I used to think pushing through, finishing something even when it hurt, meant I was strong. Now, I think coming back to it—after tending to myself—means I am.
In work, in family life, even in hobbies that were supposed to be fun, I felt an urgency to do more. To push myself into pain. It’s probably why addiction came so easily to me. Alcohol silenced the voice that told me I never did enough. That I’d never meet the finish line. But I kept chasing it. Through pain, through injury, ignoring the well-meaning voices telling me to slow down. Eventually, I crashed. Big. And by then, the finish line had moved again. Out of sight. Forever.
Fast-forward four years: the finish line isn’t the goal anymore.
It took me three days to finish the yard this week. Used to be a six-pack and a few hours would get it done. But then I was done. The grass was long (almost mid-shin), and heavy. The mower’s seen better days, coughing and choking in the jungle yard. But we took breaks when we needed to, working no more than an hour each day. Then, it was done. And I wasn’t broken.
But it wasn’t finishing that gave me satisfaction. It was sitting in the beauty of it—while I was working and after. I’d never really appreciated the after before. I was drunk back then.
The sweetness of the honeysuckle, the pungence of the fresh-cut grass—the breeze carried it all. I wanted to share it.
Enter William.
He’s terrified of the mower, but he’s a big fan of the lawn. He took off across the yard, leaping like a deer through an open field. It’s been a long winter for him, too. I think the mown lawn gave him more than a clear, open space. It gave him a hint that mom was OK. Something in her had shifted. Something in me.
Four years in recovery has brought a lot of lessons. Humility. Overcoming shame. Those were hard ones. Painful. But today felt different.
As I tried to convince William it was time to go inside for some water, I noticed a little spot I’d missed. A dandelion among the grass clippings. I fought the urge to pull the lawnmower from the shed. There was beauty in that piece of imperfection. Another good lesson.
William took a few more laps around the yard. He wasn’t ready to call it quits yet. So I sat in the shade of the redbud tree and soaked in his excitement vicariously. I was pooped.
Soon, so was he.
Now, we’re both inside, enjoying the AC. But the yard waits for us whenever we’re ready. It will need to be mowed again on my next week off. Such is the nature of grass.
Such is the nature of me.
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