Or perhaps for yourself, where the cost of one therapy session supports an ongoing light of hope to turn to on your darkest days. Or, at a stretch, me - seeing the bravery and effort going into exposing myself like this might be worth something to you. To quote my dear friend Murph, one of my first paid subscribers: "It's cheaper than paying for your beers." 

If you can't swing a paid subscription at the moment, no worries at all. Subscribe for free, and please interact with Way of the Caribou on Substack itself, not only in your email inbox. By you liking, commenting and sharing my story with others, Way of the Caribou will reach more eyes and help more people struggling silently. However you decide to do it, I'm grateful for your support. 

So, Happy Third Rebirthday to me, and thank you all for reading what I write. Stay safe and happy. And remember—you are not alone.